An eye-popping amount of time has gone by. There is no doubt. I've decided to stop feeling guilty about not writing anymore and after almost 1-year's hiatus, I've decided to hit that keyboard once again.
A lot has changed in the 11 months that have gone by. I switched jobs. Yes, again. In February of this year, I took on a new disability case management role. I do love what the new role has taught me. The focus is on medical adjudication so it provides a new layer to the functional based case management that I was previously doing. I`ll talk more about that later when I feel like it. ;)
And oh! Did I mention that I bought a new house? Oh yes, I did. Come August 15, Mr. Unfazed, Spitfire, Litte Lady, along with yours truly, take possession of a 5-year old home in a town located 10 minutes from where we currently live. We decided to get a new house after deciding not to renovate our current. With the basement, kitchen and new girls bathroom renos I was envisioning, the renos would have been costly and not to mention, would have placed our house way outside of the real estate metre for the neighbourhood. So, in other words, our return on investment would have been pretty low.
I`m done for now but this isn`t over. I`ll be back.
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
Sunday, August 8, 2010
Off TEN
A rare and decadent experience graced its presence in my life this morning. As LittleLady slept and Spitfire played with her car collection, I sipped Earl Grey Tea and watched Motherhood*. Yes, I live motherhood but I'm referring to the 2009 movie starring Uma Thurman and Minnie Driver. Uma's character, Eliza, a former ficion writer now keeps a mom blog entitled the Bjorn Identity and with the never ceasing demands of everyday mommyhood, she sneaks in moments here and there to showcase her thoughts.
Today's post though will not be about this movie, which has the hideous distinction of being one of the worst box office flops in Hollywood history. Instead, I'll focus on what I learned. I learned that taking the time to write doesn't have to be akin to a sacred religious experience. It just has to be a time to say what I want to say.
Which brings me to last night's birthday celebration at TEN restaurant. An ex-colleague, who I hadn't seen in almost a year graciously invited me and my spouse to attend her birthday soiree along with her boyfriend and their friends. Despite the group's mutual interest in talking food, wine, and then wine and more food; that wasn't the focus of the evening. After a fellow partygoer and myself sampled a chicken shnitzel that packed more lemon juice than what could be extracted from an entire lemon tree, we moved from culinary critique and got down to the business of making and building connections. As the Birthday Girl shared with me, there is always a certain feeling of trepidation to mixing groups of friends who are strangers to each other. You just don't know what's going to happen. I can certainly understand her point.
Food being off the ten mark, the chemistry of the group made up for it in spades. Raucous laughter rang out cheerfully as we clinked glasses and shared anecdotes and discussed serious current events such as the goings on of The Situation and Snooki of the Jersey Shore. OK. The truth is I was the only one in the group who watched the show but a the Birthday Girl diplomatically reassured me, even Leonardo DiCaprio watches the fistpumping, hairpoufing Guido/Guidette chronicles of GTL, so I'm in perfect ten company.
Indeed, it seems that I'm blessed with tens all around and am excited for the next opportunity to don stiletto heels, big earrings and dish on life.
Today's post though will not be about this movie, which has the hideous distinction of being one of the worst box office flops in Hollywood history. Instead, I'll focus on what I learned. I learned that taking the time to write doesn't have to be akin to a sacred religious experience. It just has to be a time to say what I want to say.
Which brings me to last night's birthday celebration at TEN restaurant. An ex-colleague, who I hadn't seen in almost a year graciously invited me and my spouse to attend her birthday soiree along with her boyfriend and their friends. Despite the group's mutual interest in talking food, wine, and then wine and more food; that wasn't the focus of the evening. After a fellow partygoer and myself sampled a chicken shnitzel that packed more lemon juice than what could be extracted from an entire lemon tree, we moved from culinary critique and got down to the business of making and building connections. As the Birthday Girl shared with me, there is always a certain feeling of trepidation to mixing groups of friends who are strangers to each other. You just don't know what's going to happen. I can certainly understand her point.
Food being off the ten mark, the chemistry of the group made up for it in spades. Raucous laughter rang out cheerfully as we clinked glasses and shared anecdotes and discussed serious current events such as the goings on of The Situation and Snooki of the Jersey Shore. OK. The truth is I was the only one in the group who watched the show but a the Birthday Girl diplomatically reassured me, even Leonardo DiCaprio watches the fistpumping, hairpoufing Guido/Guidette chronicles of GTL, so I'm in perfect ten company.
