A Cashier's Plea

Now that I have re-joined the ranks of cashiers, I would like to make a heartfelt request on behalf of ALL cashiers everywhere:

PLEASE don't give us wet money anymore. Please. That's so gross. And no, we don't want to know why it's wet. We probably won't believe you, anyway. Just stop it. Ew. Ick.

Oh, and put your damn carts and baskets away, too. Thanks.

Remember THIS picture of my daughter and nephew?

Now look at THIS one.

What's with these two? What the hell are they planning? Is this a very transparent evil plot on the part of Little Brat and my nephew is onto her????

The TARA ALERT System

Since I am no longer allowed to divulge certain aspects of my life with my alleged husband, but feel that I am not truly blogging unless ya'll know exactly how stressed out I am....I have come up with a system.

I love systems.

There will be a little spot on my sidebar that tells you just which Tara Alert level we are sitting at.

Green is good. Green means that the kids are being good, I've had a few cups of coffee, work is going great, and hubby is possibly, but not necessarily, available.

Blue is OK. Same as green, but maybe the phone bill came in. Or too many telamarketers are calling.

Yellow is...iffy. Maybe something is up.....maybe not. I'm probably a little on edge.

Orange is stressed out. Yelling at the kids and telemarketers, throwing my yarn around, stomping through the house and threatening to run away and join the circus.

Red is bad. I'd tell you what red means, but then I'd have to kill you. No, really. I'm serious.

Everyone got it? Printed this out and taped it to your computer? Good.

Today is dentist day. I hate dentists. Not the pain part. I can handle that. I've had kids. It's just them. They're jerks. Always lecturing me about my teeth. I have bad teeth. I know. I get it. I'm 30. Talk to me like I am 30, please. And yes, I AM missing a ton of teeth. Talk to the jerky dentist I had when I was a kid. (And that doesn't mean big hillbilly gaps, just that I have less teeth in my mouth than a normal adult. No gaps.)And yes, I KNOW that fillings are not supposed to fall out when I floss. Talk to the idiot dentist I had five years ago.

Whatever. I hate them. This one seems nice so far, but I don't trust him. Sorry dentists, but you didn't really expect everyone to like you, did you?

I seem to be ranting a lot lately, don't I? Hmmm. I'm sure I'll be in a much better mood later. After the dentist. Ya.

Wallet Sized Hell

What evil, torturous person thought up the idea of 'picture day' at school? It's not even relevant anymore! We all have a camera now! And photoshop, in case we suck at photography! And we don't need to pay eleventy hundred dollars for a package that includes mostly miniature wallet size pictures that nobody wants but accepts anyway to be nice, and one HUGE picture that nobody in creation has a frame large enough for. We have COMPUTERS now. And printers. And WALMART. Just charge me 10 bucks for one picture and I will handle the sizing and copying. Do you think these photographers (and every single one of them is some middle aged guy that either hates kids or thinks kids love him when they really think he's a dolt) have ever had to get a 4 year old ready for picture day? Does he care? Does he care that Granny will yell at me if I don't get the school pictures done? Does he care that there have been no less than a billion divorces in my family and my alleged husband's family, and that we will be needing at least a billion five by seven photos so as not to make anyone think that someone else is liked more? No. NO! So he can take his eleven by thirteen and all his gajillion wallet size photos and stuff them up his creepy, middle aged ...um.....NOSE!

So...uh...ya. Today is picture day. Fun.

Stinky Spaghetti

I don't know what happened. I know the ingredients were all OK. Nothing went bad in the fridge. And I really am a good cook. But for some reason, my spaghetti and meat sauce tonight smells like dirty feet. Dirty, sweaty, stinky feet.

I'm pretty sure I'm not gonna eat it.....but, should I feed it to the kids????

What the hell. They won't know the difference. Right? Am I right?

The Week!

Wow. WOW. What a week.

