Having a Bird

I am officially a blogger, it seems. Hubba Hubba's sister walked in this evening and asked if I had blogged about the bird. So, I'm going to blog about the bird.

I desperately wish I had pictures to show you, because I'm pretty sure they would speak volumes. At the very least, they'd be able to better convey to you the utter ridiculousness that was our home last evening. Sadly, the batteries in my camera chose yesterday to die. I went digging through the drawers and came up with 693 AAA batteries, but not enough AA batteries for my camera. Naturally.

It all began yesterday morning. There was a ton of snow that fell here, beginning Sunday evening. Now, when I say "ton", please understand that I'm referring to a Jersey ton. A ton of snow in The True North Strong and Free is a totally different thing. The snow we had here yesterday would not have closed schools in the TNSAF, or cancelled my worship team practice. Not that I didn't make the most of my new-found free time and waste an entire evening watching the worst Bachelor ever.

But I digress.

So, there was snow. A Jersey ton. Enough to send all the birds in a 2-mile radius to our house, looking for shelter. (It's the bird feeders. You know how you're more likely to find a hotel near a restaurant? Same concept.)

Well, four of them were successful. Yes, four. They made their way into our basement. Don't ask me how yet. I don't know.

Hubba Hubba's sister managed to shoo three of them up and out. (This is around the time I started looking for the camera. I should have remembered the video camera. That would have been even better.)

The fourth bird managed to elude my broom-wielding sister-in-law. So, we "forgot" about him for the day. I think we hoped he'd just find his way out the same way he came in. What we forgot to factor in was Chloe, our fierce fluff ball. She found Mr. Bird, and he made his way upstairs.

Now, by this point Hubba Hubba's mother had joined us for the evening. This is where it gets really interesting. There we were, three grown women chasing this poor bird around the house. The broom came back out. Doors were opened.

Skills were mocked.

As if my holding my hands out and sweetly asking Mr. Bird to come to me was any more ridiculous than Hubba Hubba's sister holding out the broom and asking Mr. Bird to hop on it.

Twice my sister-in-law had the bird in her hands. Twice he outsmarted her. We tried trapping him, shooing him, chasing him and throwing scarves over him. Wiggle Man found the whole process highly amusing. Hubba Hubba found it even funnier.

Twenty minutes later, the bird hopped out an open door.

At least Mr. Bird survived to tell the story to his birdie friends. Sometime I'll tell you about my mother-in-law's encounter with a bird one Christmas morning. That bird was not so lucky.

Who Do They Design These For?

So, last night Hubba Hubba and I went to the movies. I know, ladies--isn't he wonderful? He knew I needed a night out, so he arranged for someone to watch the Wiggle Man, and off we went. Slumdog Millionaire, by the way, is a great movie.

Here's my question--who is in charge of designing the bathroom stalls in movie theaters? Or restaurants, or malls, or any public place for that matter. Why is it so hard to get into these things, shut the door, and remove a coat? Am I the only one here? Is there some coat-removing etiquette I'm unaware of? And once you finally do manage to get your...umm...business done, you have to do the whole thing in reverse! Why do the doors on three quarters of these things open to the inside????? There's precious little space in there to begin with.

This drives me nuts. EVERY TIME.

On the plus side, this bathroom had one of those fabulous hand dryers that actually dries hands. You know the ones? The air comes out at such a high speed that the flesh on your hand spreads out under the stream of air. I LOVE these things. I want one at home. Just to play with.

Meanwhile, back at the farm...

Last night seemed like any ordinary night. There we were, sitting peacefully in the living room, watching The Cosby Show, which is one of Hubba Hubba's favourites. (I won't tell you some of the others, it might embarrass him.) It was a good episode--the one where Rudy's sick, and Claire is up for partner at her law firm, so Cliff has to take care of her. Funny, funny stuff. At least BoBo doesn't get his temperature taken "the baby way."

But back to our story. As I said, it seems calm and peaceful. Our family, watching good family programming together. A show I don't mind Wiggle Man watching. I guess he had a problem with it, though, so he did what you do when you have one of those problems:

He called 9-1-1.

