A Skirt With Some Cheese In It...

As I was readying the girls for bed tonight, I heard shrieks of laughter and saw them tear out of their room, reprimanding Dorian...."Dorian, no!! Dorian, drop it!! DORIAN!!..." I arrived on the scene just in time to see the dog drop Cleo's jeans skirt and skulk off to his cushion in our bedroom. I expressed amazement that Dorian was at all interested in Cleo's skirt. Clothes have never been his thing before. (It might be a good time to mention that quite a few other things are, in fact, Dorian's 'thing'. The list is lengthy. The following are a mere sample of the things I've seen him eat, or at least seen the *aftermath* of his eating: Barbies, crayons, pens, pencils, plastic horses, turtles, deer, rubber snakes, Polly Pockets, Polly Pocket accoutrements like cars, dresses and a patio set, doll house furniture, rocks, kleenex, plastic sandwich boxes, a wristwatch, etc etc. But never clothing. Except, now that I recall, a sock.) Cleo replied gaily to this, "Oh, he's probably hoping there's more cheese in it." Cheese. In a skirt....Sigh. I did not even attempt to gain an explanation for the concealment of cheese in her skirt. My head hurt even thinking about it.

The things that children don't even register. Or be able to produce a satisfactory explanation for. I recall about 3 or 4 years ago, when the girls were truly little barbarians, and never safe to leave alone. I obviously had a mental lapse, and did that very thing, because I one day noticed weird reddish stains on the ceiling in the kitchen. I put this to the girls and received the following reply: "We might have been throwing some ketchup...maybe..." Ah, yes. Throwing ketchup. A mandatory activity in all good kitchens.

Or the time I caught Cleo rifling the pocket of my very expensive velvet coat as it hung in my closet. I naturally questioned the miscreant, mid-act, and she stated indignantly that all she was doing was looking for her minotaur. So now you all know, if one's minotaur is found to be M.I.A., clearly the place to look is in the pockets of a little-worn, posh velvet coat which does not even belong to one.

So now I'm off to look for my mislaid bottle of pink champagne. It's sure to be either in the skirt, with the rest of the cheese....

PAR--TAY!!

I am about 30 minutes from the arrival of a bunch of 9 year old girls, coming for Raine's 9th birthday party. I am also currently drinking champagne. Is there a correlation between the two? You betcha.

I admit that I've never been good at kids' birthday parties. Children in any quantity scare the living beejesus out of me. When the girls were really small, the onslaught of party dress clad, gift clutching, shrieking toddlers almost sent me shooting out the back door to skulk in the alley, shuddering, sweating and chain-smoking filterless cigarettes. And I don't even smoke. Lee was always the voice of reason, and the reason I got through them. Those 2 hours always lasted a lifetime....

Those years are behind me now, and I'm oh so thankful. A group of quite sweet 9 year olds, who really want a little independence, while still a little scary, is manageable. Especially with champagne. I am feeling the fear and doing it anyway.

SO.... the cherry-chip cake is made. The movie, "The Magic Emporium of Dr. Magorium" is queued up, ready to play, the spaghetti just wants cooking, the treat bags are full and on the sideboard, the basement in balloon-filled and be-streamered and I am just ever so slightly (and necessarily) tipsy.

Let the party begin!

I did it!!!

(I meant to add this as a p.s. to my last post, but only remembered when I'd already posted it.)

Yes, I did. I did it. And I'm not a little proud of myself. At this point, I fully acknowledge that what I did really isn't that astounding. It will not enter the annals of groundbreaking Canadian achievements, alongside Banting & Best with the insulin thing, Bell and the telephone, etc. But I still have that comforting sense of satisfaction. I made a nail polish colour that, heretofor, has not existed.

I decided that I really wanted a nail polish the colour of pigeons. Now, pigeons are a singular hue...not quite grey, not quite silver, not quite brown, but all of the above together. This turned me into Girl Wonder Amatuer Nail Polish Mixologist, and I poured and mixed and poured and mixed until I had this lovely silvery-greyish-brownish, with a hint of purple, nail polish the colour of pigeons. I am wearing this pigeon-polish right now, and I am constantly admiring it. It does not exist anywhere else but on my fingers, and in the bottle in my dressing table. I rule.

