My Triumphant Return to Thursday Thirteen (or something like that)

My husband accidentally took a week long vacation last week.

He had just pulled a marathon of sorts; 14 days straight, no break. His days are not your typical work days; he works a minimum of 10 hours a day, averages 12, once a week pulls a 14-hour-er. He gets 6 days off a month. We NEVER see him.

Since he worked a months' worth of hours in two weeks, he took a few days off. And then we celebrated Canada Day. The day before Canada Day, he only had to go in for 5 hours. Voila! One whole week off.

I can't remember the last time he had a whole week off. I was, honestly, afraid I might be forced to ram the heel of a green glitter plastic Princess high heel into his temple by the end of the week. We just never spend that much one-on-one time, you know?

I am happy to report, all the dress-up shoes are intact, and aside from a few muscles being sore due to overuse (you go right ahead and run with that one) no one is worse for the wear. In fact, I find myself wishing he had a normal-ish schedule. He left for work yesterday, and I missed him. Weird, I know.

There is a point, I promise. We did a lot of stuff over that week. I took a butt-load of pictures, and I have no clue where to start in showing them all to you. I am way behind in the internet loop, I haven't had to cook dinner once for 7 days straight, and I feel the pressing need to keep the laundry up to date all of a sudden. Pictures, for once in my life, are a the bottom of my priority list.

(I am pretty sure I was stolen and replaced with an exact replica. A pretty decently laid replica. Just sayin'.)

Anyhoo, I think I'll ease into some highlights of the past few weeks with these lovely shots of my pretend celebrity girlfriend, who I got to spend a ragin' day with a few weeks ago. Remember how the Dragonboat races came to Vancouver a few weeks back? Yeah, we spent the whole day downtown, crutches be damned.

Dragonboat Races
I'm cute. I'm almost a teen. I'm obnoxious.

We wandered around, ate some corn on the cob, watched a few races, had our picture taken with pop culture icons.

Almost creepy.
No, it's not lost and no, we can't keep it.

We got facepaints, because facepaints are the coolest.

TattoosYeah, that\'s them in a nutshell.
If that isn't the definitive picture of my sons, I don't know what is.

And right there next to the facepaint tent, lo and behold, one of the Dragonboat teams. But not just any old team.

LA Dragons
They were the only American team to make the top 8.

Recognize anyone? Look closely. Oh, it also helps if you occasionally read this guy's blog. Right there, 2nd row, 3rd in from the right, that would be Auntie Mei. As in, Fury's Auntie Mei, of BusyDad fame. Who is awesome. We stalked her up propa, shook hands, nibbled on my adorable baby, and then let her get back to racing.

Then we let the 2 little ones play on the playground, while 1of3 refined his mad Emo Teenager skilz.

Broken Feet can suck it.
I love this picture. Yes, I delight in my children's misery.

We hung out until that poor boy's foot couldn't take it anymore, and then headed home. Before we did, we thought it would be a good idea to take advantage of the amazing culinary delights from around the world that Vancouver is so infamous for offering.

A man of the WorldAt least I gave him milk.
Discriminating tastes, that's us.

And then we hoped on the SkyTrain and headed home, where my daughter who had been a perfect f'ing angel al day decided that right then was a fine time to exfoliate her sun-drentched skin with Blue Rasberry Bonnie Bell lipgloss. I didn't even know she was doing it until I noticed a woman a few seats down staring at her, gaging a little.

Like a spa treatment, only less awesome.
It was way more horrifying than it looks.

Then i was forced to take the obligatory self-portrait, since Mr Rude Cactus is always telling me I'm not narcissistic enough, so here is it, brother.

I smelled really bad right about then.
This really terrible Bud's for you.

Are you still here? Yeah, I barely am, too. Anyway, next day, downtown, coffeeshop, me and Auntie Mei and 3of3. We met, we wooed, we made exchange of cheesy camera phone pictures.

Future Auntie-In-Law-MeiGoofey, pho sho.Yeah, it\'s cute.  I\'ll admit it.

And that was it. We said goodbye, she hopped on a plane home, and I am happy to have made a new friend. We had a great time, for sure. Which was good, because right after this, Hell Week Little League Championship Week started.

But that's a whole other story....

See the other Thursday Thirteen's here.


Those of you who are not on Twitter or Facebook or Cre8Buzz (and really, if you're not on Cre8Buzz, what exactly are you waiting for?) may not know that I got suckered into stepped up to the plate for my kid and volunteered to coach his Little League team.

There are just a few issues with this.

I hate other people's kids. Not all of them, mind you, but for the most part, people's kids are shitheads. Two of the boys on the team hate me. Well, women. They hate women. How do I know? When I pull them in to talk to them about respect, and how they talk to me, they say, "Um, where's our real coach?" Really? I am, dude. "No, you're the team MOM." No you little fucking cocksucker, I am the COACH. And I will sit your ass out in a motherfucking heartbeat if you roll your little womanizing eyes at me one more time. I Double Dog Dare you to try me on this one.

