New, New, New

New, New, New....that's not just the sound that little red typewriter on Sesame Street made. You know the one from when you were little that would scoot across the screen....white m&m arms....wheels....he'd type one of his letters (weird) and it would get big and then we'd learn about the letter he'd picked?

Him.....he used to say "noo, noo, noo....nooony, noony, noo"
Well, this time it's MY refrain.
New Year
New Positive attitude
New job.   

**sound of tires screeching**

New job?  I thought you loved working at Reitman's? I thought you loved hanging the pants all at the same matching edge and making the hangers slide effortlessly across newly waxed metal bars?! 

I do!!! 
I did!!

The very last thing I did in the year 2010 was cry. Not hard...just a little tear that ran down my face as I lay falling asleep. I was looking back on a HORRIBLE year. Then, midnight hit....my husband called me a goof for something I'd done minutes earlier, and I laughed. The last thing I did in 2010 was cry. The first thing I did in 2011 was laugh. That had to mean something!

For a few days, I thought about it. 2011 was going to be just a total new life for me. I thought about how I would make it different...I'm going to laugh more, I'm going to cook more, I'm going to take better care of myself....these are all things that I can do for myself to make the future bright. But it felt like something bigger was in the works for me, and I didn't know what it was. I had talked a bit to a friend who was in business dealings and tossed ideas around....but it didn't look like that was going to become anything for the time being. So I waited to see what would come my way. I thought about making something happen. Although I love my job at Reitman's, there are few hours to go around at this time of year and I needed a few more. Should I hand out resumes? Call a temp agency? No, I just kept waiting...and then it came to me. No, it actually did. Not the idea. The call. Business was forging ahead and I was invited to be part of it. My "job interview" was more like a brainstorming session. I already had the job. This is it! The "new". The change.

T-Zone is a business that is going to interest some people and make the cynics doubt. I am going to prove it to myself, and then to anyone who wants to see it in action, that it works.

Whole Body Vibration has been used for 60 years, by NASA no less, for all sorts of health related improvements, and now that the machines are licensed by Health Canada, I can tell people exactly what the machines can do.

Ten minutes on a machine is equal to one hour in the gym. We're not talking weight lifting. We're talking health benefits.....weight loss, muscle strength, improved circulation, pain relief, improved bone density, physiotherapy,...the list goes on...and I can't wait to find out how long the list is!  I will try everything for myself before I tell people what it can do.

This job is going to entail nothing more than inviting people to do something to make themselves feel better. It takes my whole 2011 outlook and puts a sign on it. And the sign, in big orange letters, says "T-Zone Health".

Stay tuned!

Kids on Leashes

Here's why I'm getting used to the idea of kids on leashes.

I used to think they were awful. I once broke up with a guy after seeing him tethered to his mom beside a fountain in Germany in one of their family photo albums. And this one red-haired demon child that used to come into the store I worked at was on a leash when he started trying to climb a lady's leg that was not his mom's.

You're not being sneaky, Moms...we know that your bratty kid's turtle backpack has a leash attached to it.

But here's the thing. As you know, I work a few hours a week at a retail establishment. The type of place where Moms would shop, and I get that many Moms have no choice but to bring their demon children with them. Because my shifts are mostly in the evenings, one of my tasks is to go around and clean all of the mirrors and windows in the place. No biggie. I don't mind doing it in the slightest bit.

Last night, I was in the little vestibule area....foyer?  Lobby?  Vestibule...and as I'm cleaning the hand prints from the glass JUST above the metal push bar that you're supposed to put your hands on (seriously, ladies? You have to touch the glass 5cms from where we'd like you to?), I spy, out of the corner of my eye, in the tightest of places, two FULL ON kid-size hand prints. You've got to be kidding me.

I navigate around the side of the vestibule....foyer...and squeeze in between the mannequins and the front window, which by the way, is spotless, and kneel down to tackle some bratty little snot-nose kid's greasy, grimy hand prints at about kid-eye-level.

And what do I get in return?  I'll show you.

When I kneeled down to be Mrs. Clean, the tiny crack in the sole of my shoe ERUPTED and SHOT the bottom right out of my shoe. For crying out loud. I try to be a model employee, and it costs me an hundred bucks for new shoes.

Put your bad kids on leashes, Moms....or at the very least, WIPE THEIR HANDS AFTER THEY EAT THEIR MCDONALD'S FRIES. GAWD.

Heeeeeeeyyyyyyy, wait a second!  I get to buy new shoes!!!!!

Conspiracy Theory

Don't like the snow storm today, folks? Blame my husband. Here's how I came to this conclusion. It might get convoluted....try to follow....then again, it might be pretty straightforward once it's all written out. Typed out.

I'm not a leg shaver. Not regularly, anyway. I am blessed with such light leg hair that unless you were right up close enough to say "wow, that man has really skinny legs!", you'd never know they were the way they were. I thought about shaving them one day in October, but then I got lazy, so I left them. Fast forward to yesterday. The day before today. Today has a Dr.'s appointment written in on the calendar. Today's appointment is the second I've booked, because on January 3rd, I had one, but I called to cancel, because...I hadn't shaved my legs. I'm dead serious.
Yesterday, I shaved 'em. Boy, did I. We're talkin' smooth legs like....smooth legs. Reason being, my appointment is to get an all over check-up, list out all my aches and pains, and have them looked after. One of my aches is my left knee. I got Skecher's Shape-Ups last Spring and while Spencer and I went for a walk, my newly-shoe-aligned knee was grinding so loudly, Spencer thought I was walking on gravel. And he was like ten feet away from me.
So I shave my legs, knowing that Dr. M. is going to have me roll up my pant legs (or worse, get under that paper sheet) while he bends and straightens, twists and turns my knee around, to see what part of my knee isn't doing what it's meant to do.
This morning I wake up to SNOW. Snow of all snows. Our driveway is pretty much filled right in by drifts. Thankfully, Trevor next door hit it with his snowblower....and the Dr.'s office calls to say they really want to close early, can I make it in "asap". I say "why don't I just reschedule, it's nothing urgent, and then you girls can condense your other appointments and head home". We rebook, and hang up.
Then it hits me.
I shaved my legs for NOTHING.