Indeed, it seems that I'm blessed with tens all around and am excited for the next opportunity to don stiletto heels, big earrings and dish on life.
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
AWOL
With head hung low, cheeks burning red, I shamefully admit that I have been avoiding writing. I've been making the old excuses..too busy, not in the mood, can't think of what to say.
I came across an ex-fellow-Toastmaster's blog today and saw that he was entertaining the notion of writing a book but couldn't get his motivation going to do it. I was intrigued but also very much interested from a selfish viewpoint. I can relate to the lack of motivation. It's my current affliction and I've been avoiding treatment.
I'm even too lazy to contemplate the causes of the lack of motivation but I do recall this piece of advice I've been given over the past few months: writing is a job. I won't always like it. Even if I don't want to do it, I should make an attempt.
Previously I had written about the annoying bus commute from home to workplace and how it was leaving me nauseous, miserable and drained. Well, the technological issues were resolved quite some time ago and I'm now a tele-commuter. Essentially that barrier was removed and still I didn't jump at the chance to hit my blog the second work was over. Yes, I have young children and a spouse but yes, I also know and fully admit that I have opportunities to write, so why don't I?
Could it be the "who cares about what I have to say syndrome?" Perhaps. But ultimately it shoudn't and doesn't matter to me who reads or more accurately, does not read these entries.
I've got an idea going and I'm going to commit it to it as a task. A friend is having a birthday celebration this weekend. I'll write about it. With a task set out in writing, I'll be loathe to not follow through. I can describe what people wore, the food, the drink, the music, the general atmosphere, witty repartee with the waiter etc.
Until Saturday.
I came across an ex-fellow-Toastmaster's blog today and saw that he was entertaining the notion of writing a book but couldn't get his motivation going to do it. I was intrigued but also very much interested from a selfish viewpoint. I can relate to the lack of motivation. It's my current affliction and I've been avoiding treatment.
I'm even too lazy to contemplate the causes of the lack of motivation but I do recall this piece of advice I've been given over the past few months: writing is a job. I won't always like it. Even if I don't want to do it, I should make an attempt.
Previously I had written about the annoying bus commute from home to workplace and how it was leaving me nauseous, miserable and drained. Well, the technological issues were resolved quite some time ago and I'm now a tele-commuter. Essentially that barrier was removed and still I didn't jump at the chance to hit my blog the second work was over. Yes, I have young children and a spouse but yes, I also know and fully admit that I have opportunities to write, so why don't I?
Could it be the "who cares about what I have to say syndrome?" Perhaps. But ultimately it shoudn't and doesn't matter to me who reads or more accurately, does not read these entries.
I've got an idea going and I'm going to commit it to it as a task. A friend is having a birthday celebration this weekend. I'll write about it. With a task set out in writing, I'll be loathe to not follow through. I can describe what people wore, the food, the drink, the music, the general atmosphere, witty repartee with the waiter etc.
Until Saturday.
Monday, June 28, 2010
When it's over...who do you cheer for?
As a Portuguese Canadian, I am typecast as a Brazilian soccer fan. This is a tale from the other side.
"When it's over? Who do you cheer for?"
Although I have been confronted with this question many times over the years, today was the first time that I felt inspired to actually write about it. Like many beginnings, this one was not particularly glamourous. As I was on my way to the washroom, I overheard a colleague say to another, "I want to see a Brazil-Argentina final." My futebol self couldn't resist jumping right into the conversation. Eyes brimming large with excitement, I announced, "I'll tell you why I want to see Argetina in the final." A dramatic pause ensued (at least for me). "Because Maradona will run naked through the streets of Buenos Aires* if Argentina wins." That got their attention.
Colleague1 shrieked, "Really? Are you serious?" (Colleague1 is a Brazil fan) Colleague2 nodded in accordance with the truth spoken but retorted, "Oh, in that country, running naked through the streets will mean nothing. Nobody will care." Not having much intimate knowledge of Argentina's cultural norms, I couldn't refute Colleague2's statement yet I added, "Yeah, but think about the media scrum, the paparazzi arriving en masse. The international frenzy. It will be insane!" My colleagues smiled and then laughed.
