Demon on my Chest

So you know when you feel like this?? 
The Nightmare, Fuseli 1781

A toddler stuck his fingers in my mouth last weekend and I am now fucked.  Because why?  Because an adult's immune system sucks.  Kids?  Kids can be infected with a freaking alien plague, take some Dimetapp and be fine.

"Mummy I'm good to go.  If I stayed home, I'd miss recess/hockey/dance/horse back riding!  Time is a wastin'!"

"You have a fever of 103!"

"I feel nothing - let's go!!!" *

We all have our signals - that first feeling where you know, you just know that you're fucked with whatever illness has insidiously infiltrated your person.  Me?  My legs ache.  David, it's his throat.  Rissa, she starts sniffling.

So yesterday, when my legs felt a little off, it was just a matter of time before I was caught in the toddler virus vortex.  The entire back of my body hurts.  The back of my eyeballs, head, lungs, ass, legs, arms, throat, tongue, shoulders...  uterus...    I'm pretty sure that I can feel the tonsils and adenoids that I had removed when I was 11.

I have things to do today.  I have a whole list of shit that needs to be done.  It's a week until Christmas!!!  I had a day planned with pre-holiday tasks that began with doing (and this is just how dumb I am) my 42 minutes of exercise.  Yes, I am THAT dumb - I am still considering exercising - even though I know that you're supposed to rest when you're sick.  Thing is?  I'm worried that I won't be able to sleep tonight if I don't exercise.  Jogging would be overly ambitious, I'm 'with it' enough to recognize that.  But walking?  Not at my regular pace (that would be silly), but at a completely reasonable lower speed that might trick my body into thinking that it actually did expend energy?  That is doable.  Except that I can't tell David that I did it.  His last words before he left the house today were "Get some rest." Accompanied by a meaningful 'you will be in so much trouble if you don't' look.

So here I sit, clad in David's extra-large bathrobe, the personification of pathetic, trying to figure out if there's a way to get away with being stupid, instead of watching Buffy and/or Firefly all day.  Oh God, I really AM sick.  The virus has hit my brain too!!

Snuggling in one's partner's robe can mask a lot.

*Please for the love of all deities - DON'T send your child to school when they have a fever!  They are NOT well, even if they think they are.  Don't be the parent of Typhoid Frickin' Mary and start a flu/cold epidemic because it was inconvenient for you to take a day to look after your kid. 

Too sad to be funny

So you know how I posted about Jeff Buckley's cover of Hallelujah?  I didn't reckon it would shuffle onto our playlist last night as we were driving home from Toronto, nor did I think that it would make me cry for a completely different and soul-shattering reason than at the beginning of the day. 

I'm just hoping that all the cool people in Heaven are taking each and everyone of those victims into their arms.  I know my friend Shannon will be doing it along with my Gran, Granny, Kay, Grandad and Vivian.  Maybe even Jeff Buckley himself will sing for them.

Hold your kids close.

Best Cover of Hallelujah - EVER

from jeffbuckley.com

I'm crying now.  I'm crying because I didn't know until just moments ago, that Jeff Buckley died in 1997.  What the?  He died 15 years ago?!? And what do you mean you don't know who Jeff Buckley is?   Well, Jeff Buckley has the title of this blog post - that's who he is.  The best cover of Leonard Cohen's  Hallelujah EVER.  The first time I heard his version was on an episode of The West Wing in 2002.  It was so freaking beautiful and affecting that I found myself reaching blindly for David's hand as I started to sob uncontrollably.  This morning, I was all excited to learn more about him and he's freaking dead!  Had he lived, he'd be 2 years older than I am now.

I'm crying because I was so happy to be reminded of how brilliant he is and only just now found out that I should be saying was.   I was completely clueless that he had already shuffled off this mortal coil.  I'm crying because he'll never record another song and that sucks like a freaking black hole.  I feel cut off at the knees.

Those 'hit you upside the head' emotions...  Most of the time you cover them up, push them down... you don't delve.  It's too painful.  Go ahead,  brand me a 'sensitive soul.' I freely admit it.  Tears coat my throat if I really think about John Lennon when I hear Imagine on the radio.  I get overcome by the song and then I remember that he's dead and if I don't fill my chest with ice, it's as if I just heard that he was shot.