I hate other kids parents. What do the jerk-off dads of the asshole kids do through this whole thing? Stand there. Giggling. It's going to be a long season.

I have played exactly ZERO baseball games in my whole life. This gives me the slightest little handicap in the whole "teaching other people" department. Fortunately, I am a fast study. And they gave me a handbook.

I can't throw a ball for shit.

I am not quite strong enough to properly lock the equipment shed, which is 15,765 years old and made of lead and the eenciest bit warped. My angle for this? Get there early, earlier than ANYONE, and unlock it, set up my field, and play dumb blond when the other coach says, "But we're the home team. We're supposed to set up." Ooooo, I didn't know! Oopsie. (This is where the boobie shirt really pays off)

Me? In a Baseball cap? Like Britney without any makeup on. Like Jack Nicholson in the morning. Like the kid from Mask. Not. Cool.

I have three kids. One of which is two. Only one of which is on the team. Baby wearin' is frowned upon in the middle of a baseball field during play.

Did I mention that I've never played baseball before?

I have the tiniest little potty mouth problem. Just sayin'.

Since I am a girl, the moms of the kids on the team think it's totally okay to come up to me and ask about the baby, and tell me how proud they are of their son, and how though all the rest of the kids are total shits, well, see how good my boy is being and aren't I a great parent and my isn't that a low-cut top you have on and do you knit because I just got this new pattern and shut the hell up, woman. I'm busy over here.

I have a nasally voice. I can't help it; I was born that way and you try living in Philadelphia during your formative years. It's not exactly the hottest of accents. Point is, I don't exactly command attention. Maybe I should go for the Fran Drescher thing. NO ONE can ignore that evilness.

Really, I've only ever even once watched a baseball game start to finish, and I am pretty sure I was fairly intoxicated and quite possibly making out with someone through most of it.

And the biggest problem of all? The real kicker? I am, and please don't repeat this, I am kind of liking it. As in, enjoying it. Shitty kids aside (I have awesome stink-eye; that'll be nipped in the bud) it's kind of, well, err, um, fun?

Someone get me Chrysler on the phone. It appears I'll be needing that minivan after all.

See all the Thursday Thirteens here.

Why America is Cooler Than Canada, A Continuing Series

My Thirteen. See the others here.

13. Netflix

12. HBO

11. Carters Baby Clothes

10. Emeril's Creole Seasoning

9. Mr. Goodbar


7. The imperial system of measurement. The metric system is the only arbitrary unit of measurement. The Cubit? Your forearm. The foot? YOUR FOOT. The meter? The distance from the North Pole to the Equator, divided ten million times. Leave it to Napoleon to make it as obscurely difficult as freaking possible to measure something.

6. One National language. Incidentally, French is the ONLY class my *ahem* former honor role gifted and talented dork of a kid pulled an A in last semester.

5. Prostitution is illegal. Because, I mean, if you're going to be all naughty, and apparently you are, you might as well get to experience a fully naughty moment. It's more exciting if you don't have permission. Or so I hear. Around. And stuff. Moving on...

4. Pasta. P-ah-sta. Not P-aaaa-sta. Pahsta. It's just the way things should be. I'll give them colour and humour and even eh? is growing on me, but I am putting my damn foot DOWN on pasta.

3. iPhones. TARGET.

2. Health care. There, I said it. I feel dirty and traitorous, and I think the little liberal in me just shot herself in the right temple. But, seriously guys, you get what you pay for. Now, having done my 'broke as a joke single waitress mother with absolutely no insurance and three kids, one of which was a baby and one has a chronic, life-threatening illness' (oh, it's just asthma. Relax.) stint, I certainly lovelovelove and appreciate being able to walk into any doctor, any day, and not worry that maybe I have only $3.29 in the bank. I love that my three 3 ER trips so far combined have cost me $3,000 less than the one trip I had in Denver with the baby. That one cost me, guess...$3,000. EVERYONE SHOULD HAVE GOOD, QUALITY HEALTH CARE. But.....Not everyone should have to have government issued and regulated health care, and have that only. Do they not realize how many tax dollars they could save by giving this (admittedly sufficient) health care only to those who needed it, even if they left the margin of Needed It very, very wide? Given the choice, I would opt out and go private. There, I just saved Canada $12K. (I am SO not talking about prescriptions in here. You guys in the states are getting so freaking screwed, you have no idea. Even those of you who think you know, you don't. It's almost laughable.)

I have had very adequate health care here. I went to the doctor last week, told him I had a sinus infection, he wrote me an Amox scrip, told me not to fill it until I tried saline rinses for a week, and sent me on my merry way. Even when I was asking a doctor to please for the love of god up my dosage of meds before I jumped off a cliff, I was in and out in 5 minutes. You want antibiotics? Here you go! You want antidepressants? No problem. Next time, I'm going for Valium. Maybe they just don't fuck around here, but I get the distinct impression that the medical system as a whole is trying as hard as it can to do as much as it can as fast as it can. This just doesn't bode well in the "whole body care" department for me. I guess my point is that here, it is GOOD, but it's not exactly thorough. And it's really inefficiently run. But that's another chapter.

