Pinteresing... very pinteresting.

When we were in Seattle last week Shannon showed me the following website :
http://pinterest.com
Little did she know, it would quickly become an OBSESSION. 
The fact that Roland and Dave have been sick all week, and that Dave is too nauseous/ light headed to do anything but move from the couch to the bathroom, and that Roly is too grouchy to stay with Dave, and that Roly is too sick to leave the house... those facts all in mind- I haven't done much in the last few days. I'll spare you the details, but let's just say I've done more laundry in the last 4 days than I usually do in a month, and that Roland has had about the same amount of baths in the last week than he usually gets in a month... not to mention the amount of toilet paper we've gone through. 
Although my reminiscing in the last post was sincere, the novelty has worn off.
These things in mind, I've felt a bit cooped up, and I've spent way too much time staring at the computer screen, in my attempt to escape. Pinterest is just full of so many cute ideas! I got super antsy because I had all these ideas, and none of the things I needed to make them. I snuck out yesterday and went in search of a thrift store. I ended up at one on Government St.  I think it was called Bibles for Missions... or maybe Missions for Bibles? One or the other. Regardless- new favorite store! I had fun. The old man that worked there, who was playing the organ when there were no customers at the till, insisted that Roland must be a smart boy. He just kept telling me how bright and intelligent he was. The man just lit up when I told him his name is Roland. I can't help but enjoy being around people who love my child, so the kind gentleman, the hymns being banged out at the organ, and a few great finds made this outing very enjoyable! I found a dozen picture frames and a few books, all for about $10. And boy oh boy, did I put them to good use! 
I have been looking at these amazing crafts online, and if I have to be a shut-in, then I really just wanted to be a shut-in that made cute things. 
Here's what I came up with today, and I LOVE it!

  
The first thing Dave did, when he saw it, was tell me how crooked the "i" was, then put his finger right through it. I never get the feedback I'm looking for when I share my arts & crafts with him. No matter how much I love a project he always seems to let me know what's wrong with it. So I've decided to post it here, to get some feedback I might actually enjoy hearing. I really loved making this, and I'm excited to work on something new. If Roly wakes up tomorrow, with the pukey dukeys & the runs, I might actually be happy to stay home and whip up some more D.I.Y. home decor... but being able to leave the house would be nice too. Either one. 

I think I'm going to...

Be-Sick.Barf.Up-Chuck.Vomit.Spew.Call-out-for-Hughey.Hurl.Ralph.Puke.Toss-my-Cookies.Lose-my-Lunch.Greet-my-guts.Technicolour-Yawn.Blow-chunks. etc

We walked into church a few minutes late today. We made it through the opening song, and prayer, which was followed by a beautiful baby girl being blessed. I looked down at Roland, who had crawled quietly into my lap, and he was making the strangest face. His mouth kept opening and closing. I wasn't sure why, when all of the sudden he let loose, and he... well... see the line above... 


I caught the first bit in my hand, because I didn't know what else to do. Dave was quick to grab a baby wipe to catch any run off (he had cat-like reflexes in that moment- I swear). But then it happened again. And again. Meanwhile this beautiful child is in her father's arms, while he softly gives her a name and a blessing, and her poor mother is RIGHT in front of Roly, who is Hurling his guts out. Dave caught the rest in a blanket. My fight or flight instinct had kicked in by then, and I was ready to boot it out of that chapel, barfy baby in arms. BUT I chose to wear heals this morning, so instead of sprinting out of there, like my instinct told me to, I was forced to walk slowly, and calmly to the door. I did this, while trying to keep Roly facing forward, so as not to smear vomit all over my brand new dress, and with Dave following close behind, up-chuck filled blanket, and diaper bag in hand.


This may seem like a strange post, but this experience really got me reminiscing.

• I threw up when I was pregnant. That was gross, but I learned how to deal. 
• I threw up once when I was probably 19, and got the flu really bad for a couple of days. 

Other than that, I haven't really thrown up in my adult life, or even as a teenager. But when I was a kid- Oh when I was a kid! I would barf All the Time! 


I don't know what was wrong with me. Maybe I had allergies that I didn't acknowledge. Maybe I was starved for attention, and it was one way I knew all eyes would be on me. The truth is I don't actually remember the experience of getting sick, just some of the situations, and the results. 

• One time it was Glosset raisins, while driving in the van with my mom. I've never been able to enjoy chocolate covered raisins again. 
• Another time it was at the mall. In the food court. My mom sent my sister to the bathroom for some paper towel, then we all moved to a different table. By the time we were settled at the new table, and before we'd found any one to really clean the old one someone had already sat down at it.
• One time I didn't have any extra clothes, so my mom bought me a new sweatshirt. It was pink, with purple flowers. The kind that is so fluffy and soft on the inside it almost hurts. We called it my "throw-up sweater." Not only because of the circumstance in which it was purchased, but because of the resulting cookies that were tossed every time I wore it after that. 
• I remember once, while laying in bed, waking up and seeing my mom. I was sick, and she was checking in on me. I couldn't stop it. She got it right in the face.
• Then there was the bell & the barf bucket. When we were sick my sweet mama would leave a bucket and a bell by our bedside. The bell to call her if we needed anything. The bucket... well... you know. 

What is it that is so significant to me about all my up-chuck memories? I guess the truth is that they are memories of my mom. And the strange thing is that I remember them all fondly. 

Who would catch vomit in her bare hands, wipe it off of food court tables, and come at the ring of a bell to clean it up? 

Who? 

And why? 