Eva Cassidy's cover of Over the Rainbow can send me off the deep end. When Brandon Lee died - I remember feeling devastated.  And you're probably thinking to yourself, Brandon Lee?  What the...?  Like Bruce Lee's kid?  Yep.  Bruce Lee's kid.  And I don't know why it hurt.  Maybe because he was young and had a life of promise.   I could see it there... just there... just beyond The Crow and then... nothing.  Dead.

So this morning I honour Jeff Buckley.  Those of you who haven't experienced him, listen to the song yourself.  I defy you not to be moved.

Downton Abbey Style!

Jim Carter & Phyllis Logan from Masterpiece's Downton Abbey

So you know how, when you're hosting a big shindig and you pretty much become relegated to the roles of Butler and/or Head Housekeeper?  Well I have to say that David plays a mean Carson to my Mrs. Hughes and we rocked the crap out of open-house entertaining last Saturday at our Annual Holiday Tea.

"Hi!!  So great to see you!"  kiss/hug/chuck upon shoulder - gracious acceptance of fetching holiday ornament/wine/liqueur/truffles/trays of treats.

"What can I get you to drink?  We have warm cider...."

"Oh, cider would be lovely!"

"We also have mulled wine this year...."

"Mulled wine?!?  Why I've never had mulled wine, I'll have some of that..."

"You just come right on in here, while I get you that drink!!" 

First sip of mulled wine hits the palate... "My, that's got a wee bit of a kick to it!"

"How is (fill in name of non-attending spouse/child/parent) doing?"

"Great!!  Great!!!  S/he/they just finished a (blank)."

"That's amazing!  I was going to ask about the (blank)!"

Doorbell!

"Please make yourself at home.  And eat!!  Eat!!  Rissa's labeled all the food types on the table!*  I'll just grab the door."

This basic conversation repeats in an endless loop from 2:30 to 7:30 p.m.  I poured out as many as 6 mugs of mulled wine for myself, but drank only one over the course of the day as I kept putting them down when I was answering the door or replenishing the Nanaimo Bars/Norwegian Sugar Balls/Gingerbread.

"Hey folks!!  There's chili!!! There is a ginormous pot of chili in a slow cooker on the counter!!! Help yourselves!!"

"Put the cat down!"

"How old is he now?" gazing upon adorable toddling child.

"Ten months!"

"Already?!?"

"Who wanted the Butterscotch Schnapps in their cider??"

"Mummy, the baby is totally falling asleep in my arms!"

For David and me it is the opportunity to open our home to all our friends and family while spending pretty much no quality time with anyone - apart from the first two guests who show.  It's kind of like your wedding day.  Filled to the brim with people you love, but all a blur... For Rissa - it's the greatest game of MANHUNT ever played.  We had 15 children between the ages of 4 and 14 racing through the house - cracking the caulking on the crown mouldings with their combined weight and ear-splitting shrieks of holiday joy. 

But, by the end of the day - when I count off the 75 or so folks who made it out and seemed to have a good time - it's always worth it.  It's our tradition.  And (but wait there's more!) our wine rack is now totally stocked!  We won't have to pay for a bottle of wine over the holidays!!

Day turns to evening and then to night.  The three of us (plus various cats) snuggle down on the sofa in the family room - the fireplace ablaze, the TV bright and we watch Babe and smile and sniff - because Farmer Hoggett had it right... "That'll do Pig...  That'll do."



*A few years back, I got these nifty little ceramic placecards to put in front of food trays, which you can write on with dry-erase markers.  I presented them to Rissa last week.

"What are they Mummy?"

"They are to label the dishes on the buffet table."

Nearly leaping out of her skin she's so excited!!!  "You mean I can label specific treats and desserts?!?"

"You can indeed!  All you need is a dry-erase marker!"

"Could I get extra-special new dry-erase markers - you know just for the Holiday Tea?!?"

"Whatever decorates your gingerbread house kid."

Musical Theatre Geeks of the world unite!