Wednesday was the Dropkick Murphey's concert. And it was fun. I mean it. I had FUN at a punk concert. I was totally the only one there wearing plaid pants (what the hell????) and I was by FAR the oldest female. But we were right up front. I mean RIGHT up front. The crowd surfers were tossed right over my head. And at the end, during the last song when they invite girls from the audience to go up and dance, I did. Yup. Me. Tara the mom. Tara the crocheter. Tara the Dollarama employee. Up on stage, dancing at a punk concert. And by dancing, I mean running into somebody else. Did you ever see that episode of Quincy where he speaks out against the evils of slam dancing and the hate that is inspired by the punk music? Ya. It was just like that.

Cool, eh?

AND...remember on the show Friends when they had 'lists'. You know. A list of names of famous people that you can cheat on your signifigant other other with and it would be OK. I have pretty short list. But after the concert, I added one more. The lead singer from the band, Al Barr. Yummy. YUUUUMMMMMY. I've never noticed before, because I only saw him on album covers and from far, far away at the Boston concert. But up close to the stage ..... YUUUUMMMMY. It's like he was singing to me. Sigh. Ya. He's totally on my list.

Thursday I worked all day, at the Dollarama, getting more praise heaped upon me for my superier dollar store skills. It's a little like a Harvard grad going to high school and looking like a genius, but whatever. It's fun.

Friday was the Support the Troops Red Rally on Parliament Hill in Ottawa. WOW. It was amazing. It was inspiring. I wasn't expecting the Prime Minister to show up and speak, but he did. And I LOVED it.

I have a little confession. I have a little crush on our Prime Minister. I know, he's not exactly a hottie. It's a power thing. Whatever. I'd totally be a PM groupie. So, ya'll can imagine how I reacted when he surprised us all and walked out on stage. Some people scream over Justin Timberlakes of the world... politicians are my rock stars.

I believe I yelled ' I love you Stevie' at one point.

So, I have seen, in person and relatively up close, two different men from my list this week. If I can manage to see Colin Ferril in person sometime before midnight tonight, this may be my best week ever!

This is the Title to This Post

I'm far too tired this morning to be my witty, charming self. But I'll try. For all of you.

We had company last night in the form of my sister in law and her friend from England, and they stayed until fairly late. They've been tromping through Southern Ontario and a few northern states for food that is apparently hard to get in England. Like Fruit Loops. What a shame. And elk burgers. Of course, I don't know that I would consider elk meat to be a staple of anyone else I know in North America, but my sissy in law is a little different.

Before they came over (fairly late, because sissy in law has also NEVER been on time for ANYTHING since I've known her), I asked my alleged husband if he could please, please PLEASE PLEEEEEAAAASE talk in a British accent the whole time. Just to prove his love for me. I don't know why, but he said no. I know, KNOW, that if he ran into a pirate, he would talk pirate with them. I guess he doesn't love me as much as I thought.

In retaliation, I asked him if we ever have a baby boy (ya, no more kids, thank you very much), if we can name him Ryan. After reminding me that I don't want more kids, he asked me why. I told him that if you change around the letters in Ryan, you can spell yarn.

I may have to pay for that later.

The dinner was surprisingly good. Surprising because my alleged husband made it. He was always a good cook, for years. And he loved it. Hell, it was why I married him. I figured I would have at least a PART of that chore done for me. Sometimes. But no. Since we've moved away from Alberta, he's cooked about 3 times. And it's things like fried eggs and canned corned beef hash. What a guy.

But, he had no choice last night since I had to work. At the Dollarama. I gotta tell ya'll....I am ROCKING the Dollarama. My boss was telling me last night how GREAT I am and how when the new manager comes in the next week, he's planning on telling her to accommodate me however she needs to because I am somebody she definitely wants on her staff. Tee hee. Aw shucks. To be fair, it's not exactly a rocket science kind of job. It's probably the easiest job I've ever had. And I used to tie mylar balloons onto plastic sticks for a job. You know, those balloons above the Walmart checkout counters, with all the cartoon characters. Seriously. That's a real job. How do you think all those balloons get onto the sticks? People tie them. I got five cents a balloon.

But I like Dollarama more. It's very friendly, too. I hate jobs that don't let me talk. I'm not just loquacious on the internet, folks, I talk this much in real life, too.