Then I let out the statement that I knew would alter the mood. "As much as I would enjoy the Maradona show, actually I wouldn't really, I have to say that my team isn't Argentina but Portugal."
The inquisition was quickly organized. Colleague1 asked, "When Brazil and Portugal play against each other? Who do you cheer for? Both?" I quickly replied without hesitation, Portugal. I resisted the urge to say that the question was ridiculous considering I had just said I was a Portugal fan. Moving on with the checklist, Colleague2 presented his question, "If/when Portugal is eliminated, do you then cheer for Brazil?" With conviction, passion and a barely discernible note of irritation, I pledged my soccer allegiance to the land the Romans once called Portus Cale, "When Portugal's over then it's over." Colleague2 smiled brightly and said, "That's right!" I then added, "What I should have said was, I'll still follow the tournament for the sport itself but I'm no longer cheering for any team." Colleague2, obviously thrilled with my sense of priorities, blurted out, "Yeah! No taking down the Portuguese flag and replacing it with a Brazilian one." Straightening my back and my voice heavy with indignation, I replied, "I hate that!"
I'm not oblivious to how ignorant such a statement may seem. Of course I understand and respect that people have the right to cheer for their soccer heroes. I would be dishonest though if I didn't point out how much ridicule and criticism Portuguese people have faced over the widespread notion that the Portuguese will quickly ditch their red, green, and yellow coat of arms flag for the green and yellow ordem e progresso.
Recently, a friend and I were walking up and down the Danforth on a warm evening after a lovely dinner at Pan. I griped that I hated how everyone assumed that just because I was of Portuguese descent, I was labelled as a Brazilian soccer fan in hiding. She empathized but added, "Yeah but a lot of Portuguese people do cheer for Brazil." I knew she was speaking the truth. Putting aside the fact that I know that a lot of non-Brazilians cheer for Brazil and this often goes unchallenged; I have often tried to understand the reasons for the Portuguese love affair with Brasil's team of futebol dreams.
Some have suggested the colonial connection. I can't help thinking yeah, but, after 322 years of colonial rule under the Portuguese, the Brazilians achieved highly desired independence. I can't imagine a group of people who desperately wanted to sever ties with the colonizer being thrilled about its descendants whooping and hollering as Brazilian golos get through the opponent's net.
Then there's the same language argument. Several years ago, I recall sitting outside during a break at work and a colleague approached me out of the blue. The next thing I knew, I was being blasted with, "My friend was born and raised in Brazil and she doesn't understand why Portuguese people cheer for Brazil. Is it because of the same language? Well, if it is, that's a stupid reason." I was gobsmacked.
I've also heard about the family connection reason. Many Portuguese have family who immigrated to Brazil (I do as well on both my mother and father's side of the family). While that reason may be good enough for some, it's not good enough for me to personally join the samba squad supporting Brazilian soccer.
Tomorrow afternoon as Portugal plays its Iberian neighbour Spain for a spot in the final 8 of the FIFA World Cup, I'll be sitting in my cubicle working away, all the while silently wishing Portugal much força in this knock-out match.
**********************************************************
Maradona: I'll run naked if we win
http://soccernet.espn.go.com/world-cup/story/_/id/790643/ce/uk/&cc=5901?ver=us
"When it's over? Who do you cheer for?"
Although I have been confronted with this question many times over the years, today was the first time that I felt inspired to actually write about it. Like many beginnings, this one was not particularly glamourous. As I was on my way to the washroom, I overheard a colleague say to another, "I want to see a Brazil-Argentina final." My futebol self couldn't resist jumping right into the conversation. Eyes brimming large with excitement, I announced, "I'll tell you why I want to see Argetina in the final." A dramatic pause ensued (at least for me). "Because Maradona will run naked through the streets of Buenos Aires* if Argentina wins." That got their attention.
Colleague1 shrieked, "Really? Are you serious?" (Colleague1 is a Brazil fan) Colleague2 nodded in accordance with the truth spoken but retorted, "Oh, in that country, running naked through the streets will mean nothing. Nobody will care." Not having much intimate knowledge of Argentina's cultural norms, I couldn't refute Colleague2's statement yet I added, "Yeah, but think about the media scrum, the paparazzi arriving en masse. The international frenzy. It will be insane!" My colleagues smiled and then laughed.
