Tuesday, March 29, 2011

It's a Cellular Peptide Cake. With Mint Frosting.

I knew that last Tuesday was Bill Shatner's birthday and that Saturday was Leonard Nimoy's birthday because my Star Trek wall calendar lists the birthdays of the original cast (next up: April 1 is the birthday of Grace Lee Whitney, aka Yeoman Rand).

Alas, the calendar doesn't note the birthdays of real people whom I actually know and/or love, ie my mother. Yesterday she sent me an email while on a layover in Montreal and mentioned that her birthday celebrations would commence on an Air Canada jet somewhere over the St Lawrence Seaway.

Being her favourite (and only) daughter I immediately responded with a hearty, "I knew it was your birthday. Yes. I totally knew that. I hadn't forgotten. Not one smidge."

Then I promptly called my father and reminded him of the fact. Forgetting birthdays is a genetic trait that I get from his side of the family (along with inability to remember the lyrics of a song no matter how often I've heard it and a propensity to yell at people out the windows of moving cars.)

I feel it would be remiss if I did not steal a photo of bake a cake to commemorate my mom's birthday. I worked really, really hard on this one:

It looks tasty, doesn't it?  And so life-like.

Happy birthday, Mom from me, Mr Wrath, the Wrathlets, the Wunder Dog and Jean-Luc:

Genius Or Idiocy -- Sometimes It Is Hard To Tell.

What do you think of the yellow sticker? Genius marketing campaign or sad statement about the publishing industry?

"Get beach ready this summer with a 
FREE spray tan."

I can't decide.  It is tacky. But I do think there is demographic overlap between women who read chick-lit and women who want spray tans.

[edited on March 30: Just to clarify: I don't spray tan. In fact I don't tan at all. I'm Irish and hence am covered in freckles.]

Regardless, the sticker caught my eye and I checked Tilly Bagshawe's Scandalous out of the library. It was a good, fast read. In some respects this was like a Danielle Steele novel. But with a plot. And authentic characters. And realistic dialogue. And sex scenes that didn't make me cringe (too much). So...pretty much nothing at all like a Danielle Steele book. Well, except for the last five pages when all the storylines were tied up (a bit too) neatly and the protagonists found EVERLASTING LOVE™.

+ + + + + + + + + +

Here's a close up of the fine print at the back of the book. Sadly the offer has expired. I am doomed to be pasty white whilst I read my chick lit novels.

Monday, March 28, 2011

The Society to Prevent People From Doing Really Stupid Things: The Paparazzi Edition.

To: Alyson Hannigan, actress from How I Met Your Mother and a buncha other stuff I've never seen.

From: Nan, Creator/Contributor for the Wrath of Mom Blog, Chairwoman of The Society to Prevent People From Doing Really Stupid Things (aka TSTPPFDRST).

Re: Why are you best buds with members of the paparazzi?

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

Ms. Hannigan,

Let me begin with a few niceties:

• You are very pretty.
• You have a lovely smile and a gorgeous head of hair.
• You're my fourth favourite lead in How I Met Your Mother (1. Barney, 2. Ted, 3. Robin Sparkles, 4. YOU!, 5. The mopey dude with the glandular problem who looks like a turtle) -- GO YOU!
Your husband is a handsome chap who played a creepy creepier version of George Bush in the tv show Dollhouse.
• Your daughter is so cute. So very, very, cute.

But here's the thing, Ms Hannigan, you are a working actress currently employed on a successful network show. It's really beneath you to be so blatantly pap-friendly.

Why don't you just buy yourself a good camera and take your own damn photos next time you go to the zoo. Like a normal person.

Kindest snarky regards.
Nan | Wrath Of Mom

Saturday, March 26, 2011

Nimoy Day. Because The Fun Never Stops.

Don't let it be said that I play favourites when it comes to the command officers of the USS Enterprise.

Okay I'm not crazy, I knew you weren't going to say that. Just cut me some slack. It's late. I'm tired. I'm almost 40 -- it's getting harder and harder for me to be relevant and/or slightly amusing without resorting to parenthetical asides or photos of hot men.