Seriously. He'd been playing with our cordless phone when suddenly we heard a man's voice on the speakerphone. Hubba Hubba grabbed the phone, realised it was a 9-1-1 operator, and explained the situation.

Our story doesn't end there.

Twenty minutes later, 2 state troopers pulled in. With a spotlight attached to one of the cop cars. One officer came to the front door, one came to the side door. I was so nervous, I couldn't find the light switch for the porch light. Yeah. They're required to check out all 9-1-1 calls these days. Even accidental ones made by toddlers. They were very kind about it, thankfully. Maybe they have toddlers of their own at home.

Needless to say, Wiggle Man is banned from the phone until he's 46.

My brother-in-law, a former 9-1-1 Chief himself, found the whole thing very amusing.

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

On a completely different topic, I wanted to address some of the issues that have come up about Twilight.

The whole reason I began reading the book was to understand the hype, and be able to talk intelligently about it. (Sort of the same reasons I read books like The DaVinci Code.) I wasn't necessarily planning to end up liking it. Which I do, actually.

The vampire thing really doesn't bother me from a Christian perspective. I mean, we're dealing with mythical creatures. No one has a problem with the Narnia books (also favourites of mine) simply because they have pretend creatures in them. But C.S. Lewis, for the most part, maintains the traditional line between "good mythical guys" and "bad mythical guys/witches/evil guardians". Just because in this case the "good guys" are mythical creatures we typically cast as "bad guys" doesn't mean we're glorifying evil. In fact, I think it has a lot to say about judging people/vampires/werewolves/unicorns/other pretend things for who they are and what they do, rather than what category of fairy tale character they fit into.

Other people have problems with the sensuality of the book. And yeah, there are scenes in the book that I wouldn't want my daughter to read. (Not that I have a daughter, but you get the point.) I do, however, have a young son, and as I alluded to in the beginning of this post, there are things in our culture I'm not comfortable with him coming in contact with. Which is why, as a parent, I make decisions about what he sees on tv, what movies he watches, and what books I read to him.

I think this is an issue of age appropriateness. The people I have recommended the book to are all grown adults, married themselves, who are unlikely to be affected by the kissing scenes. (Which, in reality, are rather tame compared to some of what's out there in the mainstream media--but that's another soap box.)

I guess my point is this: Let's be aware, as parents and role models, of what we allow the children in our influence to read, watch, and listen to. Just because something is targeted at 14-year-old girls, doesn't necessarily mean it's appropriate for your 14-year-old daughter to read. Let's make our own parenting decisions, instead of letting the media do it for us. Let's remember that there are things that are appropriate for adults that are not appropriate for teenagers.

And let's look for the good lessons in books like this. Lessons like abstinence. (Yes, it's because of his vampirish strength, but also because Edward values marriage. No one talks about that part.) Lessons about the nature of good and evil, and redemption. Commitment. Sacrifice.

What are your thoughts about these books? I've said my piece--what's yours?

There's A Clarinet In My Bathroom...

There really is. Or, at least, there really was. Wiggle Man has found an old clarinet we had lying around (for my music studio...decor, not for actually playing, heaven forbid...) and has adopted it as his own. He marches around with it on a regular basis. You could say it has replaced the spatula for him. I had to step over his beloved clarinet to leave the bathroom this morning, as he'd brought in it, then left it.

Our weekend away was wonderful, even if it did require two trips back into town. It's about an hour drive. Unless you're me. Sunday morning.

I am what you might call directionally challenged. I chalk it up to learning to drive later in life. But really, maybe it's genetic or something.

At any rate, there I was, leaving the beach very very very early Sunday morning. I left 2 hours before I needed to be at church. (I always give myself extra "getting lost time" if it's the first time I've driven somewhere. Even if I've been there lots--if I've never actually been the one driving, I tend to get lost.)

Not surprisingly, I missed the very first exit. Or rather, I exited before I even got on the parkway. Long story. The gist of it is that I thought an arrow pointing to my right referred to where I needed to go. Not so much.

