Go On, B’y! Me?! You Really Like Me?!! Aww….

awesome

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I just received an award from Sightsnbytes that’s called the Epically Awesome Award of Epic Awesomeness (?) I think?  Is that what the sign says? Yeah.  Anywho, tanks to Sights who was very flattering and beyond kind.  I shall state the rules as they have been outlined to me.  They are as follows:

State 10 things about yourself

Link 10 bloggers who shall be deemed able to accept such award and let them know they have received it.  (I would do this, however, I’m not sure I know 10 bloggers and the ones I do know, may not be all gaga over getting yet another award) so in seeing that, I shall do the other things I’m supposed to…if I can remember what they be.  Yeah.

First…ten semi-interesting things that you peeps are dying to know about me:

1. I drink coffee with half French Vanilla

2.  My puppy freaks me out

3.  I hate losing at party games.  It pisses me off

4. I’m a lot like Raj from Big Bang Theory.  I only speak to people (sarcastically) when alcohol is in my system.

5. I married my first boyfriend…and we are still married. (22 yrs this August)

6. I decided that the number on my scale does not reflect my true personality and I no longer give a shit.  So there.

7.  I feel very blessed that I have great neighbours who are my family more than just my neighbours.

8.  I can’t imagine life without chocolate

9.  I yell at people when I’m driving

10.  I also sing loudly in the car when I’m alone…it doesn’t necessarily need to be moving. The car, I mean. My neighbours can attest to that, I’m sure.

So, now you have an in-depth peek at what my fam and co-worker has to deal with on a daily basis.  Be thankful you are where you are, people.  If you want a rundown on some awesome bloggers, take a gander to the right at the blogroll of awesomeness and check them all out.  They are all entertaining and enlightening.

Thanks again, Sights and blog-on fellow bloggers!  May the booze be with you!

Rogue-a-licious

words

 

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Surviving Grad Night – My Plan For The Ultimate Mommy Pleasing 24 Hour Grad/Prom Day

GAH!!!

GAH!!!

 

D2 will be celebrating her prom/grad soon (here, they don’t have ‘proms’ they have grads.  D1 informed me of this when she graduated a couple of years ago. The grads around these parts are what I imagine to be similar to the American version of a prom, but the kids here cringe at the word ‘prom’.  I don’t know either, just go with it)  In preparation for such an auspicious event, I have prepared a guideline for the parent (particularly the mommy )in surviving the broo-ha-ha that seems to follow impending graduate every step her painted toes take her.  A mother of the graduate needs to take precautions lest she fall into the unending abyss of distant high school memories of her own and drunken exclamations of ‘when I was your age, we didn’t have this fancy shmanzy stuff.  We had a diploma thrust into our hands and a ‘get on with it kid’.  You kids today with your video games and Snookie…blah, blah, blah..’’  Yeah, let’s try to avoid the self-loathing and guilt laden lectures, shall we?

Part 1- The Dress

Okay, so a lot of preparation and many woman hours manning a computer searching endless data bases of ‘prom dresses’ the internet has to offer, has left you cross eyed and vomiting pink frills.  No worries, the end of this nightmarish search is nigh.  The girls these days are so overflowing with social media that their cousins best friend’s former next door neighbor has already secured the one dress your darling desperately needs to make all her grad dreams come true and has splashed that picture all over Facebook before you can say, ‘but that’s not a dress, that’s a shower curtain’.  Have no fear.  Get daughter to revisit some of her favourite websites that hopefully occupy this hemisphere, with her three top choices.  Among top choices, check for price, availability and the ever important ‘covers-her-ass’.  Darling should look lovely, not a cheap hooker for the visiting Senator.

Once the top three are chosen and you inspect the website and assure that it does not emanate North Korean phrases like ‘you buy dress, we not take over your army and cyber warrior your ass’, then you are almost ready for the big buy out!  Get out your credit card, mommy dearest ‘cause baby’s buyin’ her first car?!  No!  That’s the price of the dress, silly!

