The Shape of Things

Howdy folks...I'm on a Rule Roll...another entry straight away pour vous. I have a couple more Sorcha tales that are sure to amuse, but ones that I thought should be separate from the last tale.

In case you've spent a fair bit of time in a dark dwelling such as a cave or have spent a year or 2 under a rock, you know that Barack Obama is now the president of the USA. Last week on inauguration day, Sorcha came home from school and told my hubby and I that they watched part of the inauguration ceremony at school. I found that fascinating because as far as I know back in October when Stephen Harper became Prime Minister...again...they didn't watch diddly about it at school. The following is a conversation I had with Sorcha.

"Really?" I asked, "You watched part of the swearing in ceremony at school?"
"Yip"
"So, you know what the president looks like? You could pick him out of a line up?"
"Yes"
"Does he seem like a nice guy?"
"Yes"
Pause
"Do you know what Stephen Harper looks like?"
"No"

This seems sad except that, and I won't Harp (Ha!) on this too much, he's not very memorable...for some. I however, can't wipe his plastic hair and smile from my mind...But let me add, that if you asked Sorcha who the Canadian Prime Minister was, she would tell you Stephen Harper. She knows a lot more about Prime Ministers then I do as she has a place mat with all of them up to and including Paul Martin on it. She even, when quizzed by me just for kicks, correctly answered, who the only Prime Minister with a mustache was. Do you know? In case you're not walking around with a $100 in your pocket, it's Sir Robert Borden. Tell your friends! They're sure to be impressed! Now, some others did have facial hair, but he was the only one to sport JUST a mustache.

OK, next on our list of tales...

For Christmas my mother gave Sorcha a Mickey Mouse Clubhouse DVD. It turns out it's for wee kids, (and similar in context to Dora the Explorer where the main character doesn't seem to know much about his or her environment so is constantly looking at the screen and asking the kids watching to point out "Where Boots is" for example even though he is CLEARLY right beside her...) but she still enjoys it for the most part. However, Sorcha being quite literal in her thinking gets very indignant at times about certain things she watches when she just can't wrap her head around why they are the way they are. One day she says "You know the Mickey Mouse in Micky Mouse Clubhouse? Well...I don't understand because he has his license, he owns a car, but...he doesn't know his shapes!" She understands that the show is a learning show for little ones, but she figures that if he's going to teach kids WHILE driving, he should not pretend he doesn't know his shapes as it's very silly and misrepresents what a person (or mouse) should know BEFORE they get behind the wheel of a car. I happen to agree with her. Why do characters have about as smart as a box of hair so that kids feel like they are learning? But that I think, should be another blog entry altogether.

So long for now,

I'll leave you to get your Cin on.

PS: I'd like to pass on a lovely Hello to good friend Jason Gemmill. I learned the immortal phrase "Smart as a box of hair" from him.

Tell Me What's the Circumstance of Circumcision?

Hello Blog Fans

The title of the this entry is no great creation of mine, but of the Barenaked Ladies. It's a clever line a song called "I know" from their third album "Born on a Pirate Ship".


A couple of weeks ago, Sorcha took a book, a kids book, out of the library about Egypt. One quiet afternoon while intently reading about the pyramids, the desert and the Nile, she stopped suddenly and with a look of sheer incredulity on her face she asks "Mummy? What are they doing?" I take the book from her to see this (see picture below)....







"Huh...well...that's an interesting thing to put in a kids book..." I said...slightly bemused..

"What are they doing?"

I thought for a few seconds about the best way to handle this delicate circumstance and thought that in this case honesty probably was the best policy.

"Well...I could tell you. Do you want me to tell you? It's a bit icky..."

"OH I don't want to know about icky stuff!!"

"Well, Sorcha, you're going to have to learn about icky stuff eventually. Do you want me to tell you?"

"...OK..."

So, without a full transcription of our conversation, let me just say that, based on the basics of the male anatomy that she knows, I told her as delicately, but as truthfully, as I could with out being too "icky".

"Oh...OK..." she says...looking pretty confused as she tried to digest this new and probably disturbing information about the society in which she was being raised.

"But why are they holding his arms back?" (see picture)

"Oh...well...back then, they didn't have anything to freeze that area with so that they wouldn't feel any pain so it probably hurt quite a bit and my guess is that he didn't WANT to get this done."

And there you have it. I suppose I could have denied knowing what they were doing or said she wasn't ready to know, but I think that would have been a bad thing. She's only 7 yes, but I was too when I started to ask questions about all the "icky stuff". And my answers will be calculated in a way, based on her age at the time she asks, but I will be honest because that's how I roll. She's growing up and unlike the crocodiles in Egypt, I won't live in De Nile.