Somehow I believe that my husband had something to do with the "storm". Somewhere north of the city, he's positioned a ginormous fan that's blowing "lake effect" something or other all over the place. Trevor's in on it, too. He's not grimacing in pain from the windburn as he clears the driveways. He's grinning. I'm on to him.

I don't get my knee looked at, but my husband gets a wife with shaved legs.

Me and My Big Brain

As you may recall....yesterday (see, I figured you'd recall it what with being just yesterday), I had the brilliant scheme going that I was going to scam new end tables to go with our new couches. The couches so big that no matter HOW we jostled, the wedge piece that would complete the sectional would never, ever fit.
Off I went to the showroom, tape measure firmly in hand. I marched to the "annex", where an identical piece sat, without its two couch pieces, and flung open the tape measure, reached down to measure the diagonal front part of the wedge, knowing that I had 18" at home to work with, and VOILA! 21". Eureka! On another note, there was a contestant on Jeopardy last night named Eureka. That name could only be given to a baby conceived by commune-living hippies at Woodstock, or by complete nerd intellects in some brightly
-lit science lab....I'm going with the nerd likelihood. She was on JEOPARDY.
But I digress. Boy, do I.
Okay, back the the "annex", where now my salesman walks towards me, not recognizing me in my hat. "Don't worry," I say, when he apologizes for not knowing me right away, "my gramma thinks I look like a 15 year old in it." And I think she means a fifteen year old boy. Not sure. Maybe I need a new hat AND a new bra. Hm.
So, I'm running my mouth off to "Ron", let's call him that. It's his name.  I'm telling him how I'm not sure it'll all fit. He's thinking I want to return ALL of the couch pieces. I'm explaining how the only POSSIBLE thing I can think of is that we reverse the positions of the couch and loveseat currently in the living room and that will....give...us...the...space...we...need....for....the...wedge...to ...fit.

Eureka.

No new tables. But the wedge gets here between noon and two this afternoon.

Big Girl Furniture

Well, folks, the Moffats have hit the big time. We got new furniture for the living room. Much needed. Much longed for. Much pined after. They aren't pine, though. They're dark brown (sooooo, we can't wreck them, right? Right?). Being a planner, I went online, got all the dimensions, threw a tape measure down on our living room floor, marked with masking tape the precise spot on each wall the the furniture would end at....and then, couches placed, saw that the tape pieces were overreached. Significantly.
You know, it's not helping to sell furniture by saying "oh, sure it'll fit" when it won't. Give me the real dimensions. The straight goods. Tell me flat out that the couches I want will not fit into the space that I have. Let me find another set. Sure, I love the first one, but I'm not hard to get along with....I can find something that will work (even though I might always wonder what could have been with the set I truly loved).
Tomorrow is my day of reckoning. The backordered corner wedge of the sectional will arrive on our doorstep between 12 and 2pm. The options as far as what can and might happen are as follows:
1. The wedge will fit and all will be right in the world.
2. The wedge will not fit, no matter how ridiculously tight I can get the end table against the far wall.
So let's carry on from option two. From here (it's like a choose-your-own-adventure book...remember those?) , there are a further two options:
1. The wedge goes back, and we keep the two couches and my sectional dream falls apart.
2. Dude, we totally get new smaller end table to make it work!

I can't lose here.  I cannot lose.

Don't Call It a Comeback

Well, I started a blog last Spring. It went nowhere. Fast. There was a big life change that made for some probable blog entries that would bring down even the smilingest cast member of Glee. And they smile alot! So, rather than try to steer the iceberg-headed ship around the drama and back on track, I've decided to start over.  As a stay-at-home mom, I don't get out alot. Sometimes the most productive thing I do in a day is change from my night-time yoga pants into my daytime yoga pants. And I don't do yoga. I try to find humour in everyday life....it's there if you look for it, and if my kids were your kids, you wouldn't have to look far to find it.
I'm on Facebook. Who the heck isn't? And my status lines sum up the most recent of "events" around here. But sometimes, more explanation is needed....and since not everyone needs or wants to hear the details...the ones who do can come here!
I was actually bullied into starting my first blog, and recently my bully did that hand motion where you punch your fist into your other palm in a menacing motion, and it gave me the nudge I needed to come back. So, hello!
Not sure where to go with my first post other than to give you an idea of what's going on at my house right now. The dryer's running. The dishwasher's running. My daughter is napping in her Big Girl Bed. I, with my daytime yoga pants on, am taking a moment. The fact is, the game I play on my Blackberry was giving me a headache, so I had to do something else with my eyeballs.
Okay, that sums that up.
Soooo....um.....Can someone tell me why in the name of all that makes sense in the world, when I google kid-friendly school lunches" for my other non-napping kid, I am directed to a site whose list included such gems as fondues and fresh fruit kebabs?  Seriously? The highly stylized photos looked yummy, sure...but do they think I'm going to send my good plates to school in an Ottawa Senators lunchbag so that I can carefully fan out the fruit kebabs as to not taint the light green melons pieces with the colour sure to run from the mushy-by-noon blueberries? Get real. I'm lucky to have a juicebox to send with the kid. Ugh.