Daughter should take friends trying on different styles of dresses before settling on the ONE style she thinks best suits her frame…and covers all her assets.  I can’t say this enough.

Our excursion to the formal dress salon was important just so I could see if the dress D2 selected was flattering for her…it was, she did a lovely job.  I was left out of the whole ‘let’s try on a gagillion dresses to see which one I like’ which was probs a good idea.  My idea of shopping is getting into the store, getting a dress that won’t fall off or make me suck in my stomach too much and getting the hell outta there.

If you visit the salon, they will actually order the dress for you!  Had I known this little tidbit two years ago, I would have done that instead of ordering it myself off the internet and waiting anxiously for two months wondering if the dress would actually show up.  To avoid this, GET THE NICE PEOPLE AT THE STORE TO ORDER IT FOR YOU.  That way, if it doesn’t come in, you can build up a good rant and blame the disaster on them.  You are free from responsibility…a phrase you have been waiting 18 years to hear.

Of course , the next step is the alterations.  Get the store to refer you to reputable local talent who can hem a dress faster than a dip like me could thread a needle.  Ain’t nobody got time for that!  We were introduced to a nice lady who had been hemming dresses for 18 years.  Tip:  If your daughter has severe allergies to cats, it’s probably wise to inquire whether said seamstress has four Persian cats living in her house and occupy every possible living space like the kitchen counters…because when you walk in and see them staring at you ominously, it’s a little creepy.  Not to mention a tad life-threatening for darling.  Not that it’s ever happened to me personally…okay, yes!  But we’re still here!  We rock.

So, we have the dress, the shoes, the accessories…what’s left?  Really?  Did you just ask me that?!!  Uhhh….THE DATE, maybe?!!!  AND…. Tickets, the flowers, the cards, the present, the makeup, the hair, the nails, the inhaler, ( allergies, remember?) the pictures with mommy and daddy and nanny and the neighbour’s cat…. Then there’s the grad dinner, the father-daughter dance, the all-night grad party, safe grad, breakfast….*sigh* …a bit exhausting.

Part 2- The Party

Once the dress has been secured, it fits, it’s not laden with cat hair, the wrinkles have been steamed and darling has managed to secure its location away from the teeth of the dog, tickets are in her hand, appointments have been made, wine has been purchased (for mommy of course)  it’s time to make sure mommy has some moments during the next hectic 24 hours.  Here is my time table for this event:

Friday evening:

Happy hour with Bestie and neighbours to ensure mommy is in a great mood for the next day and prepped for all that is to ensue.  Ensure D2 is getting to bed early and not out partying it up with friends too much the night before, lest she be the spawn of satan the next morning.  Darling needs her rest so she can remain her pleasant and effervescent self and mommy needs her wine.  Both are important aspects for a smooth day.  Trust me, on this one.

Saturday morning:

6am:  Take out dog for walk

6:15- 8:30   Down copious quantities of coffee, eat breakfast, clean floors, send Hubby out with son to Canadian tire.  THEY NEED TO LEAVE THE HOUSE…’cause they’re boys and they’re messy.  It’s a well known fact.

9am:  See if D2 is awake, ask her to make it to the kitchen without touching the floors.  (what? Her first test of the day.  Let’s see if she can do it!)

9:20:  Calm down D2 and assure her I will not be piggy-backing her to the kitchen nor force feeding her food.

9:30:  Tell daughter to get into shower before mommy decides to get in there and drain the hot water tank.  Nothing sends teenage girls into a tizzy more than NO HOT WATER!!  hehehehe

10:00  Get Bestie over to have some more coffee, and start on D2’s hair.  Ensure the shellac is close by as that ‘do can’t move for the next 10 hours!

11:00  It’s five o’clock somewhere…nip of wine while darling is on the phone and getting her makeup done.  What?  No judging, people.  I will gladly have a glass ready for you when it’s your turn….