Then I let out the statement that I knew would alter the mood. "As much as I would enjoy the Maradona show, actually I wouldn't really, I have to say that my team isn't Argentina but Portugal."
The inquisition was quickly organized. Colleague1 asked, "When Brazil and Portugal play against each other? Who do you cheer for? Both?" I quickly replied without hesitation, Portugal. I resisted the urge to say that the question was ridiculous considering I had just said I was a Portugal fan. Moving on with the checklist, Colleague2 presented his question, "If/when Portugal is eliminated, do you then cheer for Brazil?" With conviction, passion and a barely discernible note of irritation, I pledged my soccer allegiance to the land the Romans once called Portus Cale, "When Portugal's over then it's over." Colleague2 smiled brightly and said, "That's right!" I then added, "What I should have said was, I'll still follow the tournament for the sport itself but I'm no longer cheering for any team." Colleague2, obviously thrilled with my sense of priorities, blurted out, "Yeah! No taking down the Portuguese flag and replacing it with a Brazilian one." Straightening my back and my voice heavy with indignation, I replied, "I hate that!"
I'm not oblivious to how ignorant such a statement may seem. Of course I understand and respect that people have the right to cheer for their soccer heroes. I would be dishonest though if I didn't point out how much ridicule and criticism Portuguese people have faced over the widespread notion that the Portuguese will quickly ditch their red, green, and yellow coat of arms flag for the green and yellow ordem e progresso.
Recently, a friend and I were walking up and down the Danforth on a warm evening after a lovely dinner at Pan. I griped that I hated how everyone assumed that just because I was of Portuguese descent, I was labelled as a Brazilian soccer fan in hiding. She empathized but added, "Yeah but a lot of Portuguese people do cheer for Brazil." I knew she was speaking the truth. Putting aside the fact that I know that a lot of non-Brazilians cheer for Brazil and this often goes unchallenged; I have often tried to understand the reasons for the Portuguese love affair with Brasil's team of futebol dreams.
Some have suggested the colonial connection. I can't help thinking yeah, but, after 322 years of colonial rule under the Portuguese, the Brazilians achieved highly desired independence. I can't imagine a group of people who desperately wanted to sever ties with the colonizer being thrilled about its descendants whooping and hollering as Brazilian golos get through the opponent's net.
Then there's the same language argument. Several years ago, I recall sitting outside during a break at work and a colleague approached me out of the blue. The next thing I knew, I was being blasted with, "My friend was born and raised in Brazil and she doesn't understand why Portuguese people cheer for Brazil. Is it because of the same language? Well, if it is, that's a stupid reason." I was gobsmacked.
I've also heard about the family connection reason. Many Portuguese have family who immigrated to Brazil (I do as well on both my mother and father's side of the family). While that reason may be good enough for some, it's not good enough for me to personally join the samba squad supporting Brazilian soccer.
Tomorrow afternoon as Portugal plays its Iberian neighbour Spain for a spot in the final 8 of the FIFA World Cup, I'll be sitting in my cubicle working away, all the while silently wishing Portugal much força in this knock-out match.
**********************************************************
Maradona: I'll run naked if we win
http://soccernet.espn.go.com/world-cup/story/_/id/790643/ce/uk/&cc=5901?ver=us
Sunday, June 27, 2010
To mimosa or not to mimosa?
that is the question...
I used that line for my Facebook status this morning and thought I would run with it for a blog post.
Are my thoughts turning to bubbly fun in a glass because I actually feel a bit bad for England? Their 4-1 loss to Germany in the FIFA World Cup tournament has left me feeling somewhat uncomfortable but I'm not quite certain why. While I can appreciate a good game, I'm not a fan of either team. My futebol allegiance lies with Portugal.
What does all this have to do with mimosas? I'm not quite sure. Let me think about this. Nothing's coming to me. That's probably because I got sidetracked (guess my thoughts went offside) by soccer talk. Back to what really matters. The bubbly amusement.
I love mimosas so much that I'm surprised that I'm even questioning having one. As I've downed a water bottle, I've fantasized about the sweet spumante (the cheap stuff does the job very well for mixing), comingling with the citrus fruit juice and creating heaven in a glass. I've even tried a white beer/orange juice mimosa for brunch at Kalendar (Toronto) and was pleasantly surprised at how delightful the combination was.