The point is, we celebrated Shatner Day on Tuesday, ergo today was Nimoy Day! We watched Search For Spock. Mr Wrath made popcorn balls as a homage to the Fesarius from the Corbomite Maneuver. For dinner I made Lemon Nimoy Milk Chicken (original recipe here). Though now I wonder if I simultaneously insulted Mr Nimoy's Orthodox Jewish heritage AND his current vegetarian dietary habits. Oops.

As I did on Tuesday with Mr Shatner, I'm posting a few amusing clips from Mr Nimoy's career.

First up, some of the commercials that Mr Nimoy has done. The first one is from 1992. I wish I owned this Christmas ornament. I would wear on a chain around my neck.

When this commercial aired I wanted my parents to buy an Oldsmobile minivan, instead of their lame-O Volkswagon Golf:

This commercial is one my mother enjoys (By the way, Mom: don't read the post from yesterday. Or if you do read it, lets not discuss it. Okay. Thanks. Bye):

Leonard read a Top Ten List on The Late Show With David Letterman just before the release of the release of the Star Trek reboot in the spring of 2009. In the intro Letterman keeps saying Star Wars instead of Star Trek. I assume this is because Letterman was exhausted from having sex with young women in his employ. *cough*PhilanderingDirtBag*cough*

Finally, here's a clip of Leonard Nimoy singing. Show of hands: whose glad they weren't born in the 60s?

Happy 80th birthday, Mr Nimoy. 
You are STILL younger than The Shat! 
Never let him forget that!

Hope you enjoy this cake I whipped up for you, Mr Nimoy. It's kosher. And vegan. Promise.

Friday, March 25, 2011

Don't She Look Happy?

Earlier this week Celebitchy posted an article called Jennifer Aniston’s worst first date ever is documented by 'In Touch'. Basically Aniston went on a date with a non-celebrity who asked her many inappropriately personal questions and wanted to split the bill.

You call that a bad date, Aniston? Pshaw. I've got a better bad date story than that. I went on the worst worst date in the history of worst dates while in university.

It was 1993, and my girlfriend -- who for the purposes of this narrative will be called Zoetrope -- and I met up with her boyfriend (alias: Kaleidoscope) and his friend (Whirligig) for dinner. Zoetrope and Kaleidoscope were rather keen on setting me up with Whirligig so that we could double date. Because we evidently fancied the fifties, or some such nonsense.

Whirligig and Kaleidoscope had been drinking heavily for many, many hours prior to meeting us at a restaurant off campus. They continued to imbibe during the meal, and Zoetrope ordered a few cocktails. I  -- the designated driver and all-around cheapskate -- abstained. We split the check four-ways, because that is what you do when you are a poor student who has the misfortune of sharing a meal with dipsomaniacs.

Then we walked across campus to a cabaret in the students' union building featuring Canadian band 54-40. Once there I lost track of Zoetrope, Whirligig and Kaleidoscope. I wasn't alarmed, as I'd found a good vantage point from which to watch the band and the body surfers. Almost an hour lapsed when I noticed some commotion. Three security guys leapt on stage where the bass player was having his leg dry-humped by an exuberant fan. As the security guards (big beefy fellows who were members of a local rugby club) hauled the molester away, I saw a flash of plaid flannel, and the sight of Doc Martens pinwheeling in the air (this was the early 90s after all).

It was then I decided to get some fresh air. I walked out to the lobby. There pinned to the ground by five security guards was Whirligig. I'd thought that plaid flannel shirt looked familiar. A sixth security guard was conferring with two campus security personnel.

"Well, we'll take him into custody. Even if the band doesn't want to press charges," said the campus cop. "But first I'm calling for back up. If he's just drunk, we'll hold him. Otherwise, we're going to turn him over to the city police."

"He says he's only been drinking alcohol," the security guard was saying. "But there's no way. He's on PCP or something. He's as strong as a bull."

"Yea. He looks like a druggie," said the campus cop.

"Plus he's completely incoherent. I don't understand a thing he's saying."