12:00 officially lunch time.  Get Hubby to run to Subway, feed all the darlings and myself and drain that first glass of wine.  Yeah, this is shaping up to be a great day.

1:00  What do you mean, you want me to go with you while you’re getting your nails done?!  Okay!  Sit and get nails done while D2 gets hers done.  Have second glass of wine while waiting for that stuff to dry. I fucking love grad day!

1:30 Get darling in her dress, meet the date (the most exciting part as Hubby interrogates the boy) take pictures, avoid the dog photobombing by licking herself in front of the photo, have some wine while the friends wander around the house and eat, make sure son hasn’t escaped to Nurse Betty’s house to hang out with friend, make sure neighbor girls come by to see the pretty dresses and show their mommies what’s to come, smile profusely knowing that it’s almost over, share some wine with DH ladies and show off those nails!  We rock.

2:00- 6:00  stay home and fidget while D2 is off with friends getting pictures at their houses with their parents and their dogs photo bombing the pictures, have some more wine, order some food for supper, get ready for meet and greet.  By this time, the first bottle of Merlot is gone and you are well on your way to making a great impression at the meet and greet with the other parents and graduates.

6:25 attend meet and greet after Hubby swears profusely about the lack of parking, D1 complains her grad was better and son is itchy in his tie.  Stumble into the centre to see D2 with her friends, take awkward pictures with people you don’t know, have awkward conversations with parents you don’t WANT to know and send darling on her way to the dinner.  Get Hubby back into the car to drive home and wait until we are summoned back to the grad to dance with D2.  Open second bottle of Merlot while waiting…

8:00 Go back to the centre, plough our way to see daughter, take more pictures, watch Hubby and D2 dance, cry like a baby, take more pictures, give D2 kiss and see her at home, cry like a baby, get in car and go home to cry like a baby and finish off that bottle of merlot.

10:00 Wait in front room for D2 to come home only to change, and leave for the rest of the night.

Midnight:  Pace the floor, worry about D2 and her friends, text to see if she’s okay, go to bed.

5am: Open door for D2 give her a big hug and send her to bed

5:05:  Back in bed and smile that you have survived grad night.  Only one more to go…..

D2

D2

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My Walk Downtown

duckworth st colour

It’s not that I don’t like going downtown, I just don’t go there.  It’s not something I do in a run of a day.  It’s busy, little parking and I have very little need to wander aimlessly down there.  The shops that are located on Water and Duckworth Streets are interesting and very open for tourists.  When the cruise ships dock in the harbor, the passengers wander around downtown, go to a pub on George St. and maybe visit Auntie Crae’s.  I know where this stuff is.  I just don’t happen to be a townie so my experience is limited to a few random excursions in dropping someone off here or there or picking up teens from a concert at Mile One Centre.  It’s named this since it is the starting point of the first mile to connect to the Trans Canada Highway.  (but there’s an ocean separating us from the rest of Canada, but the highway runs to the tip of Port-Aux-Basques which is where the ferry runs to get you to North Sydney, Nova Scotia which is the mainland, which…ahh, never mind)  Mile One is our stadium where big performers play and the Caps play (AHL hockey team.  I’m not explaining anymore.  Go here to find out more) There.  I’ve done my civil duty to promote the city.  Now as I was saying….

This morning I had to venture downtown to the passport office.  A veritable confusing affair of one way streets and oodles of parking…with meters.  Someone forgot to mention its all metered parking.  I forgot my loonie.  *sigh*

I get to the office in record time despite thinking it was on Water St. (part of it is) and going past where I needed to.  I parked in the first space I saw.  I got out and began walking.

–        Sunny and nice day for a walk I head up Water St.

–        Wrong!

–        Backtrack to get to Bride’s Hill.  Up the hill to Duckworth

–        Head back, past the Duke of Duckworth ( I now know where that is, past Magnum and Steins, nice restaurant)

Duke of Duckworth

 

 

 

 

 

–  “look for the Tim Hortons on the corner” Bestie said.  I remembered.  Of course, there’s always a Tim Hortons on the corner.