So, I stayed up too late. And now I need to suck back some coffee and start my day. We have the Dropkick Murphey's concert tonight in Ottawa. Yay. I know, I'm not very 'punk'. But my alleged husband loves this band, and it's a fun date. And THIS time I am dressing a little bit 'punk' (plaid pants, whoooEEE), so I don't stick out like a sore thumb. Not like the time I went to a punk concert dressed like a schoolteacher from Little House on the Prairie. All the people with the piercings and the mohawks and all that looked at me like I was a freak.

Go visit my new tenant.

The Invisible Post

Ok, first read THIS article.

read it? Fine...skimmed it? You get the gist of it, anyway, right? It's a scientific article about how scientists have figured out, theoretically, how to create invisibility.

INVISIBILITY, PEEPS! How cool is THAT?! Sure, it's not a done deal yet, but it's a lot closer than the dreams and whims of super hero comic book writers. It's like the Jetson's are finally, finally fulfilling their prophecies.

Wow. WOW. I could totally get on board with a super power like invisibility. Can you imagine? The kids would leave me alone. My alleged husband would leave me alone. The PETS would leave me alone. I could try on bathing suits in the store, and even leave the dressing room to go to where the mirror is... across the other side of the store, surely done on purpose so all of the skinny little bikini seller store clerks can laugh and snicker and take photos of your fat with their little cell phone cameras and show them to all their friends. Not that that has happened to me. But can you imagine not having to worry about it?

Of course, there are other super powers that would be great, too. I would love to fly. I know. I hate flying, yes, yes, very ironic. But I think I would be OK if I was in charge. And there were no screaming babies or snotty flight attendants on my back. And I probably wouldn't loose my own luggage. Unless I dropped it. And that would really be more the problem of the person below me, wouldn't it?

And super strength would be awesome, too. Then my sisters can FINALLY stop picking on me. It's been 30 years since the womb, girls. I won the race, I was born first. Get over it. And watch out for my new super upper cut. HA.

Stretchability sounds nice, but mostly just for us short folks, I suppose. Sigh. No more ladders and stools. Of course, then I can't ask the cute grocery clerk guy to reach that can up on the top shelf. Scratch stretchability.

I think, if I could pick just one super power, I want the webs. You know, the Spiderman webs. That shoot out of his wrist. For various reasons. Subduing four year olds, gathering laundry, towing the loser cruiser to the repair shop, etc.

But mostly, I want the wrist webs for something else.

I want wrist webs for the spiders. To GET the spiders. I want to see a spider, and instead of saying eek or some other terror cliche, I want to point my wrist at him and GET EM'! HA! Get them with their own weapon! HA HA HA HA HA. Little buggers. How do ya like THAT?

Maybe if I write to the scientists, they can work on that next?

Gummy Rant

So, last week, I sent some of those gummy fruit snacks to school with Little Brat. She also had an apple, some whole wheat bread, some cheese, a juice box and some sliced ham. Healthy, right?

Ya. I thought so. But apparently not. The fruit snacks were sent home. And LB was told that 'junk food' was not allowed.

What??? What the hell? I didn't send her with a s'more dipped in sugar rolled in icing. This is a FRUIT snack. Made with real fruit juice. Low in fat.

Ya, I could switch it out for cucumber slices or something else she won't eat. Because she didn't eat her apple. So wouldn't it have made sense to just let her eat the fruit snack gummies? The ones made with FRUIT. And I know what she will and won't eat. And I would rather she actually eat something. I don't care if t here is a bit of sugar. There's like, what, 5 to a package?

And who the hell are these teachers, treating me like a bad mother because I dared to send 'junk food' to school with my daughter? Since when do THEY get to choose her lunch? Do they want to PAY for her lunch, too? How 'bout they come to my house and make it for her in the morning, too.

I've abided by all of their no peanut rules. Even though I'm waiting for the day that the peanut police tell us we can't even have them in our own homes. But I saw no gummy rules. Nope. Not one sign or poster or notice sent home.

Junk food. A chili dog is junk food. A Big Mac. Chocolate bars. Packages of sugar. Not GUMMY FRUIT SNACKS.

And even if they are....she's MY KID. You're in charge of her little brat brain. I get to decide what she eats. ME. MY KID.

End Rant. For now.