After a half an hour's "detour", I got onto the parkway, and everything was going swimmingly. Until I got to the next route I needed to take. There was a detour. Again, the signage was a little confusing, and I ended up backtracking for a bit, before realising that no, I was going the right way all along.

I like to think I'm a good driver. Directionally challenged, yes. But a good, safe driver over all. So, I'm carefully checking the speed limit. I see it's 35, so I slow down to 35. Eventually, I start getting nervous about how late it's getting, and with no other traffic to help me gauge my speed, I'm going 50. I don't realise this until I see another car coming down the road towards me. At the same time I realise I'm going 50, I realise this car coming towards me is a cop. Crap.

Crap, crap, crap.

He goes past me. I see him brake, then make a u-turn and start following me. I'm sweating like a pig, hoping and praying he decides to cut me a break since I'm now going exactly the speed limit. I get hopeful as he keeps following me, sans lights and nerve-wracking siren. Until I realise he's just waiting for a good spot to pull me over. Which he eventually does.

I have never, ever, ever, ever been pulled over before. Never. I've been in cars when other people have, but never have I been a driver pulled over.

I may have been shaking to the point that it was difficult to give the officer my license and registration, but I did not cry. Waiting for him to check my license and registration took forever and I was suddenly afraid the registration was expired (it wasn't) but I did not cry. I thanked him kindly when he just gave me a warning, and I still did not cry.

Not until after the officer left, anyway.

I Can Hear You Pee...

Am I the only one who likes to make up songs and/or rewrite lyrics to existing songs? I mean, one of Wiggle Man's favourite songs is "Ja-boom, Ja-boom." I made it up one day when he was little, and he seems to think it's funny. It's nothing profound--the actual words are quite silly.

It all started in college. My roommate was a singer, and she sang. All the time. Still does. When she talks to you, she's often actually singing to you. When she first met me, one of the first things she learned about me is that when I laugh, my butt shakes. It really does. She was sitting beside me, I started laughing, and she jumped up and told everyone that when The Canadian (as I was known) laughs, her butt shakes.

So she made up a song:

(To the tune of "Maniac" by Michael Sembello )

She's Canadian, Canadian--
And her butt shakes.
And she's laughing like she's never laughed before.

Again, nothing profound, but there were people on campus who didn't know me personally who knew that song. That was a little unsettling. I think you should be on a first name basis with someone before they know that your butt shakes.

I got my revenge, however. Years of living with someone provide ample opportunities, and I discovered her weakness. She, like many people, does not like to be heard peeing. Yup, she can't stand it. Naturally, with my perverse sense of humour, I thought this needed a song. I mean, who doesn't want a soundtrack to their bathroom visits? Maybe someone who doesn't want anyone to hear them pee....

So I came up with this:

(To the tune of "Breathe" by Faith Hill)
I can hear you pee,
Peeing next to me,
Suddenly I'm peeing next to you;
It's not a number two,
Baby all I have to do is pee.
Caught up in the gush,
The slow and steady flush,
Baby isn't that the way that pee's supposed to be?
I can hear you pee.

So, what I'm wondering is, am I the only one? Are there more of us who sing all the time, even if it's ridiculous? I'm anxious to hear your songs, friends. Leave me a comment with your favourite made-up song--yours, or someone else's. You probably won't win anything (OK, you definitely won't-I still haven't mailed out prizes from Pay It Forward, but they're coming, I promise) but we all like a chance to show off. Here's yours.

I'm Not From Around Here...

Every once and a while, something will happen that reminds me I'm not actually from here. It's not always a big thing, and sometimes it's just a reminder that I grew up in a more...urban setting, shall we say. So it's a little odd sometimes that my nearest neighbours are nurseries and cows. Cows that like to escape and hang out on the church steps Sunday morning. But that's another story for another day.

Today's story is The Groundhog. It's always The Groundhog. Like there can't be more than one, or something. Hubba Hubba and his father are always talking about The Groundhog roaming around our properties. I could understand their concern if we actually had crops we were worried about.