SHE'S BAA-A-A-ACK!!

After a lengthy hiatus, Queen Fee returns to being blog-tastic! Yes, it has been awhile, but I had some serious stuff to cram into that hiatus. Let's see..... So what exactly was I up to??
1. Had my long-scheduled little surgery right after the Easter weekend. Went v. well, indeed. I had a nice, long recup. period where I did the following: read, rested, ate nice, healing foods, walked with Dorian, watched all the "Keen Eddie" episodes, (why, oh why did American audiences have to be too lame to get the show, thereby facilitating its cancellation? Why?) had a few coffees out, and rested some more. Not exciting, but thoroughly enjoyable and likely good for my overall health. Oh, and I did some needlepoint, too.
2. Lee & I re-thought the layout of the living room, which turned into a massive fix-up project, fuelled by much blood, sweat & tears. I practised a good deal of yogic non-attachment, and punted a serious quantity of stuff to either the garbage, the recycling or the give-away pile. So therapeutic, I must say. And now the living room looks so much better, although the new look has also brought the urgency of a new paint job to our attention. Soon, smudgy little walls. soon..
3. I did not do any yoga for close to a month. That has been easily the longest time I've not done any yoga since Raine was tiny. Maybe I needed a bit of a break there, too. It wasn't entirely of my doing; my teacher was away for a good while, which nixed classes and then I was getting over my surgery, which nixed my home practise, as well as classes. The end result of all this is that my hamstrings, never exactly loosey-goosey, are pathetically tight, and a smidgeon of my upper body strength has faded, too. Now that I'm back in the saddle, I'm happy, but I kind of regret my slackitude. Now I have to work even harder to claim it all back. On the good side, my nice, long, stretchy quads didn't let me down and I can still rock the supine thunderbolt like no-one's biz!
4. I had a most delightful visit from my cousin Terrie. Terrie lives in Australia, and due to unfathomable geographic distance, we hardly ever get to see one another, so this was such an amazing treat. Like always, we just picked up where we left off. We had great chats, tons of laughs, many bottles of bubbly, an old-time-Fiona-&-Terrie-drunken-dance-marathon, and a chance to enjoy old memories and make a few new ones. Lee & the girls had never met her before, and they took to her in a flash. It really was such a lovely few days....wish it had been longer, but I'll take what I can get. So, little cuz, "Happy trails to you, Until we meet again..."

Thus, my dears, life has returned to normal here at the Court of Q.F......quiet days while my family is at school & work, ferrying the girls to school, birthday parties, dance class, lots of yoga, cozy evenings with my huzbind, kicking the dog off the bed, finding excuses not to change out of my pjs, likewise finding excuses to open bottles of bubbly, etc etc. I dig comforting and uneventful like that. I really do. And now I blog again.

a-weary, a-weary...

Indeed I am. Weary as weary can be. More riveting posts will be upcoming, but I cannot find it within myself to write anything of note right now. I will add, as a closing bit of trivia, that somehow, a bunch of teeny weeny snails have recently appeared in Jemma Newt's aquarium. V. odd, as I definitely did not put them there, but they sure are cute! Now, keep your fingers crossed that these infant snails do not all end up at newt snacks. Jem is a hungry girl.

In which I Tell You What I Want, What I Really Really Want.

I have wants. Quite a few of them, it appears. I have been innocently engaged in all manner of random tasks, and abruptly, a "want" will force its way into my mind, and dislodge all else going on in there. Here are some of the things that I want, Spice-Girl style...you know, as in "really really want".