Moms! Because moms remember. We know the embarrassment, and the horrible sting in the nose. We know the relief that you feel when you throw-up, along with the panic of how to deal with it when it's done. We know that a back rub will help keep the tears away when its all over. We know that making sure you are ok is the first priority, that getting things cleaned up is 2nd... a quick 2nd, and that no drink tastes as sweet as some luke-warm ginger ale, after calling out to Hughey.

Ok, so maybe this isn't the best forum, or topic to pay tribute to my mother over. But regardless, Thanks mom!

Holi-DAY!

Our family vacations are some of my fondest and most distinct memories. I loved going on trips. I loved packing into our astro-van, and hitting the road. The anticipation of going on a trip would hit me days, even weeks before we left. I would make lists of what I needed to pack, then make sure not to wear any of it for a week before I left, just to make sure it was clean for the trip. I would pack my bag days before, and pester my mom for an Estimated Time of Departure, so that I knew what time to set on my alarm. 

The night before we left I would have dreams all night that I slept through my alarm. I would become a wide-eyed-blurr-of-anticipation,  jumping out of bed to add things to my bag I was sure to need on the trip. 

Sure I packed my pink tam with the purple bow, but what about my white hat with the white flower? What would I do without that? 

My sticker collection! I can't forget that. What if someone wanted to see it!

Inevitably, the morning of departure we would get going later than planned. I would sit with my huge pink duffle bag packed to the point of explosion, as well as a separate bag full of things to occupy me in the van (usually just food, markers & paper... 3 of my favorite things!). It would frustrate me to no end to see my mom wiping down bathroom mirrors, and vacuuming (Always with the vacuum!) an hour after we were supposed to be out the door. I would whine and complain, and probably never offer to help, so that we could get out the door faster. I just didn't get it! We will be gone! Who cares if the floor has been vacuumed!

After a quick prayer and a reminder to use the washroom we would hit the road. We would sometimes make it passed the neighbour's, sometimes to then end of the block, and occasionally to the outskirts of town before something was announced:

"I forgot to lock the door."  

"I forgot my tooth brush."

"We forgot the dog." 

Then the turn around, the park in the driveway, and the rush inside. If we missed the bathroom or the prayer on the first round, we would hit it on the 2nd... and sometimes the 3rd. 

Well, we are going to Seattle tomorrow. And yet again I have become a wide-eyed-blurr. It's 2:13 am, and we are planning on catching the 7 am ferry. That means that I need to be awake in less than 3 hours... and yet here I am! Wet finger nails, wet hair, and a house, I might add, in order. I get it now- the vacuuming. To get home from a trip- even a day trip- to a messy house is one of the

grossest. 

feelings. 

ever.  

I hate walking in the door to smell a stenchy garbage, or see dishes in the sink. 

I know it seems crazy (especially to my husband) to stay up way too late to fold laundry, do dishes, and vacuum the floor. But to walk in to a clean house, after a long drive is such a great feeling. It's like a fresh-out-of-the-dryer-hug... I just really love it. 

I'm still me- I saved this weeks laundry until today because I wanted to make sure my favorites of Roland's clothes would be clean. I packed way too many clothes for a 3 day trip. I have my car bag ready- snacks, books & all.  And I can't sleep. 

So in reality, not much has changed. I still love going on trips. I just appreciate a vacuumed floor before I leave. 

-Ali

Summer...

Do you remember that feeling, when you were young; the day summer holidays started? Do you remember the rush of throwing away (or as I got older- burning) all your handouts & assignments & papers from the entire year? How about the song? Did you ever sing it?

No more reading

No more books

No more teacher's dirty looks

And then summer would start. I would sleep in. I would walk around barefoot until the calluses on the bottom of my feet grew so strong that I could pick raspberries in the back alley without a limp or a wince. I would sleep outside, under the stars. And I would feel the mosquitoes bite my sunburned skin. I wouldn't read a word or write a letter for the entire 2 months. And even though it was only 2 months, those 2 months felt like an eternity... a blissful barefoot-scraped kneed-dirty fingernailed- eternity. I loved summer. And I still do. 

As I've gotten older I just don't feel the same excitement about things like I used to. Even the things that I care for, or look forward to passionately, I can't muster up that same last-day-of-school-feeling. But luckily, there are moments that remind me. There are smells and tastes, and feelings that are purely summer, and when I experience them I can't help but feel that joyful-freedom-filled-bliss that summer used to be. Here are a few things that throw me back into my mushroom cut-jean short -barefoot self.

• The smell of freshly cut grass, mingled with the charcoaly smell of a burger on a barbie
• Stubbing/scraping my toe on the concrete
• The taste of fresh raspberries
• The taste of rootbeer popsicles
• The taste of carrots, fresh out of the garden... wiped off on my pants, or maybe rinse a little with the hose (preferably the top cut off by my dad's old hunting knife)
• Peas, right out of the pod
• The hot sun on my shoulders, and cold water on my feet
• Heavy summer night air, breathed from the comfort of a sleeping bag

I always felt cliche admitting that my favorite season was summer... but who cares about cliches- I LOVE SUMMER. As a prairie girl I got hot dry summers, with crazy rain storms, and insane mosquitoes. I cooled off in freezing mountain lakes, and built sand castles for frogs in sandy dunes at the edge of lakes that were dug out by men. I know my kids won't have the same summers that I did, but luckily there are a few things that I can still share with them. In fact, Roly and I sat and enjoyed some summer for quite a while yesterday. 

 Ro-Ro enjoying some fresh (Galley Farms) Raspberries. Our bushes this year are kind of pitiful.One day they will grow, and I won't have to PAY to taste summer. 

A great big pea pod from our garden! So delicious. 

Roly loved them. We sat and ate peas for like half an hour. 

I thought it was cute that Roland was clutching a pea pod and a dandelion in his little fist. 

Cheers to Summer.