Anyway, I guess Groundhog Fever gets us all, eventually, because this afternoon when my sister-in-law pointed, aghast, out the window at "the hugest groundhog" I went running. And then grabbed the camera, thinking Hubba Hubba would want to see The Groundhog to End All Groundhogs. Seriously. We might not have crops for this thing to eat, but we do have chickens, and I think he could take one down.

If you're not familiar with the stats on groundhogs, let me tell you: this guy is huge. The picture doesn't do him justice. (Apparently the camera removes pounds from groundhogs. How do I make this work for me?)

If this pretty little lady doesn't look worried, she should. There's a monster hiding under her bed! (Well...under her house...so I guess that counts.)

Play Dough Update

Oh, how I wish I had my camera at school with me yesterday for the first class using my super homemade Play Dough. So instead, you'll all have to use the power of your imaginations. All 7 of you reading this. (I installed a counter the other day--check out my staggering stats!)

My charming 2nd graders were the first to experience the green dough. I explained what we were doing with it, and gave them each a small ball of dough. It seemed a little less...firm...than when I put it in the fridge (as instructed) the night before. In my early morning grogginess ("groggy head" as my Dad used to call it) I thought, hey--they just need to work with the dough and it will firm up again.

Oh no.

What I quickly had on my hands was a class of 7 year olds who were surprisingly upset to be covered in green mush.

Amid cries of "Don't touch ANYTHING" and "Line up QUIETLY" I got them to the bathrooms, and with my Principal's help (who of course, was walking through the hall at just that moment--thankfully he's a kind, sympathetic, humorous man!) we got them cleaned up in time to go back to class.

Needless to say, the lesson with the Play Dough was altered to subsequent classes.

The moral of the story? Make sure the Play Dough has completely cooled before you put in in a sealed container in the fridge. Condensation can be a real drag.

While You Were Sleeping

When you were a kid, did you ever wonder what your Mom did while you were napping? To this day, the theme music to The Young and The Restless makes me feel it's nap time. Apparently my afternoon nap coincided with that show.


When I put Wiggle Man down for his nap, I usually tell him not to worry. Mommy won't be doing anything fun while he's sleeping. But in case he wonders, and happens to be a regular Poutine reader, here's what I did during his nap (so far, anyway):


1. Showered, since I didn't get that in before he woke up this morning.


2. Caught on on email, Facebook, and read the blogs I follow.


3. Did this:



4. Snacked on a Sneaky Chef brownie or two (I mean, they have blueberries and spinach in them...not a bad morning snack, right? Ahem.)

5. Finished this:

Not bad for a nap's worth of work--and Wiggle Man isn't even up yet! (A dangerous statement to make, I know.)

In case it's not blatantly obvious what I've been doing with my time, that's homemade Play Dough. I need it for a lesson I'm teaching tomorrow at the school, but it will also come in handy amusing Wiggle Man. At least, that's the plan.

If you're looking for an easy recipe to make your own Play Dough, I got this from TeachNet.com. It's pretty easy, and if your kid likes to eat things like mine, you might feel better knowing it's edible. Ish. And check out The Sneaky Chef--I love her stuff!

I Can See You...

Once upon a time, there was a lovely girl named Jenn. Jenn went on an African adventure one day, to visit some people who loved Jesus. She got really loved on by the people who loved Jesus. They invited her into their homes, shared their food, laughed, cried, sang and prayed with her. They did all the things Jesus said to do to show love.

Just before it was time to come home, Jenn and her friends went on safari to see the animals. After a long morning, they stopped for breakfast by the river. Because they were in the middle of the African grasslands, her friends told her the only potty was a bush off to the side. She really needed to use the potty, so she went. But not by herself. This was the African wilderness, after all.

When Jenn and her friends were done, they noticed some of the boys pointing off in the distance in front of their potty bush. When they looked, this is what they saw:

No wonder Jenn didn't feel alone when she was using the potty bush.