Until next time,
Cin with the best.

The Long Hot Shower

I have a confession to make...

I am guilty of the long, hot shower.

It is a beacon of watery escape.
A security blanket disguised as a waterfall.
As I surrender to its warmth
I feel safe and protected
It's rhythmic hum blocks out other noises beyond the frogs
and leaves me at peace with my own thoughts.

I then however, become victim of the long, hot shower.

For the seclusion of the tub with it's vinyl curtain,
the sound of the steady fall of therapy will not block out,
will not let me forget all the thoughts that make me weary.
I am glued to my hot spot as I sort through a mind full of
longing, guilt, cynicism and wrath.
But in there I feel no pain.

For them, I become crusader of the long hot shower.

When I step out of my steamy haven
and face the realities of my happy world,
I feel better, I feel comforted and relaxed.
The shower washes away the dark thoughts,
and it cleans my mind with a scented hope
that I can make it through to the next...

long hot shower.

Here's hoping your New Year is full of,
Cin

A picture says a 1000 words....about your insecurities...

Hey Blog Fans

I hope you all had a lovely Christmas. We sure did. It was just the 3 of us this year, which was new. Sean and I have never had a Christmas in our 11 years of marriage, let alone since Sorcha was born, that wasn't with people other then ourselves. Every year we've gone somewhere or had people come to us which has always been lovely, don't get me wrong, and perhaps, it's selfish to have enjoyed it being just the 3 of us, but that's the way it went this year. We ate lots, and got spoiled by various family member. In the middle of opening presents Sorcha said "I'm getting spoiled here!" We are very thankful and look forward to Christmas with family next year, but probably will do this kind of Christmas every few years.

But that's not why I'm writing this particular blog entry. I'm writing for another reason. There's a picture of me posted on facebook right now that disturbs me. I'm not upset it's there. The girl who posted it posted it because her Uncle is in the picture and I just happen to be in it as well. I'm not tagged and she probably doesn't know my name. What disturbs me is how I'm sitting, my posture. It's summer and I'm wearing a fairly tight fitting tank top and shorts. I'm smiling, but my body language says that I'm not truly happy. My legs are crossed tightly, one of my hands in across my chest and clutching my neck and the other arm in draped across my stomach. I look as though I'm trying to cover myself up, to hide all the flaws about myself that I feel are there. I look as though I would turn myself into a little ball if I had that strange ability. However, I know why I'm sitting that way. I don't like my legs, so I cross them to hide them as best I can. My hand is below my neck to hide part of my upper chest because I feel that my shirt is too low. And my arm is draped across my stomach to cover any roll that may or may not be there because I've never achieved a perfectly flat stomach. (which really isn't a goal for me, but I'm still self concious about it which I know is pure silliness,but there you go.) I am not happy with body and this picture tells that story louder then I usually proclaim to anyone. Why am I a writing about this? I guess because I'm tired of feeling this way and this picture is a wake up call. (sorry for going all Dr. Phil on you). I'm not hideous, I have nothing to hide and people are too busy with their own insecurities to be worrying about my legs. And if they are worried about them...well, that's their business. I just hope they don't tell me. :)

But let's end this post on a silly note. Last night during Christmas dinner while drinking a lovely glass of wine I was proposing a few toasts when an extremely bizarre thought popped into my mind. I will share it with you to ponder...When toast sits around with friends and family and shares in a bottle of wine, do they propose a person?

Food for thought is it not?

Until next time, continued Happy Holidays!
Eat, drink,
and Cin

There's a Moose in my Jeans!

It's been a while my dear followers, but fear not, I am back with a posting that is sure to please... or confuse. Either way, it's a new post.

Last week Sean was getting dressed (as he often does, which is a good thing) and said (not for the first time) that he found it amazing how many people wear jeans. As in, you look around when you're out and about and most people are wearing jeans. Some are wearing cheap jeans, some are wearing expensive jeans, some are wearing jeans that look cheap and ruined, but were very expensive...but still, they are wearing jeans. I muttered "yes dear...", or whatever an appropriate response was at time and moved on mentally to another thought. Sean however,
was not done with the jeans topic. He then said " You know, it's funny though, because when my Mom was a kid-" And I cut him off as I knew where he was going next in his jean key. This is how the rest of our conversation went.

"Yes, I know. Only people who worked on the farm or what have you wore jeans...We've talked about this before."

"No...that's not what I was going to say...I was going to say that when my Mom was a kid if you wanted jeans you had to go take them off a moose."

"Really...Moose just walked around in jeans?"

