Archive of ‘Vacations’ category

Lost Sock Memorial Day

At the foot of my bed sits a laundry basket. Not a clean basket for folding, not a dirty basket getting ready to be washed. No, this basket is a special kind of basket that bugs me EVERY SINGLE TIME I LOOK AT IT.

This basket is filled with the bane of my laundry existence, UNMATCHED SOCKS.

Socks of every size, texture, shape and colour. Sweat socks, toe socks, dress socks, ankle, knee. Even old baby socks are in there, and my youngest is 10!

WHY does this happen? They go in to the wash in pairs, but somehow come out solo. I throw them in the basket, thinking eventually the second one will turn up, BUT IT NEVER DOES!!!

In the past, I have done creative things with the lone ones. I’ve used buttons and yarn to make sock puppets. I have tried using them as dusters, to clean the house. Problem is I am a lousy housekeeper, so I’d only use one a month. I’d never get rid of them at that rate!

I am going to be stuck with a basket of mismatched socks FOREVER. I can’t bring myself to throwing them out. I can’t increase my carbon footprint with something that makes a footprint! I am trapped.

Or, at least I thought I would be, until I learned that May 9th is unofficially “Lost Sock Memorial Day.”

Yes. That’s right, a made-up day that is giving me permission to THROW OUT THE OLD SOCKS. I will have one last look, try to match up a few, and then take a moment and thank all those socks for keeping my family’s toes warm throughout the winter, and then PITCH THEM IN THE GARBAGE, GUILT FREE!

PLUS. Sandal season is almost here! You know what that means??!!?? NO SOCKS FOR 4 MONTHS!

Imagine the space I will have now at the end of my bed, instead of a laundry basket mocking me! I will put that basket in the basement and be free of mismatched socks!

For now.

Eventually they will pile up again; I am sad to say I know this. But hey, at least I have until September.

So, go ahead. On May 9th, you have official permission to throw out those lone socks.

And, if you can’t bring yourself to do it, may I suggest a sock themed craft for Mother’s Day? The pass off is maybe your only chance!!!

 

 

Back To School Posts? NO THANK-YOU!

For the past few weeks I’ve seen a tonne of back to school posts, ranging in everything from lunch container ideas for kids to ones giving up alcohol and chips for adults. I’m going to let you in on a little secret, I don’t read any of them, and I’ll tell you why!

I’m lucky enough this year to be able to take August off and spend it at the beach with my children. My guys are still young enough to have some carefree summers, but I know that won’t last forever. So for now, and hopefully always, I want to make this weekend last as long as possible.

So instead of back to school shopping, we are going to swim in the lake. Instead of me cutting up sandwiches with cookie cutters and writing love notes, we are going to dig in the sand and make sandcastles, instead of me feeling guilty about having a beer, I’m going to have two. We are going to drag this out until the bittersweet end.

We will head home tomorrow and go back to reality. We will be sun kissed, our bellies full of food and our hearts filled with love. We will crank our “Beach Mix 2016” playlist and sing, windows down and wind in our faces, and crawl into our beds sandy and sleepy.

Tuesday morning we will head off to school, a bit sleepy, but luckily my guys get back into the swing of things without much adjustment time. I won’t pack up a fancy container for lunch in a brand new lunch bag, I’ll send them off with last year’s bag with more of a June lunch than a September one.

Wednesday we will be back to “normal” and in full fall mode, but I will already be plotting how to be off again next summer. At the end of it all, I’m pretty sure my guys are going to remember that night we swam until dark over that time I spent a mortgage payment on Sistema lunch containers.

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A PSA Of Sorts – With Swearing. So Much Swearing.

I took August off this summer to spend a month at the beach with my kids. It’s been wonderful and hot, and it has also been very sandy. After two weeks in paradise I had to be taken a little back to reality, in the form of a mountain of laundry. So, one hot sticky morning I headed off to the local Laundromat to get us some clean beach duds.

As I pulled in, I noticed two big pit bulls tied up to a fence, in the direct blazing sun. I instantly get my pet-loving rage on, but take some deep breaths and think, okay, maybe they’ve only been there for a minute. Relax and mind your own business.

I go in, start my laundry, and keep my eyes on the time. Now it’s 20 minutes. They’ve been there for at LEAST THAT LONG, short leashed to a fence, summer sun beating down on them. I wander outside to check on them. One is muzzled, but he’s managed to get his tongue out, which from a distance I can see is dry, and the other is lying on her side crying. NO WATER. They don’t even have water. My rage is rising faster than the already too hot temperature.