On Facebook, I said I would wait until Argentina played Mexico today in the knock-out round of 16, but now that I've had a chance to sit down and actually think about the reasons why I love this pseudo cocktail, it strengthens my resolve. I'll test my powers of resisting temptation and will aim to wait until 2:30pm. Some might scoff and say there will be no golden trophy awarded for not having a drink now. I would politely disagre...the mimosa is a golden prize worth a little wait.
I used that line for my Facebook status this morning and thought I would run with it for a blog post.
Are my thoughts turning to bubbly fun in a glass because I actually feel a bit bad for England? Their 4-1 loss to Germany in the FIFA World Cup tournament has left me feeling somewhat uncomfortable but I'm not quite certain why. While I can appreciate a good game, I'm not a fan of either team. My futebol allegiance lies with Portugal.
What does all this have to do with mimosas? I'm not quite sure. Let me think about this. Nothing's coming to me. That's probably because I got sidetracked (guess my thoughts went offside) by soccer talk. Back to what really matters. The bubbly amusement.
I love mimosas so much that I'm surprised that I'm even questioning having one. As I've downed a water bottle, I've fantasized about the sweet spumante (the cheap stuff does the job very well for mixing), comingling with the citrus fruit juice and creating heaven in a glass. I've even tried a white beer/orange juice mimosa for brunch at Kalendar (Toronto) and was pleasantly surprised at how delightful the combination was.
On Facebook, I said I would wait until Argentina played Mexico today in the knock-out round of 16, but now that I've had a chance to sit down and actually think about the reasons why I love this pseudo cocktail, it strengthens my resolve. I'll test my powers of resisting temptation and will aim to wait until 2:30pm. Some might scoff and say there will be no golden trophy awarded for not having a drink now. I would politely disagre...the mimosa is a golden prize worth a little wait.
Saturday, June 26, 2010
Family gatherings
Sounds like the title of a horror movie, doesn't it?
Devilishly I grin.
Kidding aside, today we held a family celebration to commemorate Spitfire's fourth birthday. Spitfire was quite involved in the planning of the event, even giving me a guest list of family members she wanted to invite. We had to chuckle with her providing us with a list of invitees but it was cute nonetheless.
She chose the theme: Lightning McQueen. The red animated race car was today's focal point for balloons and the kiddie table was adorned with the tablecloth, hats, napkins, and cups in homage to the Great McQueen. And I can't forget about the the cupcakes. At Spitfire's request, the icing was blue (as opposed to red) but the candles and decor pieces for the cupcakes were Lightning McQueen and his pal Mater. I was terrified of doing the cupcakes from scratch, dying the icing blue and gasp, actually icing the tiny cakes, but somehow I pulled it off. Heck, I even enjoyed it. Already, I'm thinking of an excuse to make cupcakes again...
Anyway, I digress. Back to the family in family gatherings. A family gathering wouldn't be complete without my sister announcing she'll arrive at one time and then actually arriving at another. When my sister called today saying that she'd be at our place at around 2:30-3:00pm (the party actually started at 5pm), to hang out with the girls for a bit, I automatically assumed she meant 2:30pm the next day. Cynical, you might say? Realistic and experienced in the ways of my sister, I would respond. My sister operates in a time zone very unique and special to her. Today, she arrived at 4:45pm. Early for the party so we'll just forget about the original 2:30pm arrival cuz hey, she was still today's first guest.
One by one, the members of the tribe knocked on the door and made their way in. Some opted for passionfruit punch and others opted for a more racy mango sangria to quench their thirst. All the while beer bottles accumulated. With skewered BBQ shrimp up for grabs during cocktail hour, the party was off to a good start.
If this were a sitcom, things wouldn't stay that way. There would be meltdowns, petty disagreements, and all around "American TV Thanksgiving discord" but such was not the case today.
As the hostess, I was pretty relaxed. Or so I felt. Only my guests could say for sure. I felt that way because I was prepared. As the guests arrived, I was holding a glass of sangria in one hand and offering drinks with the other.