I Hate My Car

Warning: The following post may not be suitable for all makes and models of cars. Scenes may include graphic descriptions of violence against cars. Not all car part descriptions will be accurate or even sane. Younger cars may get scared. Reader discretion is advised.

I HATE my car. I hate it hate it hate it hate it hate it. Hate. It.

Fine. So it's not a car car. It's a minivan. But I still hate it. Why? Why do I loathe the Looser Cruiser?

Because he's broken. A lot. A LOT. All the time. Back brakes, front brakes, rear passanger side bearing thingy, sway bar bushing crappy things (3 times), front wheels enourmously out of balance while driving through the backwoods of nowhere, engine light coming on for no reason, rust spots on the hood, computer messing up and unlocking the doors and unlatching the back hatch door over and over over and over and over, while we are driving, and so on. It really does go on. I just can't remember everything. Except for YESTERDAY. When the TRANSMISSION was leaking. And there goes more money to fix THAT.

And, I hate him because he is only 4 years old. FOUR YEARS. We bought it brand spankin new, right off the lot. Fine, so he's been from Ontario to Alberta and back a few times. And all over Ontario at least a few times a year. And at least one 2 hour trip at least once a week. And to Boston, and Maine. Whatever. He's still only 4 years old!

And, I hate him because I love him. I love this van. The way it looks. The way it drives (when it's fixed), the space inside. Even the radio is great. I love him. And I hate him.

HATE. I can't take this anymore. As soon as I start to make even a TEENSY amount of money, he sucks it up. And I want him gone. GONE. Because if I have to sit and watch him get fixed and fiddled with while all of my money goes away one more time...I'll...I'll....KILL him.

You heard me. KILL. I'll take the first wrench I can find and I'll start pulling whatever I can out of the engine. Then I will take all of the knobs off the dasboard and JUMP on them. Ya. Then I'll get me a crowbar...NO, an AXE...and smash in all the windows. YA! Then I'll key the whole paint job. Take THAT butane blue paint! Ha ha! Ohhh. Then the seats. I'll use my biggest butcher knife. Yaaaa. And the carpets, too. I'll light THOSE on fire. HA HA HA HA.....

...oh. Sorry. I was just daydreaming there for a second. Because for reals, I hate my car. But I'm stuck with him. Because he is SUPPOSED to be our second car, come next year when he is all paid off.

Then I'm gonna get me a Corvette. Ya. A blue one. But not that stupid butane blue, an electric blue. A Stingray. Maybe a '63 or a '65. Ya. That's the ticket. A booster seat will fit in that, right? Sure it will. And my alleged husband can take to the LOOOOOOSER cruiser to his alleged work with him.

HA.

EDIT*** For Jana and anyone else that was wondering...it's a Dodge Caravan. 2002.

Survivor: Cook Islands

I know ya'll want me to list who my favs are, and pick apart the players I hate. Don't worry. I will. You KNOW I will. But it's too soon. I still have to form some opinions about the newest castaways.

But until then, I do have one thing to say about Survivor: Cook Islands....

What? WHAT?! Are they serious? Race wars? RACE wars?????

Don't get me wrong. I think it's funny. Hilarious, actually. And I'll be watching obsessively. But RACE WARS?

What other show on the entire television planet, besides maybe OZ, could get away with race wars? Is Jeff Probst some sort of a wizard? How can he host a reality TV show in which comments like "That shelter is so Ghetto," and " Here's to the Whities," are uttered and not have scandal dripping off of him? Ooozing.

I think Jeff may be my new hero.

Speaking of Jeff, do you ever wonder how he prepares for the show? You know, like memorizing everyone's name and all that? Do you think he sits around his living room in boxer shorts and sports socks, eating cheesecake and drinking beer while going over photos? Or maybe he has a coach that drills him and beats him if he gets a name wrong. And maybe that job of Jeff-beater is open? Or maybe he's not actually human, and all of the info is just programmed into his head like a big walking MP3 player. Maybe.

Stay tuned, dear friends. I will definitely be picking apart this show. And if it doesn't turn into an all out war requiring UN troops, I will be seriously disappointed.

Purple Turkeys Howl at the Moon

Ya. That title. It's a code. You know. A secret code.

What's that? What does the code mean? Gosh. I can't tell you. It's a secret. Duh.