–        Success!  Into the the TD centre

–        8th floor

–        1 person ahead of me in line…and it’s only 8:15am. I rock.

–        Get into the office.  Turned left right out of line

–        I took the guard literally when he said to ‘keep left’.

–        Get back in line, get ma ticket. E700. I have 5 applications to process.

–        Sit down

–        They call C500, then C501, then D400, then D401

–        WTF?  I was second in line!  But I have the most to process.

–        They finally call E700.  Yay me!

–        I approach the lady who’s wearing the uber-fashionable Hawaiian shirt and furry scarf that closely resembled a dead weasel. Niiiiice

–        Four passports processed then we get to son’s.

–        Uh, oh.  Daddy didn’t sign.  No can process, chicky.  ‘What?!  Fuck off, really?!’   Ugh

–        ‘Come back after Easter break when it won’t be so busy’ she said.  ‘Even if you wait until July for a trip in August you’ll be good’ she said.

–        Yeah, okay.  I’ll make Hubby do this one, I‘m thinking.

–        I pay the nice lady who is still wearing the funny shirt and dead weasel dangling ominously from her neck.

–        I leave to get into the elevator with nicely dressed man who asks me where Water St. was.  I happily tell him.  He says that’s where he’s headed, do I want to go there too?  Ummmm….

–        I laugh and wave goodbye to him as I step off on the floor I started from.  ‘Nice man, nice suit’ I’m rethinking my decision…

–        I step out into the sunshine and head down to Water St.

–        I find car

–        I find ticket on car

–        I obviously require supervision and guidance when venturing out of my area

–        I look for nice man in the nice suit

–        I swear profusely

–        I drive away

–        I wonder if any pubs are open at 9am….What?  It’s five o’clock somewhere…..

 

Newfoundland Screech

Newfoundland Screech

 

 

 

 

 

NOT Newfoundland Screech

NOT Newfoundland Screech

I Can’t Believe You’re Reading This, Can You?

I haven’t blogged in a while.  It’s not that I haven’t had the inclination or the desire, it’s just that I’m having a hard time coming up with something interesting to say.  I spent the better part of yesterday trying to come up with a blog-worthy topic and ended up playing endless games of spider solitaire and…ugh.  I can’t say.

I just wrote a whole speel about the-place-that-shall-not-be-named that I had to strike-through.  It was nothing earth shattering.  I didn’t just divulge state secrets or tell you where Hoffa was buried. It was just about candy and …you know, the usual.  And not candy as in ‘drugs’…  Sorry I led you on about that.  Gag order and all.  You understand.

I perused the Freshly Pressed site last night whilst daughter was keeping the puppy company and found a cornucopia of topics peeps wrote about.  I even recognized a few bloggers I visit.  Wow..awesome dudes and dudettes.  The topics were great and every time I stumbled upon one, I did a face-palm and exclaimed ‘why didn’t I think of that?!’  Yes, why indeed.  Was it because I’m not as creative as these obviously dedicated writers and bloggers?  Was it because my brain has been on vacay lately and my mojo seems to be gone for an extended hike up Signal Hill?  Maybe it’s the lack of something missing in my diet that is preventing me from producing my wit and wisdom with all to share.   Too much chewy candy.  That’s got to be it.  Ugh.

Well, I should get moving and return to topic-hunting.  In the meantime, occupy yourselves with this compilation of Bruce Willis singing (badly) on his old show Moonlighting.

Thanks for stopping by!

I Played Poker With Uncle Jesse And Lost

uncle jesse

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Playahs:   Miss H, Mrs. Jacked,  Mr. Frankie,  KS, Mr. Toyota, Rogue, Coach

Nurse Betty, Birthday Girl, Mr. Bing, Frankie, Mr. Jacked, Bestie, Mr. Banker

The Event:   Couples Poker

The Place:  The lovely and lively abode of KS and Mr. Banker…three dogs and two kids….lively.

