Sunday, October 25, 2009

Our little sunshines

This joke pretty much sums up what my one godchild slash niece, Elske or just plain Elly, is like:

A little boy got on the bus, sat next to a man reading a book, and noticed he had his collar on backwards. The little boy asked why he wore his collar backwards.
The man, who was a priest, said, 'I am a Father.'
The little boy replied, 'My Daddy doesn't wear his collar like that.'
The priest looked up from his book and answered: ''I am the Father of many.'
The boy said: ''My Dad has 4 boys, 4 girls and two grandchildren and he doesn't wear his collar that way!'

The priest, getting impatient, said: 'I am the Father of hundreds,' and went back to reading his book. The little boy sat quietly thinking for a while, then leaned over and said: "Maybe you should wear a condom and put your pants on backwards instead of your collar."

My niece, E, is turning 5 this December and I wish every day that she would never grow up, kind of like Peter Pan but without the package to worry about when wearing tights. If you want an honest opinion, ask a four year old. You might not always like what you hear (yes, I know I should never have bought those white pants in the first place, hippo hips), but it's never meant in a vindictive way:

"It's nice hugging you, Ladytruth; you're soft like a marshmallow."

I might be a curvy marshmallow, but at least I get the hugs and you don't anorexic aunt Mary.

E doesn't mind if you play with her hair and whatever she has in her lunch box, you can be sure to at least get half of it. Plus she knows where Mother (who looks after her during the day until my sister picks her up after work) keeps the cookie stash. Bonus. She's like a puppy: always happy to see me, but without the licking. More sanitary.

I know, however, that as soon as she comes home requesting a Hannah Montana backpack which looks just like the other girls' at school, it's over. The corruption has started and it'll be good bye butterfly kisses.

I know this because it happened to my six year old niece, N; my brother's little angel/devil when no one's looking. My mom and I blame the kids at school, but we know that's just silly. We're just sad about our eldest Peter Pan exchanging her green tights for a pink tutu. And Hannah Montana backpack.

We can't keep them sheltered under the blanket of protection and love and affection all the time. They need to experience the world for themselves, they need to explore and learn and yes, there will be times when they'll cry, but we'll be there with the Kleenex factory right behind us. We'll be there when Jean-Michael pushes them off the swing and run away leaving them alone in the sand; we'll be there when they ride their bikes with the pink and blue ribbons without the safety wheels for the first time; we'll be there when they blushingly admit they like the blond boy who draws pretty pictures. We'll be there.

I love my nieces slash godchildren. But sometimes it's nice giving them back to their parents when the day's over.

N (on the right): Man, my party blows.
E (stuffing her face on the left): At least the food's good.

E rocking the Minnie Mouse ears.

This post was inspired after reading about otherworldlyone's beautiful little Hannah

Sunday, October 18, 2009

Sing, sing a song

Things have been going well on the dating front so far. It's nice having someone hold your hand while you wait in line for your take out order to be called. It's nice having someone run your bath water and then take your dogs for a walk while you relax in a cloud of peaceful bubble bath. My phone is the popular cell in town vibrating more than some other equipment in my drawer. And when Mom looks at me, all she does is smile. Happy day.

But I'm new to all the couple lingo and behaviour. Whenever we go to a BBQ with friends and their girlfriends I now have to help the girls make salads and listen to them complain about being with their boyfriends for seven minutes and not having a ring on the finger yet. Thanks for nothing, Beyoncé ; instead of putting a ring on it why don't you just put a sock in it?

Chris just smiled when I told him about the crazies and said I'm more than welcome to hang with the guys around the fire, drinking beer and talking about football. I could do that. The closest I came to chopping an onion was when I leaned forward to look at Gordon Ramsey's nails while he did it on the television.

And all the questions are just killing me.

"So you guys have a favorite restaurant with a favorite table? And you always get served by your favorite waiter? Isn't it just the best walking into a place and getting recognised by the staff?"

Yes, almost like jail I presume.

"What about your names for each other? I call Steven 'Wonderboy'. Get it? Steven? Stevie Wonder?"