And that, my dear blogger friends, is a small sample of what some of my posts may look like from now on. Due to the career of a certain husband of mine (although I can't tell you which one, it's very hush hush), I cannot write about some specifics in our life together.

For example, I can't tell you when he is home or away. Or what he does or who it's with. What size his underwear is, his favorite food, etc. In fact, just forget I have a husband.

I can talk about yarn and crocheting and the kids and my new AWESOME Dollarama job. But not my husband.

Because Mum's the word, ya know. My lips are sealed.

I know I have brought him up a time or two before. But forget whatever I said. I mean it. Forget everything I ever mentioned about him. I am even supposed to delete posts that give away some info. And I already have (I hope). For those of you who have been faithful Tara Stalkers (Hi, stalkers! Love ya!), and have printed up all of my posts and taped them to the Tara shrine that was once the tool wall in your garage or the inside of your mom's buffet hutch, please dispose of them now. Those posts are for people who are 'in the know'. And you, dear stalkers, are not in the know. Hell. I'M not even in the know.

So, in the future, as far as this blog is concerned, I am a single mom. And if I start acting a little wacky and stressed out and say something crazy like 'Purple Turkeys Howl at the Moon', you'll know that I have an alleged husband somewhere on the alleged planet earth and I am worried and freaking out but I am not allowed to discuss it. But I can talk yarn, so that's OK.

ME

Little Brat just go on her 1st schoolbus for her 1st day of Kindergarten. Which is great. I got photos, but they are on my Flintstones camera. So you can't see them until the woodpecker carves the image into a slab of rock. I hear Walmart does that.

You'll have to forgive me for not being overly sappy and gushing. Partly because I did all of this 8 years ago. Actually, if you count all of the different 'first days' due to moving and other school changes, I've done this A LOT.

And she's not scared, or shy, or worried. She's more concerned with what she can say to make her teacher laugh. And as happy as I am for her, I'll be honest. I'm more happy for ME.

ME. Today is about ME. Because I get to go to work today. For a 3 hour shift, while she is in school. And I have waited a LONG time to work a real day shift.

ME. Not her. ME.

But now I have to go in the minivan and drive to her school to meet the bus, just to make sure she got there OK. But that's more for me than her.

My Tattoo....I think

I know. I was very elusive in my last post. Just telling ya'll I booked for a tattoo and then left you hanging. Whatever. I'm a Scorpio. I'm supposed to be mysterious. It's written right there in the stars, peeps.

This is gonna sound stupid. I need everyone to promise, before reading any further, that you won't think any less of me after hearing what I say. That you will read the rest of the post before throwing up your hands in utter exasperation and washing your hands of me forever. Promise? For reals? Hold up your right and and say it. Say "I won't think Tara is dumber than a bag of rocks after reading her next comment." Good? Ok.....

I have no idea what my tattoo will look like.

There. I said it. I know. It sounds like some drunk party girl in Vegas going to get a tattoo and not caring what it looks like. And as much fun as that sounds like, that's not the situation. Unfortunatly.

I know WHAT the tattoo is of. A poppy. You know, the flower (there's one in my sidebar). And I know where it's coming from. The Wizard's Den, which is very well respected and has won a ton of awards. My husband got his first tattoo there a billion years ago. And I know that it will only cost 11 bucks. Yup. Cheap.

Are ya'll catching on yet? November 10th? A poppy? Eleven dollars? They are doing 11 dollar poppy tattoos for military members and their wives on the day before Remembrance day (november 11th). Cool, yes?

I thought so. And I though it was PERFECT for my first tattoo. I kept telling hubby that my first one would be a ball of yarn winding all down my leg and around my toes, but he just gave me dirty looks. I was ACTUALLY planning to get a yellow ribbon tied around my ankle. But that would cost a bit more that 11 bucks, and be bigger than a quarter.

The only question I have for myself now is where to put it. My top 2 spots are on my back left shoulder and my front right chest. Actually, my instinct is for the chest, but is has pros and cons.

Pro: It's above the heart, where a poppy should be worn.

Con: I can't really show it off without flashing everyone. Like my kids and mom.

Pro: It might look kinda hot.