Spitfire was a ball of energy which isn't anything out of the ordinary but her happiness was all apparent. Usually not one to play up to the camera, today she was thrusting her shoulders forward, snapping on a huge blue icing smile and giggling mischievously as she'd bite on the (non edible) Mater toy that served as a cupcake topper.
It was bliss for Spitfire and in turn, it's bliss for her proud big sis, LittleLady. With their baby cousin running around in her pinktastic ballet tutu dress, Spitfire and LittleLady were in their own happy place. Sure, there was some gleeful shrieking, and I mean a lot of it but such comes with the territory.
Maybe it's the early morning hour (almost 1:30am) or maybe I've had one too many sparkling mango sangrias but I can't wait to host the next get together. Doesn't Mr. Unfazed have a birthday coming up in August???
Devilishly I grin.
Kidding aside, today we held a family celebration to commemorate Spitfire's fourth birthday. Spitfire was quite involved in the planning of the event, even giving me a guest list of family members she wanted to invite. We had to chuckle with her providing us with a list of invitees but it was cute nonetheless.
She chose the theme: Lightning McQueen. The red animated race car was today's focal point for balloons and the kiddie table was adorned with the tablecloth, hats, napkins, and cups in homage to the Great McQueen. And I can't forget about the the cupcakes. At Spitfire's request, the icing was blue (as opposed to red) but the candles and decor pieces for the cupcakes were Lightning McQueen and his pal Mater. I was terrified of doing the cupcakes from scratch, dying the icing blue and gasp, actually icing the tiny cakes, but somehow I pulled it off. Heck, I even enjoyed it. Already, I'm thinking of an excuse to make cupcakes again...
Anyway, I digress. Back to the family in family gatherings. A family gathering wouldn't be complete without my sister announcing she'll arrive at one time and then actually arriving at another. When my sister called today saying that she'd be at our place at around 2:30-3:00pm (the party actually started at 5pm), to hang out with the girls for a bit, I automatically assumed she meant 2:30pm the next day. Cynical, you might say? Realistic and experienced in the ways of my sister, I would respond. My sister operates in a time zone very unique and special to her. Today, she arrived at 4:45pm. Early for the party so we'll just forget about the original 2:30pm arrival cuz hey, she was still today's first guest.
One by one, the members of the tribe knocked on the door and made their way in. Some opted for passionfruit punch and others opted for a more racy mango sangria to quench their thirst. All the while beer bottles accumulated. With skewered BBQ shrimp up for grabs during cocktail hour, the party was off to a good start.
If this were a sitcom, things wouldn't stay that way. There would be meltdowns, petty disagreements, and all around "American TV Thanksgiving discord" but such was not the case today.
As the hostess, I was pretty relaxed. Or so I felt. Only my guests could say for sure. I felt that way because I was prepared. As the guests arrived, I was holding a glass of sangria in one hand and offering drinks with the other.
Spitfire was a ball of energy which isn't anything out of the ordinary but her happiness was all apparent. Usually not one to play up to the camera, today she was thrusting her shoulders forward, snapping on a huge blue icing smile and giggling mischievously as she'd bite on the (non edible) Mater toy that served as a cupcake topper.
It was bliss for Spitfire and in turn, it's bliss for her proud big sis, LittleLady. With their baby cousin running around in her pinktastic ballet tutu dress, Spitfire and LittleLady were in their own happy place. Sure, there was some gleeful shrieking, and I mean a lot of it but such comes with the territory.
Maybe it's the early morning hour (almost 1:30am) or maybe I've had one too many sparkling mango sangrias but I can't wait to host the next get together. Doesn't Mr. Unfazed have a birthday coming up in August???
Saturday, May 22, 2010
The Great Indoors
My daughters, who are usually fairly calm (or so I like to dream), are suffering from a classic case of cabin fever. It's a rainy Saturday afternoon and because LittleLady had a class until 3:30pm, (and that was early dismissal, normally the class runs until 4pm), the prospect of going somewhere far to entertain Spitfire was not in the cards.
Mr. Unfazed picked up LittleLady from class and took her on a quick shopping trip, as he was having dreams of BBQ pizza in his head, he needed supplies. He tells me that LittleLady threw a fit in the store because she wanted an extra sample of the juice being promoted. That seemed a bit odd to me but I shrugged it off. What I didn't realize was that the bigger scene was yet to unveil itself.