I'm sure 'Wonderboy' wishes he had the power to become deaf and blind. Maybe that would scare you away.

And my favorite:

"What is your song?"

When you don't have an answer to this question, they look at you as though you're at a comic convention and failed to identify Logan as Wolverine. It's like sacrilege.

The problem is that Chris and I have very different taste when it comes to music. When you browse through the Cds in his car you'll find Nirvana, Foo Fighters, RHCP and Pearl Jam. When you shuffle through my iPod you'll be listening to a mixture of Alanis Morissette, The Killers, One Republic, The Frames and Elisa.

Songs aren't just songs to me. Their like friends. The words bring you comfort when you need it most laying on your bed crying as though the world is going to end right that second; sometimes they make you feel happy and crazy and lifts the mood in the room to blazing hot temperatures. They inspire you, they calm you, they speak the words you sometimes cannot find yourself.

When I hear a certain song or two my whole body turns into one big goose bump. Like my first car accident. Fergie's Big girls don't cry was playing when the guy hit me WHAM! on the passenger side skipping the stop sign one Tuesday morning. It's like I told Dan: there wasn't much crying going on. I think the Everybody was kung-fu fighting would've been more appropriate as I haven't seen that much fist pumping since the political riots in the 80's.

Needless to say we still don't have a song. But then again: you're also not suppose to burp or fart or curse in front of each other in the first week of dating so maybe we're doing things differently than the norm. This way life is a little more interesting.

Sunday, October 11, 2009

The apple is finally ripe

The first time we met he looked at me and said in his yet to be manly voice:

"Hi, I'm Chris. Pleased to meet you."

His name could've been Dick; I was just so happy to see a friendly face that could speak. We were 14 and just started high school. Add to the fact that my family had recently moved to this town and you have a recipe for desperately seeking acceptance and fitting in. Isn't that what all 14 year olds want? To be part of the group. I was new and didn't fit in. I didn't belong anywhere. Except with Chris.

He didn't mind my unflattering uniform, my awkward movements to hide my boobs from drooling boys (I didn't know any better back then), my love for all feminist and strong female writers while we both shared a hatred for our pimpled faces. He quit playing rugby and football during breaks with the boys to sit with me in the shade of the oak tree and share sandwiches. He'd eat the one half of my peanut butter and syrup and I his tuna and onion. After a while we discovered the onion wasn't such a good call as one can only hold a fart for so long.

Year after year we would hold our breath hoping to be in the same class again and was never disappointed. Year after year we'd find a way to sit next to each other; ways that often included bribing others with lunch money. We could've been brilliant politicians.

I would cry on his shoulder when a crush didn't want to return the courtesy and he'd make me feel better by threatening to rearrange the boy's face. Whenever the girl who was the 'love of his life' didn't return the favor, I'd comfort him with bad impressions of Girls just wanna have fun (replacing the girls with boys) by Cyndi Lauper and I wanna rock and roll all night by Kiss. He preferred the latter. I'm not sure why.

And now it feels like we have come full circle. It had to be now and not last week or last month or last year. The time wasn't right. We weren't right.
Our first official date was on Friday night. It felt strange to dress up for my best friend, but Mary hasn't claimed her little lamb yet and it went rabid when he gave me a lingering kiss at the door. Our hands found each other like the ocean finds the beach and it felt ... good.

At least there was no struggle finding appropriate subjects to talk about during supper and my usual I just have to go powder my nose excuse while I sat in the bathroom for about eleven minutes reading blogs was laid to rest for the night.

I think this was the first successful date Mom hasn't sent me on.

Tuesday, October 6, 2009

Forget about the Oscars, Emmy and Grammy Awards: it's the Truthy's today.

Award ceremonies happen every once in a while here at happily AFTER ever. And when it does, I like to go big. I've been the recipient of a few rewards as of late and what better reason for handing these lovelies out than it being the middle of the week and people needing a bit of a kick to get through the day.

Buckle up, here we go.