WARNING:  ADULT LANGUAGE IN THIS POST

I might have developed this... uh....little... small... (wee really)... obsession with Tim Minchin.  Nothing warranting  Mr. Minchin seeking out a restraining order or anything.  It's totally the Bloggess's fault.  In September of this year, she mentioned him in one of her posts.  I watched some clips on You Tube and fell hard for this comic musical genius.

 

I'm talking Donny Osmond/Shaun Cassidy hard.*   I want a poster of him for my bedroom ceiling. I'm this close to imagining what kind of eyes our babies would have.  Imagine scribblers filled with Mrs. Heather Minchin in curly letters, embellished with illuminated hearts and glitter glue.  

The dude is so freaking cool - it's hard to impart that kind of adoration in a non-sexual/stalker context.  He is the most profanely profound comedian/musician I've ever had the pleasure of experiencing.  Think Louis C.K. as a composer-singer.  Minchin has the goods, and for a guy who doesn't read music he will blow your fucking mind with his piano playing.

(Mr. Minchin - I'm really not a stalker - nothing at ALL close to Kathy Bates in ANY context here - I promise - just your average Canadian Musical Theatre Geek - who salivates just a titch when you squeeze 25 syllables into a musical phrase and can articulate them all.)

Last week we drove 45 minutes to see a simulcast of Jesus Christ Superstar from the UK.   I would have gone to see it anyway as Superstar is my favourite rock opera of all time (the best of Rice and Webber), but when I found out that Tim Minchin was starring as Judas, I lost my mind... in an adorable, not-at-all-threatening, nor indicating any sort of psychotic break, way.

The production itself was fan-fucking-tastic!  (It wasn't perfect, there were some musical direction things that I didn't agree with... DON'T, for the love of Ian Gillan, go for the Big Broadway  Finish ANYWHERE in Superstar.  It doesn't need it.)    The tour was well-staged, well-acted not too dancy-dancy...  Melanie C as Mary Magdalene killed it, Ben Foster did a great job as Jesus, Alex Hanson as Pilate was delicious,  Pete Gallagher's first notes as Ciaphus nearly had me creaming my pants... but Minchin?  Was freaking brilliant as Judas.   I didn't know he had the chops to sing it - as that epiphany hit me, I fell harder and harder for the dude.  Judas's (spoiler alert) death had me in tears - and I wasn't even anywhere close to my period.

Then there's Christmas Day!  Less than a month from getting the chance to see Superstar - Les Mis will be in theatres.  Please, please, please don't let them fuck it up!  Please!  Let it be the perfect thing for my family to do on Christmas Day!!!   Please, please, please!!!  Let me get chills, let me weep, let it be all that a musical theatre geek could hope for!!!**

*(OR for people a decade younger... Michael Jackson/Rick Astley hard.... OR for people two decades younger... Backstreet Boys/NSync hard... if you're any younger than that you probably shouldn't be reading this blog.)

**Spoiler Alert - Les Mis (apart from Anne Hathaway's I Dreamed a Dream and Eddie Redmayne's Empty Chairs at Empty Tables) did NOT live up to its hype.  For the love of all that's holy in musical theatre give us some fucking long shots!

Weight Loss Secrets Revealed!!

WARNING: ADULT LANGUAGE IN THIS POST

Pssssst.... over here!

You won't have to starve yourself!  You won't have to exercise!!!  Watch how these other women lost 20, 40, even as much as 75% of their total body weight! 

Take a couple of tsp of apple cider vinegar before every meal!  Spoonfuls of honey speed the metabolism!  Acacia will increase your lean muscle!

And... it's all bullshit.  Bullshit to sell women useless shit.  'Cause you know what?  There is no quick fix for ANYTHING in life.  You want to lose weight?  You need to exercise and eat sensibly.  You want to eliminate lines around your mouth and your eyes after the fact?  Too frickin' late - you should have stayed out of the sun and never smiled.*  You want to save for your retirement?  Put 10% of your salary into an RRSP every year.

Sure, you can lose 5 lbs a week!  Totally doable!  Wait, wait... why not go at it with gusto and lose 40 lbs in a month?!?  You'll be SO svelte, SO trim... and you will gain ALL the weight back because that sort of rapid weight loss is a freaking fairy tale, despite what most women's magazine covers will tell you.