Where was Rogue’s other half? Sick in bed

Who took his place? Why, Bestie of course.  Her Hubby was AWOL as well…so we coupled up.  We’re trampy like that.

Who won?  Stop rushing me, I’ll get to that.

The evening began like any other.  The house was alive with the sound of puppies barking.  Yeah, I’m not the only intelligent human who decided to get a dog…only KS went a step further and bought TWO.  Must have been a BOGO sale.

Anywho, we were all placed at our tables after reading the seating arrangements and  deftly mocking Mr. Bing’s  poker table cloth.  What? IT’S A POKER TABLE CLOTH!!  So funny.    I was swiftly seated at the GROWN UP  table with the first Playahs listed.  Not sure how I registered as GROWN UP… must have been my maturity and professionalism on one of my rants when I referred to everybody (not as in my lovely neighbours ‘everybody’, but everybody else…)  as assholes.  Obviously a step-up from my usual reference of ‘fuckwits’ and ‘asshats’.  Score one for maturity.

Seated at the Kid table was the second line of Playahs listed…interesting mix.  There is strategy in everything people, so there was strategy in this one.  No couples to sit together.  What?  You were expecting something more complicated?   Uh, nope.  That’s pretty much it.  I was fairly confident at the beginning of the game especially with two previous wins under my belt and since I was seated next to Mr. Toyota whose track record for winning at Couples poker is a little, well, to put it nicely, suck-ish.  Yeah.  Just sucks.  Coach, was the previous winnah since he took me out big time last game, was seated on my right…I was looking for payback.  So didn’t happen, but I’m getting ahead of myself.

The first few hands were getting along quite nicely with everyone pretty much winning one each.  Miss H was sneaking up on all the men…where did she come from?  Mr. Toyota was the biggest come-from-behind-the-garage-and-sock-me-over-the-head-with-a-monkey-wrench that I have ever witnessed in my 7 years playing this game.  Holy fuck, Batman what was that?!  He took virtually all my nice chips with his ‘a full house beats a flush’ …WHO MADE THAT UP??!!!  Crap.   I was confident I had him in the palm of my little hand with my Ace high club, then he full-housed my ass…what?!!  YOU??!!  No, seriously.  You’ve played this before, huh? Ugh… Coach was nice enough to pat my shoulder and say ‘there-there’ and not say ‘Idiot, Ray Charles could have seen that one coming’.  Yeah.  To my credit, I didn’t get humiliated only once.  I allowed it to happen a second time which took me right out of the damned game.  I love poker.

The game went on quite long before someone was declared as the first loser.  I think Mrs. Jacked got a prize for that.  I was second out since Mr. Toyota/Uncle Jesse found it necessary to call my ‘all-in’ and win it with 4 fives.  WHO HAS FOUR OF A KIND??!!  KS, that’s who with four Aces (in a totally different hand that has nothing to do with this mini-rant over Mr. Toyota/Uncle Jesse) Yet, sadly she didn’t win.

Several glasses of wine later, the four aces happened….a little scant on the details, but I was still stinging from the ass-burning I just took.…I think KS was hiding one of those Aces down her top.  Mr. Frankie was seated next to her and with all the references to his new cat and how was he getting along with his new puss-???   So many jokes, so little time.  He barely cracked a smile!   He was playing cagey, that one.  Yet, sadly he didn’t win.

Miss H was holding her own against the Biggest- Loser -Ever -Turned -Gagillionaire -Mr. Toyota/Uncle Jesse, eventually having people folding all around her.  It gets a little fuzzy at this point until we hear that Nurse Betty, who is seated at the Kids table (wait, what?) who reportedly HATES to play poker, would rather catheterize a thousand pound gorilla than play, GOT THE BEST HAND EVER IN THE HISTORY OF EVER, as documented below.  A straight royal flush.  Fucking amazing.   Yet, sadly, she didn’t win.

lisa

As for the Kids table, we were all amazed that Bestie was not the first, second or third out…After that, who the fuck knows? Frankie managed to make it to the Final table and frankly, Frankie, can I call you Frank?  That’s all that matters.  THE FINAL TABLE.  Yet, sadly, she didn’t win.