Earlier today, the girls had a hair trim. Actually, what they had was corrective surgery to repair the damage to their bangs that their beloved Vovó* (my mother), did to them earlier this week. Like my mother, I possess zero hair cutting talent. Unlike my mother, I am well aware of my shortcomings and leave hair cutting to the professionals. At the end of the haircutting experience, the girls received their reward: a lollypop (yeah, I know, I wasn't thrilled about it either), and a spin toy. The yellow animal inspired spin toys looked identical as far as Mr. Unfazed and I were concerned.
You know what's coming, right? The toys were not identical. One toy had circular shaped ears an the other had triangular shaped ears. Spitfire claimed that the circular one was hers. LittleLady made the same claim. A full-on "Jerry Springer For Tots" episode ensued. Why chairs didn't start flying in the air, I'll never know. Heated accusations spewed from the tiny mouth of Spitfire, her hazel eyes widening in disgust. LittleLady smirked at Spitfire's attempts at a throwdown and using her height to her advantage, looked down at Spitfire and said mischievously, "It's really mine." Seeing a tragic end to this mini-drama, Mr. Unfazed stepped in and took both spin toys away. I attempted to play Queen Solomon and declared, "I will cut the toys in half. Now whose toy is it really?" Without skipping a beat, both suspects raised their hands straight in the air. So much for ancient wisdom.
Discouraged but not defeated, I announced that the toys would soon be joining the blue bin gods. That worked. The little angels *cough* huddled together and brokered an agreement through stage whispers. LittleLady playing ambassador stated, "We will share the toy."
As I've been typing away, the toy appears to have dropped in market value, and the girls have moved on to other interests and complaints. The whiny question, "Why can't I watch a video?" is my personal unfavourite. Attention being diverted to crafts, Mr. Unfazed and I hope to enjoy the rest of the UEFA Championship League playing in the background. We had kind of forgotten about it. Real-life drama is so much better.
*Vovó means grandmother in Portuguese.
Mr. Unfazed picked up LittleLady from class and took her on a quick shopping trip, as he was having dreams of BBQ pizza in his head, he needed supplies. He tells me that LittleLady threw a fit in the store because she wanted an extra sample of the juice being promoted. That seemed a bit odd to me but I shrugged it off. What I didn't realize was that the bigger scene was yet to unveil itself.
Earlier today, the girls had a hair trim. Actually, what they had was corrective surgery to repair the damage to their bangs that their beloved Vovó* (my mother), did to them earlier this week. Like my mother, I possess zero hair cutting talent. Unlike my mother, I am well aware of my shortcomings and leave hair cutting to the professionals. At the end of the haircutting experience, the girls received their reward: a lollypop (yeah, I know, I wasn't thrilled about it either), and a spin toy. The yellow animal inspired spin toys looked identical as far as Mr. Unfazed and I were concerned.
You know what's coming, right? The toys were not identical. One toy had circular shaped ears an the other had triangular shaped ears. Spitfire claimed that the circular one was hers. LittleLady made the same claim. A full-on "Jerry Springer For Tots" episode ensued. Why chairs didn't start flying in the air, I'll never know. Heated accusations spewed from the tiny mouth of Spitfire, her hazel eyes widening in disgust. LittleLady smirked at Spitfire's attempts at a throwdown and using her height to her advantage, looked down at Spitfire and said mischievously, "It's really mine." Seeing a tragic end to this mini-drama, Mr. Unfazed stepped in and took both spin toys away. I attempted to play Queen Solomon and declared, "I will cut the toys in half. Now whose toy is it really?" Without skipping a beat, both suspects raised their hands straight in the air. So much for ancient wisdom.
Discouraged but not defeated, I announced that the toys would soon be joining the blue bin gods. That worked. The little angels *cough* huddled together and brokered an agreement through stage whispers. LittleLady playing ambassador stated, "We will share the toy."
As I've been typing away, the toy appears to have dropped in market value, and the girls have moved on to other interests and complaints. The whiny question, "Why can't I watch a video?" is my personal unfavourite. Attention being diverted to crafts, Mr. Unfazed and I hope to enjoy the rest of the UEFA Championship League playing in the background. We had kind of forgotten about it. Real-life drama is so much better.
*Vovó means grandmother in Portuguese.
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