{August 6, 2013}   Are you a Belieber?

Guess who was on my flight to Los Angeles?  You’re never going to believe it. C’mon, guess! Do you give it? It was none other than Patricia Mallette. What? You never heard of her? Really?  Are you sure? She’s about 5 feet tall and she wrote a book.  I think it was on the New York Times best seller list. It’s an autobiography. It’s about her and her son named Justin Bieber.  Yes! That’s right!  I had the Biebs’ mum onboard.  She was quite lovely,  actually.  Very down to earth. You’d never know from her demeanor that her son made 55 million dollars last year.

You’ll never guess which passenger she was sitting next to.  No, not THE Biebs himself,  but close. It was a stranger,  actually.  They didn’t know each other prior to the flight.  His name was Mr. Beaver. Seriously! No joke. That’s what was written on his boarding card. Mr. M. Beaver. What’s the chances?

When Mr. Beaver came up front to use the lavatory,  one of the flight attendants asked him if he knew who he was sitting next to. The man replied that he eventually figured it out. When they were chatting,  Mr. Beaver asked Mrs. Bieber what brought her to L.A. Was she in the ‘industry’? Mrs. Bieber replied to Mr. Beaver that her son is a musician and she was going to visit him in the Valley. Mr. Beaver told us that he knew that Justin Bieber lives in the Valley and put two and two together. After they chatted, Mr. Beaver went to sleep and Mrs. Bieber had a beer.  

Then the cat in the hat declared that he could not, would not in a house. Not in a box. Not with a mouse. He did not like green eggs and ham.

And then, along with Mrs. Bieber and Mr. Beaver, we landed.



The end.


{June 6, 2013}   THE PHONE CALL

Last week,  I was at home, minding my own business and trying to keep busy (yes, it is extremely  difficult  to keep busy with three young  kids!). 

I was on the phone with my bank when lo and behold,  my other line rang. I asked the nice banking woman to hold on a minute while I answered call waiting:


Hi. This is your son’s teacher.  Do you have a minute?

Yes, hang on. I’ll just get off the other line.

I swiftly hung up on the banking person. My mind was racing with different scenarios of why my younger son’s teacher was calling me during the school day.  What did he do this time? I started sweating and hyperventilating a little.  I was forming apologies in my head to extend to the teacher or the latest victim. I was crafting firm punishments to force upon my son as soon as he walked through the front door. I imagined saying in a Ricky Ricardo voice: Lucy, you have some ‘splainin to do.

I took a few deep breathes and a couple of swigs of booze (conveniently kept close for JUST these occasions) and used up all my courage to breathe:

Hello? I’m back.

Yes. I am just calling about something that happened today at school.  I tested all the children’s reading levels today and your son scored a 28 out of 30. Even though he is in grade two, his reading level is two thirds through grade three.

Wow! That was not the phone call I expected to get.

Well, I thought it would be nice to get a feel good phone call for a change.

Thanks!  I really appreciate it!

Both your son’s are great readers. You are very lucky that they enjoy reading. In fact,  I think your middle son might even be a higher achiever reader than your oldest son was at the same age.

Thank you but I think I had something to do with their love of reading!

Oh yes. Of course.

Thanks for the phone call.  Bye.

And that was that. I worried for nothing. I drank in the middle of the day (gasp. BEFORE noon) and all by my lonesome for no good or valid reason. Something to think about, indeed.

When my son came home from school, I gave him a great big hug and told him how proud I was of him.

When my husband got home, I told him that our son got a call from his teacher today.

Instantly, he started sweating and shaking with anticipation of the news from today’s PHONE CALL.

I silently chuckled and sat back to enjoy the show.

{May 14, 2013}   Love You Forever

When I was pregnant for the first time, I received a Robert Munsch book at my baby shower from my aunt.  It was called ‘Love You Forever’. My aunt wrote a lovely message in it which included: Once you are a parent,  you will truly understand the words and meaning. 

I heard through others that the book was a real tearjerker. That night, I decided to test it out. With my baby boy tucked safely in my womb, I read the book from cover to cover. Hmm. Nothing. No tears. Ha! I knew I was tough.

In the book, the mum sings a specific song to her son from the day he was born until he becomes a new dad himself.


I’ll love you forever,

I’ll like you for always,

As long as I’m living

my baby you’ll be.Image


After my son was born, I read him the Robert Munsch book and couldn’t get through it without choking up. I chalked up the tears to baby hormones.  

Ten years later,  I have read the book many times over to my three children and I still can’t get through it without waterfalls. No baby hormones to blame.

Last night,  I tried reading the book to my daughter using silly voices to stave off the tears.  We laughed. My method worked…almost. I guess I am soft after all.







{April 28, 2013}   Spy mum

My children  love all the Spy Kids movies. So do I. I mean, hello Antonio Banderas!

My son, in all seriousness asked me the other day, “Mum, if you were a spy, would you tell me?” I answered,  “Of course! Or would I….”

Sometimes, when I am at work, I feel like I AM a spy. I can open locked doors using only my fingerprint.  Just. Like. That. True story. Or I  can also unlock a passageway with an eye scan. If that doesn’t scream out spy world, I don’t know what does!