1.) I want my basement to be dealt with, once and for all. I spent many gruelling hours this weekend, cleaning and organising, and, while I now have a pantry/laundry area that is up to snuff, (in all but aesthetic details. Sigh) the rest is the work of the devil. While some of this is our own messy, slobby, pack-ratty fault, (Lee, raise your hand here!) some of it is not. As many of you know, I moved into my house after my grandfather had an accident and couldn't be here any longer. Word to the wise: never ever take over a house in which an 80+ man has lived alone for some years. It is not for the faint of heart. Slobby? Packratty? While G.Mac. was an exemplary soul in many ways, his housekeeping skills left a little to be desired. I am STILL coping with vestiges of him some 15 years down the line. And, yes, while I'm guilty of not purging stuff better, I DID NOT personally purchase the packet of pickling spice from 1976--I wish this was a joke--that was, until Saturday, still cluttering up my shelves. So, this all goes to show that I'm a little behind the 8 ball on the basement. I want it all to be nice. I want everything gone, except that which we use and need. I want a decent looking play area for the girls that isn't going to frighten visiting children, etc etc.

2.) I want a nice holiday somewhere "holiday-y"...like to a place where you need a passport.

3.) I want lots of chilly bottles on champagne in my fridge at all times. I want to replace them as soon as they are consumed, so in case of some sort of gigantic global crisis, I will have bubbles to sustain me.

4.) I want paint jobs on most of the rooms in the house. The living room and dining room would be some sort of rich, gorgeous pale browny-red. Our bedroom would be shades of rose and cream, the hallway would be a smooth, buttermilk colour and god knows what the girls' room would be. Doubtless they would choose some particularly noxious shade of magenta.

5.) I want to eat takeaway from Aida's Bistro ALL THE TIME.

6.) I want to go deep within my being, and find the will to change out of my pajamas of my own volition and not merely on those occasions when I absolutely have to. I would like to be motivated to dress in clothes regularly. About the only times in which I will be seen in actual clothing are situations where a pajama-clad me would cause untold mental misery and shame to other members of my family. It would be good if this wasn't the case.

7.) I want a handbag with fairies on. Ideally, this would be a big frame bag, with double handles, in a pale spring-like shade. The fairy/fairies would be simple and kind of feral-looking, with little crystal accents, and done in watercoloury tones. Such a purse does not exist, I am sure, which is why I'm having to contemplate somehow creating my own. I'm quailing before the prospect, but I don't know how else to proceed. If anybody has any ideas on how this can be done or designs for such fairies, send them to my address, c/o the Fairymaster.

8.) I want more coffee, with a glug of Frangelico in, so I have to stop now. I received a lovely new bottle of Fran for my birthday, and it's crying out to be busted open. I'm singing the Spice Girls are I walk off to the kitchen...

Babies n' things...

So a friend of mine is expecting her first babe right now, and I know of a few other folks who are trying to get pregnant, discussing trying, or even discussing the discussion of trying. This all puts me in mind of babies, and the whole motherhood thing. Now, I have no idea what it's like to try for a baby. They just seem to happen to me, whether I had tried or not. We never discussed it, except to agree that we really weren't up for the whole procreation thing, thank-you very much. I am much better with things having upwards of 2 legs--things that have fangs & fur, or 17 eyes, or 350 legs, or spit venom, or, *oh happy day* all of the aforementioned at one time! Babies usually scare the living shit out of me. The only one who never did is my niece, the gorgeous & now-13 year old Miss Kelsey. So we never "pulled the goalie" (as my pal Dona so aptly phrased the tossing aside of contraception) and waited with bated breath....

Having said that, babies did appear. Twice. In a year & a half. And so I turned into a real live mum, for better or worse. And it really has been better. I've struggled and railed against it as a fate not of my choosing, but my life has been honestly so enriched by the existence of my little gals. And now, thinking of my friend's upcoming baby, I've kind of come over all queerly....

Her babe most emphatically *does not* make me wish for another one of my own. What it has done, here & there, is make me wish I could turn back the clock. Just for a little while. They really are tiny for so short a time, and now my girls seem to be growing up at a galloping rate. This is wonderful--they are becoming sensitive, eloquent and really interesting little individuals, but they are finding their own feet, just as they are meant to. I've been getting a pang of nostalgia once in awhile lately, for smallness forever lost, for soft baby faces and tiny, unsure steps. We raise our children to find their own independence, and the nascency of this is in the elementary school years, where one's children really begin to find a slice of life that has nothing to do with their parents. And my girls are doing just that.

But all of this baby business has had an entirely unexpected effect on me, if only sporadically. Wow. Queen Fee misses her babies sometimes, and not just the ones with fur and venom...