AlphaButtonpusher and Otherworldlyone proved that great minds really do think alike when both gave me this interesting and fun award. If you need a quick pick-me-up these girls are the perfect medicine. Different topics and styles of writing, both addictive in their own unique way.

The rules for this award are as follow:

1. Answer the questions below using only one word
2. Thank the blogger who gave it to you
3. Pass it on to 6 of your favorite bloggers

Without further ado:

1. Where is your cell phone? Close

2. Your hair? Blond

3. Your mother? Confidant

4. Your father? Difficult

5. Your favorite food? Mom's macaroni and cheese (you try saying that in one word, okay!)

6. Your dream last night? Tiring

7. Your favorite drink? JackD

8. Your dream/goal? Published

9. What room are you in? Bedroom

10. Your hobby? High maintenance (it takes time to perfect and yes, I'm cheating. Again.)

11. Your fear? Dark

12. Where do you want to be in six years? Earth

13. Where were you last night? Dreams

14. Something that you aren't? Rich

15. Muffins? Heart

16. Wish list item? Worldpeace ;)

17. Where did you grow up? House

18. Last thing you did? Bath

19. What are you wearing? PJ

20. Your TV? Big

21. Your pets? Priceless

22. Friends? Love

23. Your life? Alright

24. Your mood? Stable

25. Missing someone? Monique

26. Vehicle? Quasimodo

27. Something you're not wearing? Make-up

28. Your favorite store? All

29. Your favorite color? Pink

30. When was the last time you laughed? Morning

31. Last time you cried? Saturday

32. Your best friend? Forever

33. One place that I go to over and over? Kitchen

34. One person who emails me regularly? Frenchie

35. Favorite place to eat? Mom's

I'd like to give this award to:


The next award is from f8hasit. This gorgeous lady is fierce, brave and funny. Being a single mother doesn't stop her from living an amazing life and reading about her experiences saves me many trips to the library in search of interesting material

The award is to 'honor those who write from the heart'. That in itself is quite a compliment. I know many of you have this award already, but for those of us who haven't received this one yet the rules state that I should tell you 10 things about myself you don't already know and then pass it on to 10 bloggers of note.

1. When I was seven I almost drowned.

2. I always take a bath or shower with the bathroom door open.

3. Growing up I read all my brother's love letters that were locked away in a drawer and kept my mom informed on what was happening in that department because teenage boys can be so secretive. I was a lock picker extraordinaire.

4. I don't wear any jewelry other than earrings and my watch.

5. I grow orchids in my study. It's the easiest plant I have ever grown as I water it once every ten days and just watch it blossom into gorgeous pieces of art. Yes, I am aware of the fact that there's a granny hidden beneath these voluptuous layers of skin.

6. I only have black and pink shoes in my closet.

7. Whenever I'm nervous or bored I chew my pinky nails.

8. I have never been away from home for more than three weeks.

9. My tonsils had to be taken out when I was 20. It felt like there was a dragon trapped in my throat for five days. Great diet, though.

10. Roses are overrated. My favorite flowers are daisies.

The 10 recipients of the Honest Scrap award (and if you already have this one, just bow graciously and put it on your mantelpiece twice) are:


Josefine tagged me in a meme the other day stating the following: create 5 categories each containing 5 favorite items of said category but without necessarily being listed in any particular order. Then tag 5 people to do the same.

Confusing? Nah, just hop over to her blog and her humor and great outlook on life will cure any of those thoughts.

I decided to combine the Honest Scrap Award and this meme because I'm lazy and I know you are ADD and can't sit still for more than four minutes and thirty five seconds. That means I listed my ten favorite random things already and now for the rest:

5 favorite items I can't go without:
1. socks
2. contact lenses
3. fridge
4. hair dryer
5. petrol (these boots definitely weren't made for walking considering their price tag)

5 favorite characters in a television series:
1. Tony Sopprano (The Soppranos)
2. Lorelai Gilmore (Gilmore Girls)
3. Dean Winchester (Supernatural)
4. Castle (Castle)
5. Izzy Stevens (Grey's Anatomy)

5 things I will not likely be caught doing (this is a little variation on the favorite theme):
1. picking my nose in public (social status killer)
2. going to a Jonas Brothers concert
3. wearing a Man Utd shirt
4. eating avocado
5. having a drink right out of the bottle. One word: syphilis-of-the-mouth.