But I did. Whirligig had craned his neck around in my direction and spotted me. "Naaaaaaaaaaaaaaan. Naaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaan. I looooooooove bass. Bass is awesoooooooooooome. Naaaaaaaaaan. Help meeeeeeeeee!, " he mooed.

So I did what any responsible young woman would do when her date is in a spot of legal trouble. I turned, walked into the ladies room and stayed there until I was certain the asshole had been carted away.

+ + + + + + + + + +

Two parenthetical notes to this story:

First: the campus security ultimately decided that Whirligig was not on drugs and didn't call the city police. Instead they called his mother and she came down to pick him up from the campus drunk tank. She must have been so proud.

Secondly, that was not the only comically tragic encounter I had with Whirligig.

Zoetrope and Kaleidoscope broke up not long after, and my path and Whirligig's didn't cross until months later. This time we met at a house party. Zoetrope and I were alone in the kitchen, both a little tipsy when Whirligig stumbled in. Declaring us his very best friends, he confessed to being confused about his sexual identity.

In retrospect, this ham-fisted, binge-drinking, blowhard probably thought one (or both) of us would offer to sleep with him and give him  piece peace1 of mind about his sexual orientation. Instead all he got were two drunk girls, with volume-modulation problems offering him solace.

Me: Hey, if you wanna be GAY, you should be GAY!
Me: We don't judge you for being of THE HOMOSEXUAL PERSUASION, WHIRLIGIG.
Whirligig: Okay, well thanks but maybe --
Zoetrope: You know who else is GAY LIKE YOU ARE GAY, WHIRLIGIG?
Me: WHO?
Zoetrope: George Michael.
Me: George Michael is not GAY?!
Zoetrope: Yup. He's gay.
Me: No. That's silly. Next you're gonna tell me Boy George is gay.
Zoetrope:  Nope. Not him. Boy George is straight. I think. Well,  WHIRLIGIG, do you think Boy George is GAY THE SAME WAY THAT YOU ARE GAY?
Whirligig: Keep your voices down. People will hear.
Me: Are you worried that people WILL FIND OUT YOU ARE HOMOSEXUAL? OR ARE YOU WORRIED THEY WILL FIND OUT GEORGE MICHAEL IS GAY? Because I found the latter distressing. But the former? Not. At. All.
Whirligig: Fine, but --
Zoetrope: YES! I agree.
Me: The dry humping!
Whirligig: But --
Zoetrope: We should make a list of all the people we know who are GAY and who would date YOU.
Me: Good idea. I am in the Faculty of Arts, Whirligig. There are many, many homosexuals in my classes. I think we could get you a very well-groomed BOYFRIEND, WHIRLIGIG. But first you need to stop wearing so much flannel.

We continued to talk like this for many more minutes. Long after Whirligig left the room. Long after our well-intentioned LOUDLY SPOKEN WORDS OF COMFORT had been overheard by a few dozen people.

I can't help wondering whatever happened to, Whirligig? Is he still dry humping bassists legs? Did that line ever work on any woman? On any man?

+ + + + + + +
1 This edit was prompted by an email from my mother:
I did read all your blog entries -- even the one you don't want me to talk about. My only comment is that you mixed up a homonym when discussing the homophobe I believe he wanted either "peace of mind" or a "piece of tail"! You may want to edit.

Tuesday, March 22, 2011

Have A Happy Shatner Day. 80 Years of Funny.

We're just wrapping up our Shatner Day festivities.

I made a bundt cake made with All-Bran and then we watched The Wrath of Khan. "I think it's good that we watch this particular movie," said my 9 year old, "because in it, Captain Kirk celebrates his birthday. And today we are celebrating William Shatner's birthday."

If you want to brighten up today -- or any day really -- with a little dose of The Shatner Magic™, I recommend the following clips.

"It has a real computer keyboard."

It's the original Kirk, with the father of the new Kirk! It's making my head spin!

"Turn around, Bright Eyes."

Mazel tov, Pilgrims!

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Happy 80th Birthday, Mr Shatner, you always make me smile. Have a piece of cake. You've earned it, Bright Eyes.