Woman's World just kills me.   Always a story about weight loss on the front.  Always an incredible sugar/fat/carb filled picture of a recipe that you MUST make.  Miracle weight loss annnnnnnnnnd baked goods.
 

"You look GREAT!!  Have you been doing Atkins?"

"Nope."

"Bernstein?"

"Nope."

"Cabbage Soup?"

"Nope."

"Israeli Army?   Dukan?  Grapefruit??"

"Nope, Nope and NOPE!  I'm doing this amazing plan..."

"Yes?!?"

"It's astounding!  It improves my sleep, I'm less depressed and I have MORE energy!!"

"OH MY GOD.  WHAT IS IT?!?  WHAT IS IT???"

"It's..."  beckon, beckon, surreptitious look, for all those desperate-to-be-thin people who might mob a girl for the information  "...sensible eating and EXERCISE... "

'Cause here's the deal folks.  Recommended weight loss is 2 lbs a week AT MOST.  That's 8 lbs a month - not 20, not 40... And you know why?  Because when you sensibly adapt your eating habits and exercise you drop weight gradually, and your body?  It doesn't think that it's starving and your metabolism won't  be completely fucked.

I'm on the treadmill 6 days a week for at least 40 minutes at a time - some of that time actually jogging - and wonders of wonders!!!  Sure enough, I've lost weight and my flabby thighs are less flabby.  So in fact, NOT a miracle - it's exercise.  And I'm not saying that a person has to jog.  Do excercise that you LIKE for at least 30 minutes a day - otherwise you won't keep doing it.  Back bothers you?  Get a recumbent cycle.  Don't like being on your feet?  Swim at the Y.  You like to dance?  Grab a copy of Just Dance for the Wii. Me?  I like to walk .  I  hop on the treadmill and watch a tv show on my tablet -  that's 42 minutes - then I'm done for the day and I'm so far up the moral high ground that my nose bleeds.

It's not rocket science and it's not magic - it's working at it.  Take it from a gal who is prone to depression herself, working at it will make you healthier and happier.  Yeah, sometimes on a Saturday morning, it's a pain in the ass and you grumble most of your way through it, but you WILL feel better.  I'm not just blowing smoke up your ass and you don't have to pay me for it.  Oh and another thing?  Anyone in their 40s is ALLOWED to have lines on their face!  They're not crow's feet, they're smile lines and what you should really worry about is if you DON'T have them.
 
*Botox or plastic surgery can help with wrinkles and lines.  Sure, you look like a freaking robotic doll, but if it makes you happy and you've got the cash, go for it!  Whatever creams your panties.  However, there is absolutely NO inexpensive 'fine line' cream that you can grab at Shoppers Drug Mart that will turn back the clock.  Do NOT waste your money.

How do snakes have sex?

Asks Rissa.  At bedtime.  Because she's crazy.

"Mummy, how do snakes actually have sex?"

"Pardon?"   Gear shift.  I was mildly confused as the last thing she'd said had been:

"Mummy what if you just started sprouting extra ears all over your head?"

As to the snake sex thing, I really hadn't a clue.  I was pretty much in the dark as to the logistics of reptile mating.*  "Well I imagine the male has a penis and the female has some sort of vagina..."

"Mummy!!!!  What if the male snake IS the penis?"

I think I then made a Scooby Doo sound.

Ruh??

"No seriously Mummy!  It totally could be true!  The male snake would BE the penis and then he would just..."

"Put his entire body inside the female?"

"Maybe....  Although that would probably be a lot for a female snake to take...  Wait!  Wait!  What if all snakes are just males..."

"They aren't."

"But what if they were?"

"So basically, if there were no female snakes, and the male snake IS the penis - what you're saying is that there would be a bunch of penises slithering around on the ground?"

"Mummy.... EEEEEEEEEEW!!"

"Dude.  You totally started it."

* Oh and just in case you were wondering, male snakes have two-headed penises.  The hemi-penis.  (See the diagram below - third section up from the tail.)  When I told Rissa that - she said there needed to be a different word.  "Plurenis" is what she came up with.