The 5 people who I'd like to do the 5 favorite things meme are:


The next award is from my favorite boys Matthew and Dan. Matthew recently moved-blog, but the writing is still brilliant and I'm still envious. You'll never be able to read Dan's blog without some kind of smile and don't be surprised when you find yourself unable to stay away from his archives. Both these men's brains should be preserved and studied.

And the award goes to:

I was in a giving mood.

Kasabiangirl made my day with this great award. Just reading or hearing someone say they like your blog makes you feel kind of worthy and wanted. I hope the following recipients will feel the same way:


AlpHaButtonpusher gave me this wonderfully French award which I really love. Doesn't everything just sound better in French? Passing this on to:


There you go. Give yourself a big round of applause; I would, but I can't feel my fingers anymore. Enjoy these awards and remember to spread the love.

Monday, October 5, 2009

There is a lamb in my chest. Is that normal?

Date #4 happened on Friday evening, but it was over before you could say 'quickie'. The gentleman insisted we go to a club for our little rendezvous, but didn't count on Chris being there as well. The two of them were about as pleased to meet each other as a Liverpool and a Chelsea supporter were at passing each other in the street. Without the spitting, of course. But there was a stun gun.

And a walkie talkie. I bloody kid you not. It looked like a brick hanging from his belt and it did that screeching noise ever so often.

I felt like I was in a postmodern war movie gone wrong with the club as backdrop. I even considered asking the DJ to 'pump up the volume, dude' as people were starting to look at us funny. There is the reputation to think of, being single and all.

The reason for the gun and back to the future communication's device was the lad's occupation. He's a cop. Luckily he couldn't stay long as he was on call and I don't know who breathed a louder sigh of relief between Chris and I. Robocop hopped on his bicycle (budget cuts, he said) and sped off into the night to fight felons. That was the first time I was actually grateful for living in the Country of Crime.

We didn't stay long after Robocop left to save the world on a bicycle as we had to get up early the next morning for the arts festival. I've been dragging him to this festival for the past five years now because he's the only person who just can't say no to me and the torture of culture.

We watched this terribly sad play about a lady in her fifties realising how life has passed her by while she was busy raising kids and cooking dinner for an ungrateful husband every evening for 35 years. It reminded me so much of someone I know very well and I couldn't help but cry a little. I felt Chris's hand slip into mine. And it felt right.

He drove me home that evening like he always does, but somehow something changed. We changed. He's not the skinny boy with the pimples anymore and I'm not the girl with the long hair and glasses anymore. For the first time we didn't feel the need to talk so much; we just sat there and enjoyed the quiet and the presence of this new and unfamiliar feeling.

The last time I felt this way, it ended badly. My heart felt as though it was torn from my chest and trampled on by a wildebeest stampede similar to the one in The Lion King. The urge to yell Mufasa was present too at the time. That day I thought I had lost something that would never be mine again; my innocence, my faith in people with weeners and that crazy little thing called love.

When Chris said goodbye, he gave me a gentle kiss on the cheek. I haven't felt a more affectionate, caring, tender kiss quite like that one and Mary's galloping little lamb found its way into my chest. But I quickly pulled its little leash as Chris broke up with that girlfriend about two weeks ago. It had nothing to do with the talk I had with her and the promise of a foot so far up her ass that she'll have athlete's throat for the rest of her life if she didn't stop cheating on him. After all, I do know the prime spot for the best athlete's foot in the country: a student hostel.

I've fallen behind on fulfilling my meme duties and acknowledging as well as handing out some lovely awards from equally lovely bloggers. This will be done on Wednesday, if not tomorrow. Until then I'm off to write an official report on date #4 to Mom. In honor of Robocop and his amazingly big walkie talkie.