So it seems I haven’t blogged much lately.  Clearly you haven’t noticed.  Or cared.  Frankly, neither do I.  Why haven’t I blogged?  Because I’ve been busy.  Really busy.  Like the kind of busy that not only prevents you from writing blogs or reading blogs, but the kind of busy that makes you forget you even had a blog in the first place.

And what exactly is keeping me so busy?

Here’s a clue - it’s 10 years old, has two legs and a hockey stick.  And it made our Town’s Rep hockey team earlier this year, which started their games and practices in September.

And I haven’t seen my life since.

Because when your Eldest son makes your Town’s Rep hockey team, this is what will happen;

- you will pay $450 to register him for the season that runs from mid-September to approximately March

- then he will be subjected to many vigarous tryout sessions (another $60 for that process FYI)

- when he makes the team, there will be much celebrating by your child & your husband.  You, on the other hand, will be  a) curled up in the fetal position  b) vomiting and c) in tears because you will understand immediately how very busy and expensive your life is about to get

- then you will fork over an additional $1,600 for that pleasure

- and spend approximately $200 in new hockey equipment (because apparently it’s important that the team wears all the same colour helmets, gloves & pants).  It’s the rules people – don’t ask me why.

- and then spend another $300 on team jackets, track suits, shirts, etc so they all look respectable when they show up for games.  Whatever.

- he will be at the rink an average of 5 days per week (this does NOT include his brother’s 2 times per week).  If you include the before time, the game or practice itself, and the time you wait for Mr. Chatty Cathy to come out of the GD change-room afterwards, you end up spending anywhere from 2 – 3 hours at the rink each time.   Rinks are boring.  And cold.  But they do sell really good fries & gravy.

- your family will spend much of their time in the car, driving back and forth to rinks.  When you play hockey for your Town, you play against other Towns.  Towns that may be over an hour away.  So you can just go ahead and add that round-trip driving time to the previous point above.

- as a result of all this physical activity, your son will fall into bed utterly exhausted every night and eat you out of house and home.

But he couldn’t be happier.

Me?  Not so much.  It’s a grueling schedule.  So far his school work hasn’t suffered, but I am keeping a close eye on it.  Fortunately his Coach is also a school teacher so that helps to keep his priorities in line.

Rest assured, we’re under no mis-conseptions.  We are not planning to retire early off the interest from his professional hockey career.  He will likely not be the next Wayne Gretzky.  He will probably never play in the NHL or even get a hockey scholarship.

But we do hope that through all the sacrifices we’re currently making, he will learn the importance of self-discipline, leadership and keeping your body healthy.  What it means to work hard for something you really, really want,  to be part of a team and to make new friends. 

And in the process, we hope he has some fun along the way.

Got any suggestions for how to pass the time in a car or while waiting around a rink?  Can too many fries & gravy give you heart disease?  Am I the only person that can’t grasp what “icing” means???

Here at “The Only Girl”, I typically aim to be either mildly entertaining or at the very least, moderately educational.  I’m hoping that today’s post will fall under the “moderately educational” heading.  And it’s important.  So listen closely my Dears . . . I’m about to give you a very big life lesson.

When your eldest son turns 10, and your family’s summer schedule is so busy that you are unable to schedule a birthday party with his friends until a month later, DO  NOT let him talk you into the following;

• Having 4 of his closest buddies over – 4 doesn’t sound like very many, but 10 year olds are big and they are loud.  Especially when they’re all in the same room or in the same car.  It’s really equivalent to having about 14 buddies over.

• Taking the 4 buddies (plus your own 2 boys and a husband) to the movies.  Because this means the count will be Males – 7 against You – 1.  Clearly out-numbered and clearly not fun for you.  Plus?  They eat a lot and will cost you a week’s pay at the concession stand.

• Having the 4 buddies back to your house for a swim, pizza and cake.  I can’t imagine what it’s going to be like once they all reach puberty and their voices change because even with voices like girls they are SO loud.  Think of jack-hammers and concert music.  This is the type of loud I’m speaking of.