Now IT IS my business. I get my anger in check, walk back into Laundromat, and look around. There are a few different Grannies doing loads of laundry, a young mom, and a guy who looks like Eminem who is shirtless, with his feet up on the counter, refusing to move them for a senior who is trying to get her cart by. He is covered in tattoos, and has the word “MERCY” tatted across his forehead. BINGO.

I march over and say “EXCUSE ME, but are those your dogs over there?”

Well, my rage was met with equal instant rage. This guy starts yelling at me, all up in my face, asking why I’m just judging him by the way he looks, assuming that he’s the owner of pit bulls, because that kind of dog and their owners are always judged, that this is the same as racial profiling. (It isn’t)

I let him rant for a minute or two, then pause. “Yeah, but are they YOUR pit-bulls? To which he answers yes.

I tell him that he needs to get those dogs out of the sun and some water immediately, or I’m going to call the cops. I start to walk back out towards the dogs and he gets in my face again.

“IF YOU GO NEAR THEM, THEY’LL RIP YOUR FUCKING FACE OFF!”

I get back up in his face and say “IF YOU DONT GET THEM OUT OF THE SUN NOW, I’LL RIP YOUR FUCKING FACE OFF.”

He stepped back immediately, I’m going to assume he could see pure fire and rage shooting like lasers out of my eyes, and my skin must have been turning green because I was going to She Hulk Smash THE SHIT OUT OF HIM.

He went out to his dogs and called me a “Dumb C***” and left. I called out after him “TAKES ONE TO KNOW ONE.” Zing.

I turn back, a little shaky, but mostly pleased with myself, to see everyone else in the Laundromat giving me dirty looks.

“OH YEAH.” I said. “Like I’M the problem.”

I pack up my clothes and head back. The dirtbag and his dogs are nowhere to be seen, so I hope they found some water, and that maybe he will think twice before doing that again.

Moral of the story is, Animal Cruelty is everyone’s responsibly. Even if the situation gets uncomfortable we need to be advocates for pets in distress.

And if you are a pet owner, please think about what you are doing.

Because you wouldn’t like me when I’m angry.

She Hulk Smash

She Hulk Smash

 

 

 

One Man’s Trash…

 

Early on a weekend morning you find yourself carting boxes full of old books and toys out on to your front lawn. Clothes you no longer wear, furniture that’s chipped, VHS tapes you’ve found in the basement; you put all those out too. You felt like you were up early enough yet there are already people there, ready to rummage through your stuff.

You my friend are having a garage sale.

I have VERY mixed feelings on garage sales. They really are a weird event. A plan to get rid of all your old things that never really works out for me. First of all, if I bring a box up from the basement full of toys my kids haven’t played with in years, they suddenly have interest in them again and simply CANNOT part with them. Now dusty old baby toys are scattered around my living room floor. I also don’t like people trying to barter with me over things I’ve owned and loved, trying to talk me down from the Toonie I am charging.

“No, I won’t take a quarter for it. It’s an end table!!”

I stand there, on my lawn, with a good portion of our lives out for display knowing that if it doesn’t sell I will have to load all of it up in our car and take it to a donation centre. I look at the handful of change I’ve earned so far, which is barely enough to buy a coffee, and start wondering if I just should have not bothered with the sale, but just headed right for the dump.

My kids, who were the ones who talked me in to having a sale in the first place, have long lost interest and have gone to the park to play. I can’t stop thinking of the guy that bought all our DVD’s for $5. He was so excited and kept saying “I can’t believe you don’t want these!!” I am starting to regret selling them. DO I want these? Now it’s too late. Would we ever watch Cannonball Run 3 again? I highly doubt it, but I am still feeling regretful.

The only thing worse for me than having a garage sale is the slightly embarrassing fact that I LOVE going to them. I can’t help myself. I pull over all the time and shop on people’s lawns. Over the years I have picked up so many things that will be great “DIY fixer upper projects.” I buy all kinds of furniture that I could easily refinish and that would be AMAZING when I’m done. Problem is, I don’t ever do it. NOT EVER. I don’t even know how! I usually keep all this junk in my basement for two years and then resell it to some other poor sucker off my lawn.

Despite all of this, I know that I will continue to stop at garage and yard sales. I just can’t help it. Once again my kids will leave with old DVD’s and giant sized toys and I will leave with a broken chair and some useless knickknacks.

Oh well, at least we will have some new things to sell off next year!

My latest purchase. It's salt and pepper shakers that are also a bottle opener AND a corkscrew! How could I resist?!?