Con: It might look slightly elongated as I get older and saggier.

Pro: Who's gonna see my chest when I'm old and saggy?

As for the back, there seems to be only pros.

Pro: My heart is kinda in the middle, right? So who says if it's on my back that it's not above my heart? Right?

Pro: Backs don't sag. Much. Unless you eat a LOT of ice cream and french fries.

Pro: I can show the cashier at the grocery store and my kid's kindergarten class without getting arrested.

I think I may decide the day I get there.

You're all still reading, right? You promised. Good.

Too bad I'm done blabbing now.

I just booked my appointment for my first tattoo.....EEP.

It's on Nevember 10th.

Eep.

I got a jo-OB. I got a jo-OB. I work at a DOLLar store. I am so COO-ool. You know it. You know it.

Sorry. I'll stop singing now.

Did I mention the store has yarn?

Red Friday

Where red on Fridays to show support for the troops overseas and for their families back home!

I have a few Red Friday items in my Cafe Press store, Coffee Cup Art. There is no markup on these items, so I'm not making any money on them.

(If they are not there yet, they will show up soon. Link is on the sidebar)

I think I accidentally got a job last night.

I was going to the grocery store to find water. Water. Because this STUPID town has no 4 liter jugs of cheap water left of the shelves. Yes. The whole STUPID town. I tried Walmart. And Shopper's Drug Mart. And the Grocery Store Mafia store. All out.

There are 3 main grocery stores in this area. And they are all owned by the same family. And they are what we refer to as the Grocery Store Mafia. Because they set the standards for grocery stores in this town. And the standards ain't high.

There is no selection. They constantly run out of things and take forever to restock. Basic things. Like Bread. Or Cheese. Or WATER.

And their carts don't have cupholders for my coffee. The bastards.

Anyway.......I was going to one of the mafia chain links and I saw a help wanted sign in the Dollarama. Not that working in a dollar store has been a dream of mine, but I was curious as to what kind of hours they need somebody for. So I asked for the manager.

I told him that I am basically free a few nights a week and the odd weekend. And maybe sometimes during the day, if he gives me enough notice. What? Did I say that? Is that how you get a job? By walking up to the hirer and stating what you will work?

Apparently. He wants me to bring in a resume tonight so he can interview me. Huh. Not that I actually HAVE the job yet. And I won't cry if I don't get it. But if I can get an interview by walking in looking like I spent all day in jammies and only threw on clothes to go to the store to buy water (which I did), then I should be able to FLY through the interview when I actually have real clothes and makeup on. Right?

Whatever. I wonder if they give discounts to staff?

$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$

A Haunting

I want to start this post off by reminding everyone what my position is on ghosts.

I would rather be crazy than haunted. Because they make pills for crazy.

That being said.....my house is still SO haunted!!! There's no denying it now. And I'm not the only one who thinks so, anymore. And yes, I know, some of things can be rationalized. In another house. When something odd happens once a year or so.

NOT when things happen ALL THE TIME.

And, it's not like this house doesn't have some history. It's a 100 year old school, which was at one point an underground bar in the 70's. And the (unconfirmed) rumor is that 2 people died here while it was a bar.

So, for you skeptics (of which I was one before living here), I am making a list, in point form, of everything I can remember happening in this house since I moved in. Somewhat in order. It's all blurring together now. Some has been reported here on this blog before, but I won't make ya'll go back a year and half to read it all. And if you read it all and still think I'm crazy, that's OK. As long as you bring the pills to fix crazy.

~ While sleeping on my stomach one night, I felt a very hard, sharp jab in my ribs. It felt like fingers. It hurt. A few months later, we discovered that the exact spot that the jab came from was directly over the original trap door leading up to the attic of the school (now our second floor).

~ Doors that I close get opened. Often my youngest's bedroom door. She insists on having it closed at night because she doesn't like having the cat in her room. Sometimes, she starts yelling in the middle of the night because the cat is sleeping on top of her, even though I check her door before going to bed. And no, the cat can't open doors. He's a cat. Der.

~ Lights flicker sometimes when I am in a room. No, it's not the wiring. It's all new. And it's not the lightbulb. And it doesn't happen when anyone else is in the room. Just me. And they usually start flickering in the bathroom the minute I take off my clothes for a shower. See? Pervert ghost.