"Yes, and if you wanted jeans, that's how you got them."

"How could you even get jeans off a moose? Wouldn't they run away?"

"Well, they stood around a lot... "

"That would be hard to do wouldn't it, they are pretty big? And the jeans would be huge! You could get a few people in one pair of moose jeans."

And it went down hill from there. Actually we were laughing so hard at the thought of moose in jeans that conversation was rather difficult. Other strains of conversation around Moose Jeans were "Where did the moose get the jeans in the first place?" "What kinds of jeans did the moose wear?" and "Didn't they notice or get upset about people taking their jeans?" I believe the last question was answered thusly. That the key to getting moose out of their jeans was too get them drunk and...no wait, that wasn't it. It was to have one person distract the moose with antics at the front end while another person (or persons more likely...remember, Big Moose, Big Jeans) hauled the jeans off the poor unsuspecting moose at the back end.

I don't know how many of you have obscure conversations that lead to gut wrenching laughter, but I seriously encourage it. You leave trails of happiness and laughter in your wake, or at least in your mind. Conversations like this will make me smile weeks after when I think of them. I'm easily ammused yes, but it's in my genes. (A lot like that moose over there...)

As ever,
Cinfully Silly.

"Hot" is the new "Cute" apparently...

We moved recently and therefore my daughter had to change schools. I'd have to say she's fitting right in...maybe too well. ON THE FIRST DAY at her new school a little girl in her class came up to her and said "That boy over there likes you and thinks you're hot. " "Hot?" I said. "Hot?" My husband just stood there doing this fast blinking thing he does when he's having trouble grasping what he's just learned and has no words. I then said (again) "Hot? You're not hot! You're 7! What happened to cute? You're cute not hot!" I could go on a long tirade about how this is the word that the youngin's these days here in every form of media blah blah blah to describe anyone attractive, but I'll keep it short. Hot is wrong for young kids...it's not an innocent word...it's...there are so many more feelings attached to "HOT" then a simple school kid crush...feelings that 7 year olds really shouldn't know about yet. I know kids don't stay young and innocent forever, but I'd like to be for a few years past the age of 7.

And it didn't end on the first day. On the second day she had another boy tell her outright he has a crush on her! And then she tells me that all during her first week a boy at her table "Always interupts me when I'm writing by saying 'I love you'". I'm trying not to be disturbed by these diplays of "love" toward my daugther. They are just kids after all and I know my daughter would never let it go beyond giving a shy smile in return. Plus, I'm a big help as every few days I, out of the blue, turn to her and ask "Do we kiss boys in school?" "No Mummy!" (enter dramatic eye roll here). She's cute...I don't care what anyone says.

Until next time,
Don't be good,
Cin

Short... but not always sweet.

I've got to eat, so this won't be long, but I feel this needs to be said. I strongly believe that WHEN you stock the shelves with "make my PMS symptoms go away RIGHT NOW" pills that they should be stocked in a place that is EXTREMELY obvious. For example right AT THE FRONT DOOR so that women, such as myself, don't have to hunt around the store in the angry PMS induced RAGE that makes them want to throttle anyone who gets in their way with a bottle of "eaud de stinky headache inducer" that IS usually sold near the front of stores!!! Yes, Yes, I found them in the same aisle as all the other "gotta have because we don't really have a say in the matter" items, BUT they were in the middle...little colourful boxes mixed in and surrounded by other little colourful boxes making them HARD TO FIND which makes me cry...REALLY. But if you INSIST on putting them in an aisle with similar "oh this is best time of the month because it makes me SO SO SO HAPPY to be a woman" products surround them with BRIGHT LIGHTS! And WINE! We'd then be sure to find them with soothing, non yelling and throwing ease.

And that's all I have to say about that. Now DON'T BUG ME!!!

No, wait, one more thing...AND a bottle of "love...this won't hurt a bit as we trickle your anxiety away" remedy should be EASY to open!!! One should not have to damage their teeth or get out a hunting knife to pierce the shiny and impossible to get through seal of doom!!! Followed by (to quote the wonderful Dave Barry) "a piece of cotton the size of a small sheep". It's just plain MEAN to not have them easy to get at AFTER they've been hard to find. Actually, what they should do is have a lovely man servant waiting by the cash for you to pay for this "magic in a bottle" who will kindly open them for you with a smile, take 2 out for you (or however many you feel your "delightful mood" will need to disappear) and hand them to you with a glass of chilled sparking water for you to take them immediately and leave the store with a "smile". But don't forget the rest of those pills deary...you'll need them again soon....

Cin-ister thoughts be with you.