• Allowing the 4 buddies to sleep over.  THIS was my big mistake.  Did you know that when 5 boys are in the same room together the loudness and silliness ratio increases exponentially?  AND the discussions are limited to sports, television shows, butts and farts?  AND the more boys that are in a room, the less likely they are to actually sleep?  I can confirm that no truer words have ever been spoken.

Also? 10 year old boys are attention whores.  They have a strong need to always be the centre of attention when in a room with their peers.  They will tell the same joke over and over again if it got a laugh the first time.  They will also use the same silly voice over and over again if it went over well the first time (I can’t tell you how many times I heard the word “semiiiii-circllllle!” and yet I still have no idea what they meant).  They will call someone’s name repeatedly and as loud as is necessary in order to get that person’s attention.  They will fight to the death to get the coveted seat beside the Birthday Boy.

Unfortunately for them, I don’t mind being the very tired bad person who just wants to get some sleep.  Which is why I had to go into their room repeatedly to threaten them with such statements as:

• Okay guys.  You need to settle it down now.  Everyone in their sleeping bags and quiet voices please.
• Guys!  Seriously.  If Willie has to come in here he’s not going to be happy (which was a total lie. Willie would never have gone in there.  but he’s their soccer coach so I thought that statement might carry some weight.  wrong.)
• Stop the pillow fight, turn the light back off and get in your sleeping bags!  It’s 1:00 in the morning!

I was planning to get some payback by waking them up early the next morning, but it seems they beat me to it.

Do you have any suggestions for a quiet party next year?

I’m back!  It feels like I’ve been gone for ages.  Which is actually kinda true.  Out of the past 20 working days, I’ve been on vacation for 13 of them.  I’m living the life I tell you (my desk at work, however, will tell a different tale).

First I was away at a cottage, then my trip to Boston with Jessalyn & Surferwife, and today I’m fresh back from a trip to Ottawa, Ontario (the capital city of Canada – about a 4 hour drive from me).  Okay – not a very exciting location.  True.  We went there primarily for a soccer tournament, but stayed a few extra days to do the tourist thing.  I assure you it’s a beautiful city, and we had a good time.  And ate out a lot.  Which generally helps to determine my like or dislike of a vacation.  Having to do your own cooking all week is NOT a vacation in my books.

So, in order to apologize for my extended absence, I brought you back a few pictures. 

First, we have Parliament Hill.  This building is where our Prime Minister works his “magic” and runs the country.  It’s our version of The White House and it’s really old.  Like one or two hundred years old or something.  You’d think I’d know a little more precisely, but history was never one of my strong subjects.  I just like that it looks like a castle.  Because when you’re near a castle, you get to pretend you’re a Princess.  And then the other people you are with get to be treated like your servants.  And that’s fun.  For me.

Next we have a picture of a Mountie.  Contrary to popular belief, these fine gentleman do NOT roam the streets of Canada.  They’re really more ceremonial and are typically only found at special governmental events.  Which is why I was really excited to come across this guy. 

“Great!” I said.  “I can get a picture of me the boys with him!  I’m sure the bloggy world will find that amusing!” 

To which Willie said “We’ll do it on our way out.”

As you will notice, no one in my family is posing with this gentlemen.  That’s because he was gone when we came out.  You can blame that on Willie – just like I did.

Next, I will share with you a picture I insisted be taken for no one else’s pleasure but my own.  Because I intend to have it blown up, mounted, and hung on the Family Room wall as a constant reminder to the rest of my family.

Also, we ate lots of these.  It’s what us Canadians do.  Yes, you eat them.  And they’re deee LISH!  Google them.  Go ahead.

And finally, I leave you with this little gift.  It should more than make up for my extended absence.  This guy was a street performer, and I assure you, what you are about to see on top of his head is real.  I saw him several times.  I checked thoroughly.