Will & Kate Tea Towels -- A Public Service Announcement.

Dear internet denizens who arrive at this post by using the search terms "William," "Kate," "Royal Wedding," "commemorative," "souvenir," and/or "tea towels." --

I've got good news and bad news.

The good news is that contrary to earlier reports, Wills and the-future-Mrs-Windsor have agreed to the creation and sale of official wedding tea towels.

The bad news is that they're dull.

However, there are at least two more interesting bootleg options:

This is from the Ulster Weavers:

This one is from Emma Bridgewater:

I love this one. But I can't justify spending the amount (once I factor in the exchange rate, duty and shipping) for a tea towel. Even if it's a work of art.

Happy shopping, my fellow anglophiles!


Saturday, March 19, 2011

Hello. My Name Is...

Niles: Okay, so "Delilah" is out? No, that's fine, that's fine. What are your ideas? ... Taylor. Fletcher. Cooper. Tanner? Where are you getting these, the "Big Book of Medieval Professions?"
                                                              Frasier, Season 10,
                                                              "Fathers and Sons."
                                                              Written by Jon Sherman.
                                                               Original Airdate: May 6th, 2003.

I think of this quote (and giggle) when I meet people whose names sound similar to medieval professions, ie Mason, Hunter, Sawyer, Sailor, Deacon, Tanner, Trooper, Walker, Archer, Marshall, Forrester, Miller, Ranger, Fisher, Piper, Fletcher. This isn't to say that I don't like many of these names. I do. Though I wouldn't recommend using them for a set of siblings.

= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =

I have a new addition to my "You named your child WHAT?!" collection:

(source: Parents Magazine, February 2011, page 168)

Is this a regional, cultural or historical reference I'm not getting? Or is this girl really named after the profession of a wagon driver?

= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =

Edited to add:

Of course this is still my favourite "You named your child WHAT?!" entry:

= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =

March 21, 2011: I'm going to turn off & hide these comments. I don't want any mad mommas coming after me because they googled their kids name and wound up here.

Thursday, March 17, 2011

The Pipes, The Pipes Are Calling.

Last night while we slept, a leprechaun -- angered by the boys attempt to capture him in a snare -- destroyed our livingroom. We awoke to find the room in general disarray. The leprechaun-trap was ripped to shreds. The furniture was overturned. Pictures were cockeyed. Sofa cushions were askew. Drawers were emptied. Books were thrown about pell-mell.

However, the leprechaun did leave behind chocolates, a collection of shamrock underwear (thankfully, clean) and Irish socks suitable for little boys of Irish descent:

Dinner was lamb and lentil Irish stew, made with Guinness. While the boys aren't crazy about this dish, Mr Wrath and I consider it a treat. So does The Wunderdog, who spent most of the afternoon sunning herself while trying to get in touch with her Irish Wolfhound ancestors:

"Back off, Lady. This is MY lamb bone!"

Dessert was chocolate cupcakes made with Guinness:

Also today I played this Muppets video for the boys. I enjoyed it more than they. But really it's pretty much like every REAL life singalong I've ever witnessed of Danny Boy.

+ + + + + + + + +

On an totally unrelated note: Kraft has a new salad dressing flavour: Chiptotle Mango. Does this sound awesome or awful?

Tuesday, March 15, 2011

Gaman & George Takei.

It's been 5 days since I woke up to the news of an earthquake and tsunami in Japan.

I spent most of Friday watching the news, which was simultaneously informative & appalling. The latter adjective applies to both the pictures of human misery and CTV news' crappy coverage.

I would have preferred CTV put up a test pattern rather than subject the viewing audience to an interview with a woman vacationing in Hawaii, (I was in a darkened theatre when the tsunami warning came. I. Was. Scared. was the gist of her 4 minute spiel), random North Americans in Japan who had access to Skype or cell phones ("GET OFF THE FUCKIN' PHONE SO FIRST RESPONDERS CAN USE THE NETWORK TO DIRECT EMERGENCY SERVICES!!," I may have yelled at the screen) and a woman in Louisiana whose husband works at the Fukushima Nuclear Power Plant (Because a conversation with an American woman who is NOT in Japan and isn't a nuclear scientist is helpful? REALLY? NO!)