1. Freedom of motherfucking Speech, motherfuckers. David wrote about this yesterday, and it is the catalyst for this whole tirade of mine. Apparently, in Canada, stupid asshats can sue people for having differing political views and airing them out in a paid for, self hosted website. Oh My God, the Conservatives are TYPING! Someone STOP THEM!
Richard Warman has brought almost half these cases single-handledly, getting websites he doesn

Their bones are soft. They bounce.

Today, I present for your reading pleasure, thirteen of the 5,671 injuries my children have sustained over the past 10 years and my corresponding reaction, on a scale of 1-10, one being, "Eh." and 10 being, "Ouch, my head just exploded."

1. Faceplant at pool on concrete. Cracks concrete, cracks kid. Reaction? 3. Popsicles makes everything better.

2. Attempt to channel Buzz Lightyear. Rips half face off. Reaction? 2. It was really funny. You had to be there.

3. Golf club to head. By brother. Reaction? 1. Time outs for everyone!

4. Baby tumbles down 6 concrete steps. Readjusts, makes another tumble down 6 MORE concrete steps. While dad was, um, err...busy. Making a morning deposit, you know? Reaction? 2. I was a work. It was too good to not laugh at.

5. Retaliatory baseball bat to head. You know, for the golf club. SIX MONTHS LATER. Reaction? -2. That shit was hilarious.

6. 2 year old gets tossed about 8 feet in the air by neighbor and then failed in every way to get CAUGHT by said neighbor. Concussion, hematoma ensued. Reaction? 6. Total freak out, no hospital. And still went to work that night.

7. Fall from playground at stupid restaurant. Total concussion. Awful concussion. Reaction? 2. Until an hour later, at a movie, when I had to catch 15 tons of vomit shooting out of that kid right when ET started talking. Then the reaction? Like, 10. I. Caught. Vomit. Hey, it was our first concussion. I had no idea what they were.

8. Captain Asthma! spends a week in the fancy wing of Children's Hospital due to absolute failure to do anything resembling breathing. Reaction? 8. A totally appropriate 8.

9. First kid born with crooked urethra. Reaction? 10. Meltdown 10. The world just ended 10. Appropriate reaction? Um, 0.

10. Kid biffs it on bike. Blood everywhere. Rocks embedded in skin. Reaction? 1. Starts in with the 'You know, when I was a kid we just had to pee on it' or some shit. Stops self. Upps reaction to 2.

11. Baby gets croup. Third baby gets croup. Third baby after 6 smaller siblings gets croup. Third baby after 6 smaller siblings and after reading Anne of Green Gables 15 bazillion times gets croup. Reaction? 14. $3,000 and one night in the ER later, lesson learned.

12. Kid slices finger open on Christmas day with brand new cub scouts pocket knife. Reaction? 1. Wipes knife off, hands it back. Soaks shirt drenched in blood, gets back to the cookies.

13. Toddler gets mowed down at gymnastics by another toddler in a swing. Eyes roll back in head. No cries, no nothing. Instantly falls asleep. Stays asleep for almost an hour, while being poked and tickled. Reaction? 50.

I have never been so freaked out by anything in my whole life. The nurse in the ER kept coming and asking me if I was ok. This was, hands down, our worst injury thus far. She was not right. And this was, hands down, my most inappropriate reaction to any of the injuries. Funny thing is, she was totally out until she spied with her little eye a baby playhouse in the corner of the ER waiting room. And then? The kid was Right. As. Rain.

She's fine, and I am recovering nicely, too. She really doesn't want to go to gymnastics anymore, either. So I have that going for me, which is nice.

Thirteen Somethings Click the icon to visit the TT Hub.

I love being a girl

Welcome to the chickiest chicky post you will ever read here at Chez Mr Lady. Today we are discussing the 13 men I'd give it all up for, in no particular order, and completely regardless of the fact that they are not real.

Dude, Tony Soprano? What? Are you kidding me over here? That boy is scrumptious with a little slice of cocky asshole.

Sam Beckett. To you, I say only this, "You had me at QUANTUM."

I could not tell you why I love Paul Buchman so, because in real life, Paul Reiser makes me want to hit things. Maybe it's the Jewish guy from New York thing. I totally dig that. I also dig the 'bumbling idiot' thing, and he's got that going for him, which is nice.

You're totally thinking Law & Order, right? WRONG. Try the bi-sexual serial killer on OZ. Dude, I loved OZ so much it burned. And Chris Keller? Totally the best character. He was so deliciously fucked up.

Awwwww. Say it with me, "Awwwwww."

Ok. I love Jim. Jim is chocolate dipped chocolate ice cream in a chocolate waffle cone. I LOVE Jim.