 

Hey, You Look Like A Lady Who Could Use A Hot Dog!

I just had my coffee and read thirty five some internet articles. One was about a woman who sabotaged herself and ruined every trip she’s ever gone on, by not being organized. Wow. She’s got the problems! I can’t imagine living your life like that! Speaking of trips…

I am leaving tomorrow for a much needed one. You know, to give me a break from my job of doing nothing all day long. I fly out at 8 am, so I need to pack today.

I also need to clean my house. My sister is moving in for the week, to help out my children. Knowing that I was flying out on June 6th, I decided from May 6th on not to clean or put anything away. WHY BOTHER. I will just have to do it the day before she comes anyway, because I live with three boys and a giant dog. (Hoarders were like “Naw, this is too much, even for us.”) So the cleaning and packing should commence, NOW. Oh. I also have to wash what I want to pack, since I only own three outfits. None of which are really even appropriate for the trip. What should I wear to tour Alcatraz, PJs or a formal gown? You decide.

This should all be easy enough right? Right. BUT I do need to clean the backyard first. Why you ask? Because today is the day! We have old propane tanks scattered around, broken equipment, toboggans and recycling. SO. MANY. WINE. BOTTLES. Will my sister be in the back yard? NO. But this should only take a few minutes. Let me just load up the car for a quick run to Big Box Land to return all this junk. Easy Peasy. THEN I will clean and pack. Here we go.

GARDEN CENTRE? Ohhhhh. A place for people who care about their yards. (I wish I was one of those people.) Annuals on for .99 cents? Hmmmm. Well, the front of the house does look bare. I can’t imagine weeding a garden and planting a few dozen flowers can take that long, right? I know I need to clean but I still have a few hours before the dog groomer shows up. Yes. I decided my dog needs a haircut before I leave. It only makes sense to spend as much money as possible before a trip. I love to feel anxious about cash flow while on a vacation. I want to make good and sure to keep this whirlwind of chaos going until I board that plane.

At the hardware store, I unload all the propane tanks. Did I mention they aren’t even mine? They were in the yard 6 years ago when we bought our house. So you can totally see the need to return them TODAY. Had to be done. They were crazy heavy, and I struggled all across the parking lot with NO ONE offering to help me. Whatever.

On my way back out, the hot dog cart man called out to me.

“HEY! You look like a lady who could use a hot dog.”

Dude’s not wrong. 99% of the time I pretty much look like a lady who could use a hot dog. I’ll take this as some serious high praise, considering the source!

I wander over.

“If I was allowed to leave my cart, I would have totally helped you carry those tanks!”

See. Chivalry is not dead.

“That’s disgusting the way NO ONE helped you, struggling like that. In YOUR condition. Let me treat you to a hot dog.”

There it is. My condition. Hot dog man thinks I’m pregnant.

I am not.

I am, however, interested in that free hot dog.

“What’ll it be?” he asks.

“Something’s telling me…chicken wiener.” (  I say this in a side talking, high pitched voice. Chiiiken WEEN AHHH)

Let me just say this. At NO point in anyone’s life, should something in their brain or body tell them chicken wiener.

“Coming right up!”

YESSSS. I am totally owning today. I take my free chicken dog and LOAD IT UP with all my favourite unrefrigerated toppings, which are just warming up nicely in the sun. Sauerkraut, corn relish, hot sauce, ketchup. Mmmmm. I thank my Knight in Shining Tin Foil, head to the car, and scarf down my snack.

As I wiped my face up with a bit of leftover bun, I glanced down to see it’s only 10:30am. Hmm. Maybe that was a food mistake before noon. Hmm. Maybe it was a food mistake before a 5 hour flight. But hey! I still have plenty of time to get at that gardening. I crank some Dexy’s Midnight Runners on the radio and I cruise on home.

It’s late afternoon now and NOTHING in the house is done, but I am still super excited for my trip. I am meeting my hubby for a sweet big city rendezvous. He’s been away for a week now, and I miss him. I sent him some sexy boudoir photos to remind him what’s coming his way in two days. I’ll share one with you now, if you promise not to show anyone. I don’t want them leaked like Jennifer Lawrence’s!

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Okay. That’s it. I need to stop wasting time and GET READY.

Just as soon as I finish off that project piece chair I garbage picked two years ago. I really feel like it needs to get done today. Now where’s that sander?

P.S. If you read this, and thought, hey, pregnant ladies shouldn’t eat hot dogs! You are right!! Pat yourself on the back for nailing this parenting thing! We are all doing alright.