Mr Wrath and I are planning to donate money to Doctors Without Borders. We've been putting it off, because we hoped the Canadian government would implement -- as they've done in the past -- a plan to match all charitable donations made by Canadians. However, I read yesterday (in this article) that  Diane Ablonczy, Canadian Minister of State for Foreign Affairs won't implement this scheme. It's a shameful decision quite frankly.

If you're considering donating -- and even if you aren't -- please take a moment (or 1 minute, 50 seconds) to watch this appeal created by Star Trek alumnus George Takei.

If you are on Twitter I also recommend following George Takei's feed. He's very funny, and when you sign on he sends you this awesome personal message:

Here are a few links to reputable aide organizations working in Japan:

Monday, March 14, 2011

Cockatiel Love.

Hola, Nan.

It is I, Chico, your Cockatiel boyfriend.

I am writing you this missive -- pecking out each letter with my surprisinlgy vice-like beak -- because I can not bear to say good-bye to you face to face. Yes, my darling Nan, our time together has come to an end.

Do not cry, mi reyna. I know this will be hard on you. I know there will be tears. Tears, much like the tears you shed when I pulled out strands of your hair, whilst perched on your shoulder; only these tears will not be accompanied by your cursing. Nor will they end with me pooping on your shoulder as you use phrases no true lady should employ. Not that I'm judging you, Nan.

Our two-week love affair has been delightful.

Well, maybe not delightful.

Don't get me wrong. There were moments of delight. I know you enjoyed my songs. I have really mastered the opening notes of O Canada. If all goes according to plan, in another five years  I'll have another five notes memorized.

However, I'm not going to miss your dos hijos. Those loud little heathens scare the caca right out me.

I also know, cuchura, that you will miss me in the evenings. You will think of me when you don your yellow rubber gloves and do the dishes. Oh, such great memories I have. You doing the dishes. Me sitting, and pooping on your shoulder while pretending your fingers were succulent yellow worms that I would consume if only I could get close enough.

In the future when some other creature nibbles on your ear, or chomps on your nasal septum, think of me, Nan. And smile. 

Te voy a echar de menos, mi princesa.


The Grumpy Cockatiel

Sunday, March 13, 2011

Back in December the little Wrathlets were obsessed with the Maccabeat's Candlelight. Catchy, fun, and educational. How could we not buy this song from itunes?

Yesterday I downloaded the Maccabeats follow-up: Purim Song.

I dare you to play either of these songs AND not get up and dance.

However, you might want to read the story of Purim so you (and/or your kids) understand the song's lyrics.

Wednesday, March 9, 2011

The Lion, The Itch, and The Wardrobe.

Is there such a thing as a bed bug proof suitcase?

If no, then somebody needs to patent one. Quickly.

I need a new suitcase and was considering a hard-sided "spinner" case. I'd assumed -- incorrectly it turns out -- that the appeal of these was the aesthetics (so many pretty colours and designs!) and because they were impervious to bed bug infestations. But it turns out that like a conventional suitcase, a spinner has a full cloth lining perfectly suited for some itchy stowaways to accompany me home from vacation.

Is there such a thing as a suitcase with an ABS/polycarbonate shell, that does not have a lining? What I want is luggage that post-vacation can be scrubbed with bleach or insecticide or SOMETHING to kill any possible bed bugs.

Who else wants to buy one of these? Or do you have another bed bug-free luggage suggestion? Do you think I should just start using Rubbermaid tubs as suitcases?

Tuesday, March 8, 2011

Style Guide.

Sunday did not go as planned.

After Mr Wrath and the boys headed out skiing, I attempted to write a post about this award:

This came to me via Nicole from A Girl In a Boy House. The rules of this honour were that I link to the person giving me the award, share 7 things about myself and bestow it on other bloggers.