All I know is that I was seated deftly at the Loser table with Mr. Jacked (sadly, also a loser) , Birthday Girl ( I was secretly rooting for you ), Mrs. Jacked (a previous champ) and….it escapes me. Memorable You. Us losers…that’s all I know.  With a bottle of wine as the big prize, I was going for it…and lost again.  I rock!  Birthday Girl won the Loser trophy bottle of wine which she so graciously shared with us DH ladies the next evening…you didn’t think we were going to cancel a perfectly good eat and drink night just because we had a perfectly good eat and drink night, the night before when we kept KS up past her usual bedtime of 9:30pm and trudged on home at 2:30am, did you?  Wimps!

At the Winnahs table, everybody was battling it out for the big prize..the cash and the bragging rights to claiming SLS Couples Poker Champ!  I have no clue how it went down, but by all accounts, Mr. Toyota/Uncle Jesse  lost all his chips bit-by-bit to Miss H, who incidentally took out her Hubby Mr. Bing ( WITH A PAIR OF DEUCES)  and EVERYBODY ELSE AT THE TABLE!!  Dats right.  Miss H was the Winnah!!!!   If you guessed Miss H, than you are more awesome than even I give you credit for.  Rock on!

Miss H...SLS Couples Poker Champion 2013

Miss H…SLS Couples Poker Champion 2013

Congrats to Miss H and now you join the ranks of the few, the proud, the SLS COUPLES POKER CHAMPS!!

I hope you enjoyed this installment of SLS Couples Poker run-down.  Next time, I’ll try to stay sober enough to report on actual events at the opposite table.  Dammit, Jim I can’t be everywhere!  Ugh….

The Sentimentality Of A Turnip

D2 Kindergarten grad

D2 Kindergarten grad

That’s what popped into my head today.  That and the entire lyrics to “I’m Not Afraid” by Eminem.  I think they both have stuff in common…I’m not about to go into an in-depth analysis of the song, but aside from the copious amounts of swearing (which is always near and dear to ma heart), the song talks about getting his life back together, and becoming clean….yaddah, yaddah, yaddah….yeah, whatevs.  I’m not sure why it mysteriously came flowing into my mind today.  I’m not currently strung out on meth or battling my inane addiction to vicks vapo rub or eating copious quantities of laundry detergent that I need some rapper dude to sing this in hopes it will turn my wayward behavior into more appropriately streamlined society-approved activities.  ‘Cause we all know the power of a song.  Remember Elton’s Crocodile Rock?  Sent a myriad of teens out wading around croc-infested waters seeing if those suckers would dance.  Crazy teenagers.   Left a whole population limbless and wondering what could have possibly gone wrong?  Yeah.  Back off the demon music, kids.  The Devil wants you all dancing his evil dance and drinking his purple koolaid.