~As I was walking from the bathroom to my bedroom in the middle of the night, past the stairs, I heard a creak about halfway down the stairs. So I stopped. And turned to look. I know. That' what you yell at the girl in the horror movie NOT to do. But I did. And something else decided that I shouldn't. I felt a hand push my right shoulder and propel me into my bedroom. Where I proceeded to hide under the covers in terror until morning.

~ I saw a ghost. Yes, I did. Shut up! I did too! She was tall. And blonde. And had a yellow skirt on. She peeked around a corner at me while I was sitting in the living room. It was very fast, but I definitely saw her.

~ I was chatting with the local bookstore owner. We started talking about houses, since we both bought at the same time. When she heard which house was mine, she gasped. Apparently, we scooped her and bid on this house only hours before she planned to. Then she asked me how I liked it. When I joked that it was 'ok, just a little haunted' she gasped again. It seems that when they came to view the house, her daughter wouldn't come in because she saw a man in the window. The house had been empty for a few months at that point.

~ A friend was picking up the mail while we were on our road trip. She walked in the back door one day to drop it off in the kitchen. As soon as she walked in, she saw a man standing by the stairs (almost right where I saw the tall blonde lady). She said he was middle aged and balding, and then he went up the stairs quickly. She followed, because she's apparently CRAZY, but didn't see anything else. She did, however, feel a WHOOSH on the nape of her neck.

~ My oldest has one of those annoying teenager bedroom doorbells. You know, the kind that they think gives them permission to not let anyone into their room unless you ring the doorbell first. And, since I am SUCH an accommodating mom, I make sure everyone, especially my youngest, rings the doorbell as much as humanly possible. Because she asked for it.
The night we got home from out trip, after the kids were all in bed and sleeping, hubby and I were watching TV. I got up to turn off the kitchen and hallway lights. When I was in the hallway where her bedroom is, and nobody else was there with me, the doorbell rang. Just once. And hubby heard it, too. So now he KNOWS there's something weird going on.

Keep in mind that this is just what I can remember at the moment. With only one cup of coffee. And it excludes all the times that I just had a creepy feeling or saw a shadow moving. But I'm not crazy. Much. I swear.

And, no, I won't ask them to go away or leave me alone. One, because they were here before me. Two, because I've been told that while that may help, it could also make it worse. And even though I am far less freaked out now that I was 2 years ago, I am still a big fat ghost chicken.

New Cafe Press Designs

A few new designs in my Cafe Press Store, Coffee Cup Art. If anyone wants a certain design on a different product, email me and I can make some changes.

The Trip: What I Crocheted

I had 3 days of driving there, 3 days of driving back, and a full week and half of lounging by a river to crochet.

I took photos of everything I made. Wanna see?

Are you ready?

Here's the photo:

Yup. That's it. A big fat NOTHING. Not one single thing. Sure. I started a few things. And then yanked them out 3 minutes later.

What? I was busy. Doing nothing. So sue me.

On the other side of the country, though, my mailbox DID get the contracts for my first published crochet stuff (which I still can't show off until May). I signed them up quick and mailed them off. Yay.

And now I am in a little rut. I have at least a bamillion ideas. Some of them might even be really good ideas. I'm just not doing well with the sitting down and actually crocheting part. But, this is my first back-to-routine day since June, so I am hoping if I don't force it, the hook will call me.

Assuming they all come of hiding, that is. Don't missing hooks make you so mad? Who takes them? The dog? What for? To torture the cat?

And THAT, folks, is what a normal back-to-routine-Tara-rant-and-ramble-before-enough-coffee-has-been-consumed morning looks like.

Ain't ya glad I'm home?

A School Story

What you would have overheard outside of Little Brat's new Kindergarten classroom this morning:

Me: Oh look. A wish Tree.

Hubby: What's a wish tree?

Me: The teacher writes a bunch of things on leaves that she needs for the classroom, and if you can send it in, you take the leaf with you. See, she has a couple that say 'googly eyes' and 'paper plates' and so on.

Hubby: Hey, would you look at that. There's one that says yarn.