The last bit was my undoing, for two reasons:
1. Nicole and I run in the same blog circles and there aren't too many blogs I read that she didn't mention in her list, and
2. Blogs continue to drop like flies, and I can't tell if some of my favourite bloggers are on temporary hiatus of if they've abandoned the endeavour all together. It feels awkward to give this award to someone no longer invested in their blog.

Not wanting to shirk my blog-bling-recipient duties entirely, I decided to thank Nicole by posting a photo of my own black shirt collection. You see, Nicole has a little obsession with black tops. She's been very forthcoming about this, and is gracious when I tease her about packing 8 black shirts for a 10-day vacation in California.

So I took a photo of my five black shirts, & 1 polar fleece hoodie:

When I downloaded the photo I realized that I owned ZERO black shirts. I own 5 faded, stained, use-to-be-black shirts.  Plus two of the shirts are so ugly I don't even wear them outside:

In quick order I took the scissors to two of the shirts (including the Cow Wars shirt whose ugliness I've lamented previously) and regulated them to the rag bin. Then so inspired, I set about tidying and purging my admittedly large t-shirt collection. It took several hours -- the entire length of time I'd set aside for my blogging hobby.

Mr Wrath was thrilled when he returned home, a bit sad that my Spock shirt was still present, but thrilled to see some of my more ugly shirts going out the door. He was less thrilled when I then placed an Old Navy order for a few new shirts. Including one black top. I think Nicole would approve.

In conclusion, here are 7 Things About Myself, the Fashion Edition:
1. I own 12 pairs of pants: 4 yoga pants, 1 pair of cord trousers, 3 jeans, 1 pair of dressy slacks, a pair of khakis, snow pants and a truly awful pair of polar fleece pants,
2. All my outerwear is black: one down vest, one down jacket, one parka, one wind breaker. Nicole would approve,
3. In lieu of an apron, I wear medical scrubs when cooking,
4. I have a problem getting rid of socks -- I keep them long after they have holes in their soles, 
5. I don't own many shoes, but I'm pretty much obsessed with purses, handbags, backpacks, etc. I own dozens and dozens,
6. My only concessions to sartorial sentimentality are a suit jacket that belonged to my grandfather and a lightweight, butter yellow sweater that I wore to my wedding, and
7. I wear my bathrobe around the house most of the day.

Thanks, Nicole. You are very stylish, darling! 

Saturday, March 5, 2011

"Hispanic and cocky. Yeah, you definitely die first."

Fourteen months ago we disconnected our satellite dish. What pushed me (yes, me -- Mr Wrath has never been a big fan of tv) over the edge was that despite paying $70/month, I often could not find a single program to watch. Such is the plight of the modern woman who loathes reality television.
Now I watch my plays online. Since I'm watching them online, seems like a natural fit to discuss them online. Here are the shows I never miss:

The Big Bang Theory:

I derive a shameless amount of joy from the fact that I GET most of the science jokes being made by the characters. Geek POWER!

Hands down, Castle is my FAVOURITE show currently being broadcast. This show is light on gore, long on plot, has snappy dialogue and is humourous. I think this season's been great, except for the annoying X-Files themed episode (Note to Lyle Lovett: you can't act worth shit, stick with singing).

Even though the crush I developed on Nathan Fillion (with whom I attended university) almost twenty years ago has been killed by his lameness on Twitter, I think he's fantastic as Richard Castle. Don't you love the chemistry between Castle and Alexis? Well, I love everything about Alexis. It's a rare treat to see a realistic, intelligent, charming child portrayed on a television show.

As a tie-in with the show, there have been two Nikki Heat books released. If you like the show, I recommend Heat Wave and Naked Heat. It's a bit surreal reading the book and comparing those characters with the "REAL" people, since the "REAL" people aren't even real but just actors performing roles. I'd like to know who is ghost writing the novels. Michael Connelly? James Patterson? Dare I hope ABC will publish a few Derrick Storm novels?

I do have an issue with Stana Katic's styling over the last year. The glamour factor has been creeping up since that first season when Beckett's hair was bobbed and her heels weren't quite so high. It just beggars belief that a female detective would have such high maintenance hair. In fact, when I first glanced at this promo shot, I thought Brooke Shields was making a special appearance on Castle:


This is one of the few shows that my husband watches. Usually while we fold laundry. It's a decent show, but I'm kinda flummoxed by its popularity.