The sentimentality part is just how some people are not capable of articulating their emotions adequately enough so those of us around these “emotional fuckwits” are left thinking the above phrase: “They have the sentimentality of a turnip”.  Sufficient summation in my opinion.  I came to this conclusion today when I remembered Miss H saying to me at a gathering a couple of weeks ago she became overwhelmed with emotion that her youngest daughter , who once would only wear a dress, is now growing up and leaving the dressy-dresses behind.  Miss H was sad that the little one was growing up….that’s when the thought of a family member, whom at one time scoffed at mothers who cried when their kids went off to school for the first time; that’s when I came up with the “sentimentality of a turnip”.  Perhaps she (family member, not Miss H) was suffering from the turnip disease and needed to release her inner sentimental emotional side for us peeps to see.  Perhaps she just wasn’t in tune with the rest of us estrogen laden mothers who hated to see the little ones grow up so fast, which means we in turn are getting older.  Maybe we want to hold on to their little hands a little bit longer so we can remember what it’s like to be five and seeing the big wide world for the first time. Maybe we want to be able to dress the little girls in dresses a bit more before they opt for the short skirts or holy jeans or *gasp* the Goth look! Maybe we want our little boys to marvel at how much we are a heap of mysterious information that only Mommies know like how to make the perfect PB &J sandwich and how to make his blanket smell better.  Or maybe we just like to be called Mommy a little bit longer. Maybe.  Not that it’s happened to me personally.  Not that I’ve been thinking all of that since D2 has her prom dress ready and proudly hanging on her closet door for her soon to be grad celebrations.  Not that I have been lamenting my older age, my lack of babies around the ‘hood and how fast everybody seems to be flying through life.  Not that that’s happening to me.  I’m just putting it out there for the other peeps who may be suffering in silence and hide behind the old turnip disease instead of shedding a tear or making a comment.  I’m putting myself out into the wide world so that the others can step forward and say ‘yeah, I cried when my youngest no longer needed his pacifier, or yeah I was sad when I had to give away the majority of Barbie and her Summer home to the Goodwill.  I was sad when Bob the Builder toy work bench no longer suited my son’s play time.  He’s opted for Black Ops instead.”  Yeah…I hear ‘ya.  But, sometimes a little emotion just reminds the rest of us mortals that you too are human.   Just sayin’……

Hollering You Home

The last visit I had with my mom, I made her clothes shopping with me.  Which she hated. Not just because she didn’t like wearing anything besides pajamas, but because I made her wear shoes.  She hated wearing shoes.  I guess her slippers were far more comfortable and she found shoes so constrictive.  I refused to allow her to go out in public with slippers on her feet, instead insisting on her donning her running shoes.  She complained and had she been the type of woman who swore, I’m sure  I would have heard a few expletives that day directed solely in my direction, but she complied to my request nonetheless.

I managed to get her out to the Thames Lea Mall with her shoes on and secured in her wheelchair.  I think we were out ten minutes before she began asking when we were going to eat.  That made my shopping job a little easier since now I could use lunch as a reward.  After I told her we would be eating as soon as the shopping was completed, we had new pajamas, underwear, slippers and a couple of tops in our cart in under a half an hour.  Food was definitely one of her greatest joys.  Of course, once we sat down, ordered and the food arrived, she would take two bites and declare she was full.

If she required other clothes, I would go alone and proudly show her the purchases upon my return, only to hear “I don’t wear that colour” and “What is THAT?!”  She would reluctantly have them labeled and put into her closet and I’m not sure she ever wore her new clothes, but she humored me enough to make me think she may wear them eventually.

Mom was stubborn and proud.  She had definite likes and dislikes and let you know what those were.  She craved being alone and was determined in her resolve to remain as independent as possible.  She loved her family, respected others’ opinions and always had a quick smile or witty remark ready.  Even when she was in pain and was having a rough day, she continued to tease the nurses and the doctors with sarcastic retorts to their frequent apologies and expressions to remorse for her situation.  Mom was more concerned with how everyone around her was feeling than she was about herself.  She neither asked for assistance nor insisted on anyone’s participation in her care.  She expected those around her to remain dedicated to their families, to be good to those around them and to gain fulfillment through goodness and abundant expressions of love.

I was reminded when speaking with Keith about when we were younger and played outside, Mom would holler to us to come home from the park for dinner.  When I was sitting with her at the hospital one afternoon and the pain was evident and her body was itchy and irritated from the morphine, she exclaimed that everyone was hollering.  I knew then that the angels were hollering her home, just as she had done with us.

Although we are sad today that Mom has left us physically, her spirit remains active in our hearts and her memory will not fade from our minds.  Be comforted in the knowledge that she was a dedicated mother, a trusted friend and a sister to all the women in her life.  She is with God and loved ones now, happy to have moved on and happy to have been hollered home at last.

Margaret Josephine

April 7 1929 – March 2 2012  RIP

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