Me: Huh.... Interesting.

Hubby: You have extra yarn.

Me: ........

Hubby: You have extra yarn, right?

Me: Define 'extra'.

Hubby: You're bringing in some yarn. You have lots of it.

Me: That depends on what you consider 'lots'.

Hubby: I consider what you have 'lots'.

Me: I think I may have some googly eyes somewhere.

Hubby: Here, I took the leaf. Now you have to bring some. Hah.

Little Brat: What's that leaf, Mom?

Me: It's the beginning of the end for Daddy, dear.

The Trip: The River

My home away from home for a few weeks. At my Mom's river property. You can't actually see the river in these pics, but it's there. Trust me.

The kids slept in the little trailer, hubby and I in the tent. The red tent was kind of a shed, I guess. The air mattress leaked the second night, so we had to go and buy a new bring-your-own-bed. The temperature dropped the third night, so we had to go buy toques (that's a warm hat, pronounced TOOOK, for the non-Canadians). It dropped again the 4th night, so we bought a new blanket. Thank Folgers Whitecourt, Alberta has a Walmart.

Yup. Whitecourt. Not the prettiest town in the world, but it's where my family chooses to live, in the bush, every summer.

It's nice. But odd. Like a bunch of hillbillies. After only a few hours, my kids looked like there were being raised by wolves. Which isn't that far from the truth there, since everybody has a few dogs and they all run wild over 13 acres. My dog, Duke, loved it. I think he's a little mad we brought him home.

The coffee sucked. Instant. With whitener instead of milk. I usually wandered over to my Mom's trailer in the morning and stole coffee while nobody was looking. Don't tell.

They are in the process of moving their business, Home Tweet Home, from Edmonton to Whitecourt, so there was a lot of birdhouses hanging around. I'll be making one of my own this year. The stone church. If anyone wants to buy a birdhouse kit, email me. I'll hook you up.

Random cute kid photos:

(the other 2 are my niece and nephew)

There are none of my husband, because now that he's supposed to be all secret army, I can't show his pic anymore. At least not without a black line across his face, and why bother showing him off then. He has very pretty eyes. And, there are no photos of me. Because, well, I had the camera.

More later. Today is the Jr. Kindergarten open house for Little Brat, and 1st day of school for Big Brat.

The Trip: The Drive There

We started out on a Monday evening. Normally, I would choose to leave at about 3 am, but hubby's work decided not to give him a leave pass until 3:30 pm. And we still had to pack up the van.

As far as road trips go, it was fairly uneventful. The only real drama was when Little Brat told me that she didn't want to bring her 'friend' Diego on the trip with us. She was mad at him. What could an imaginary friend do to upset her enough to not want him on the trip?

Why, he shot her horse.

The bastard. Somehow, Diego found his way into the car anyway, because she kept telling him things. I think they were about me.

We slept in truck stop and Walmart parking lots, stopping for gas and Tim Horton's when we could. The Northern route through Ontario (aka The Eleven) is rather, um, bare. Not bare like Saskatchewan bare, but not much to see, really. Although, we did see a wolf and a bear. No moose, though. Signs everywhere warning us of moose, and not one single moose.

I didn't sleep much in the car. Not like the rest of those lazy lumps I call my family. The kids are, well, kids. They don't always need beds. And hubby is army. They can sleep on an airplane runway. And he has. Whenever I was wide awake, I just kept driving.

It was a relief to finally reach Manitoba. Until I remembered what the Manitoba roads are like. I lived there a LONG LONG time ago. The roads are so bumpy, you can be in the back of a moving van and know when you crossed the Ontario-Manitoba border. Come on Manitoba, you know it's true. And whatever happened to the Orbits? You Winnipeggers know what I mean.

Saskatchewan was just as flat and boring as ever, although with a newfound obsession for the TV show Corner Gas.

Alberta didn't come soon enough.

But you'll hear more about it later. Right now, I have to catch up on laundry. Ya, laundry. Heaps and mounds of it. I suppose my days of empty laundry rooms are over.

Pssssst!

I'm back. Just. I still need to wash off a few weeks of camping and car trip crime. I'll be back when I smell better to tell ya'll about it.