This season has not been Bones' best, and the reason can be summed up in one word: Hannah.

I appreciate that the writers began this year with a quandary: how to diffuse the ticking time bomb of  Booth's unrequited love for Tempe lest the show suffer the same fate as Moonlighting. And the idea of Booth finding a new love interest was a great way to change the dynamic of the show, but the execution was been horrible.

The only good thing I can think of to say about Hannah (whom I now suspect was partially inspired by Lara Logan) was the writers did a commendable job developing her relationship with Bones and the other women characters. Hannah and Tempe's interactions were honest, and avoided the cat-fight/passive-aggressive/frenemy vibe which seems de rigeur for female television characters. I found this refreshing. Alas no amount of writing could make up for the horrible, horrible acting of Katheryn Winnick. I'm hoping Hannah's refusal of Booth's marriage proposal means Winnick is off the show for good because her voice and bad acting drives me up the wall.  However, I won't be surprised if she returns in an episode inspired by Lara Logan's recent assault in Egypt.

Now it's your turn. Tell me what shows you watch? Can you recommend any new shows?

Wednesday, March 2, 2011

Into the Garbage Chute, Flyboy.

This is as close as I'll ever come to fulfilling Mr. Wrath's fantasy about Princess Leia and her gold bikini:
It is my new favourite toque, courtesy of my very crafty mother. She also made R2-D2 toques for Mr Wrath and the little Wrathlets. I think I'm going to have to buy her a copy of this book, because nothing says, "Mom, you are AWESOME!" like a self-serving present.

I wore my Worshipfulness Toque to the grocery store today (during a blizzard, no less), and received two compliments. I might have also been on the receiving end of a few bemused stares, but I didn't make eye contact with anyone I didn't know. You can take the girl out of the city, but you can't take away her ability to distrust strangers.

Tuesday, March 1, 2011

Who's A Pretty Bird?

The first year I homeschooled another more-experienced homeschooling mom mentioned that her family boycotted February. February was the most depressing month, she said. And since nothing of value was ever accomplished they visited relatives, went skiing, watched tv, or played on the computer with nary a thought about obtaining prescribed learning outcomes or adhering to their student learning plans (this is the lingo of the British Columbia Ministry of Education's Distributed Learning system).

We didn't experience the February doldrums during the first two years of homeschooling. I was pretty smug about this fact. In retrospect this was less to do with my general awesomeness, and more to do with the fact that both years we went on a late January, early February vacation. This year I realized that without a respite in Hawaii or California, February is a slog.

I didn't cancel lessons outright, but we definitely had a more relaxed schedule. The boys' math lessons were shorter. The grammar books haven't left the shelf since early February. We made multiple field trips to the dentist. The boys -- who have ANOTHER cold -- slept in later. They played in the snow fort. Sledded on the front lawn. Lazed about watching Star Trek. Hung out with friends. Made crafts. Mr Wrath read aloud all three of the Kenneth Oppel's Airborn books (and now they're listening to the audio books). My parents came for a visit. I cleaned the house -- even the parts that weren't freakishly dirty.

Today is the first day of March.

I'm relieved. And energized. The heater is already on down in the school room. The math manipulatives are out. The grammar books are ready to go.

Let the learning commence!

Even now the boys are waking up. I can hear them moving about in their rooms. They'll serve themselves bowls of porridge or cereal. We'll fight about hair brushing and making beds. Then we'll fill up glasses of water and mugs of tea and head downstairs. Accompanied by our two animal friends:

Lil' Ms Crazy Eyes. The only member of the family who was happy with the -38ºC weather we've had the last few days.

Our loaner pet, Chico the Grumpy Cockatiel, who will be with us for the next two weeks. As you can see Chico hates literacy. Chico the Grumpy Cockatiel would prefer if we did nothing all day but look at him and tell him he is beautiful. You and me both, Chico.