When I first got hired at my airline,  I had to get a security clearance to allow me assess to all needed areas of the airport. Basically, they did a background check of me and my entire family, down to what colour underwear we prefer wearing (black). Somehow, I passed.

Now, when I need to open locked doors, I tap my security pass with the special microchip onto an electronic  pad. Then I either press my fingerprint onto the pad or do an iris scan. Hey presto! Open sesame. Then, I change into my spy clothes and fly in the sky. Or something like that. I can’t divulge any more spy secrets or I may have to kill you. I’ve already said too much…


Sunday morning, the kids woke up and excitedly ran downstairs to search high and low for the eggs that the Easter bunny hid for them. They couldn’t find even one! Dad then  told them that he had gone  outside to put the recycling out and stumbled upon an egg. A herd of three children scrambled upstairs and outside to search and rescue 21 hidden eggs. They successfully completed their mission within minutes. Satisfied, they headed back inside and proceeded to sort their candy and started the all important task of trading their goods with each other.  The rest of the day for them consisted of sneaking off and eating lollies without mum or dad seeing. (ya right! I was on to them!)

Lucky for me, I had some important egg hunting to do as well. Why should the kids have all the fun? My oldest son had complained the night before that his head was itchy. I got out my super duper deluxe lice kit, and went to work. Crap! The Easter bunny hid many eggs (nits) on my son’s head too. But they weren’t filled with candy and chocolate and there were more than 21 of them. So, I spent several hours scouring his head looking for eggs and pesky lice. One of my least favourite jobs! 

My poor son…he catches EVERYTHING.  This is his fourth encounter with lice that he (probably) caught at school. Boy…does he have clean hair, or what! He’s had pink eye, the  stomach flu numerous times and he gets unexplained hives every year. I

Back to the Easter weekend lice-athon,  we spent the rest of it shunned by the outside world and held in isolation. My daughter also caught the critter special. Boy oh boy. More egg hunting for me even though Easter is almost over. Can’t wait to see what is in store next year!


{March 13, 2013}   Like gag me with a spoon

A couple of nights ago,  I threw up many times.  I started my evening just not feeling quite right and was pretty sure that at some point,  I was going to puke. Normally, I would do just about anything not to upchuck: plead with a higher power, sell my first born (no wait, maybe my second) or anything else I could think of. This time, I was at peace with the imminent vomitus. 

I shouldn’t have been surprised about my upset tummy,  as in the last month,  both my daughter and middle son had their turn with the stomach flu. 

I went to bed early,  waiting for that feeling to arrive. Sure enough, at about 10:30 pm,  I calmly got out of bed and waited for the action to start. About a minute later, it was showtime. It was violent. Everything came up. I didn’t look at IT as I kept my eyes closed. But, I am pretty sure my stomach content was empty. I wiped my mouth, washed my hands and went back to bed. 

Instead of wallowing in self-pity and questioning, ‘Why me?’, I lay in bed and admired my son and daughter who had recently encountered the same kind of night as I just had. Throwing up sucks. I HATE it. I know no one really likes it but I REALLY REALLY hate it. But, my children were so brave when it was their time of need and threw up like champs.  Okay, my son did declare once that he was dying, but other than that, they were true puking warriors.

I knew, from watching my children do the deed, that I’d have  at least 2 or 3 more puking fests before I could retire from that chapter for the time being.

Sure enough, not soon after, vomit number two was rearing its ugly head and once again I made it to the porcelain bowl with plenty of time to spare.  As I had suspected, there was no food left in my stomach but my body tried to bring whatever up it could anyway. As my stomach was convulsing,  I was thinking how amazing my body is that it could do that. I was in awe of the act of puking.

Vomiting is the act of forceful expulsion of the content of your stomach; up through the esophagus and out through the mouth or nose. There is actually a spot in the human brain stem called the vomiting centre. This part communicates to the rest of the body that it needs to vomit. It sends a message and soon after, the abdominal muscles begin to contract, forcing the stomach contents out. Vomiting must run its course. Isn’t the body so fascinating!

Anyway,  sure enough, I had to get out of bed a few more times before I was able to get some shut eye at around 3:30 am. 

As interesting as this all is, I hope not to experience the amazing abilities of my vomiting centre for a very long time.

{January 19, 2013}   Penis allergy

Sometimes our kids say the cutest things and you get all warm and fuzzy.  Or sometimes they say the funniest things and you repeat it to all your friends and family.  Then there are the times when they talk and you just want to hide under a rock because you are so embarrassed.  These are their stories:

We were all invited to a birthday party.  All the kids were having fun. When the mum of the birthday boy brought out the Angry Birds birthday cake, we all sang happy birthday and the candles were blown out. Good times!  The mum then turned to my middle son and asked if he was allergic to peanuts. He replied: No, I am allergic to penises. Of course, that got a huge laugh and got the party started,  so to speak.  

I apologized profusely but it was laughed off. You always wonder how your children will act at other people’s homes. Now I know!

The birthday boy’s two year old brother’s favourite word is now ‘ penis’. He says it all the time.  But, our friend,  ‘the mum’ swears that her little guy did not learn that word from us!

et cetera