You’re welcome.

So I’m back.  Did you even realize I was gone?  Nevermind.  Don’t answer that.

I was on vacation all week with my boys.  And it’s bittersweet that it has come to an end.  I’ll miss them terribly today as I enter my fluorescent cubby farm all by myself, but sometimes too much of a good thing is, well, enough.  It was a busy but fun week that included;

• a soccer tournament
• a pool party
• The Eldest’s 10th birthday.  TEN!  sigh . . . it seems like only yesterday that traumatic, emergency c-section took place.  Have I never mention that?  hmm.  Maybe some other time.
• a very special birthday party for my BFF (that I’ll tell you about in another post)
• 2.5 days at a friend’s cottage, which included campfires, a beach day, frog hunting & awesome sunsets

• an ear infection (for The Youngest) whilst at the cottage and away from civilization that had him crying and up many times in the night.  For 3 nights.  Heartbreaking really.  And detrimental to my precious sleep.  Which isn’t good for anybody.
• a 5 hour trip & wait at the hospital in cottage town for said ear infection.  FIVE HOURS!  For an EAR INFECTION!  I’m used to our fab local medical walk-in centre that gets you in and out in less than 30 minutes.
• a day trip to see some natural scenic caves, which I’ll admit, were very cool!

• one night’s stay at a hotel which included swimming, dinner out and an impromtu family Connect Four tournament.  Apparently I suck at Connect Four.
• a trip to our local medical walk-in centre once we got home from the cottage because the ear infection still hadn’t settled down.  And yes, we were in and out in less than 30 minutes.
• the Toronto FC vs. FC Dallas MLS soccer game.  Where it POURED rain the entire time.  No, our seats were not covered, thanks for asking.  Other than when I’m in the pool or the shower, I’ve never been so wet.  I’d like to think that my brave face covered up my very unhappy one.

Now, what you might notice from this vacation list is that a) we did a lot  b) we had a good time  c) we spent A LOT of time in the car and d) almost all activities were geared toward the male population of my house.

Which is why I also made a big decision last week.  An impulsive decision.  One that will help to re-balance the lack of girliness in my life.  One that will take me somewhere I’ve never been before and one that has left me feeling nervous all weekend.

It’s also one that I’m REALLY excited about!  I’m not quite ready to reveal it . . . yet.  But soon.  Very, very soon!

Hi.  You’ve reached Cher at The Only Girl.  I’m not home right now as I’m presently relaxing my stressed out ass up north, beside a lake, at a cottage.  No, that is not an invitation to try to find me.  I’d prefer to be left alone, albeit with my boys, to read for many hours each day, snack on a variety of  food all.day.long, enjoy a few cold ones and work on my tan.

I may also be itching numerous bug bites, picking roasted marshmallows of out short peoples hair, getting my butt kicked at Crazy 8′s or Connect Four, and refereeing daily arguments, but I prefer to focus on the positive.

I’ll be returning on July 26th.  I’m expecting the week will produce some blog fodder, so you may want to come back and find out how I survived.

Till then, I leave you with these pictures of my destination from last year.  I’m expecting it to look exactly the same.

Please leave me a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as I return.

Beep Beep Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep . . . .

Last night Willie and I were getting into bed.  I had been wearing little ankle socks to keep my tootsies warm because, somehow, it became Fall yesterday (WTF weather?).  They looked like this:

Willie has some very similar socks.  They look like this:

At which point, we have a conversation that went something like this:

Willie:  Why are you wearing my socks?

Me:  I’m not.

Willie:  Yes you are.

Me:  No, these are mine.

Willie:  No, those are MY socks.

Me:  First of all, I’m a women’s size 7.  You’re a man’s size 11.  I think I would know if the socks I were wearing fit me or not.

Willie:  Those are mine.

Me:  Secondly, mine are very short.  Yours go up on your ankle about an inch or two.  See these ones?  Very short.  Mine.

Willie:  (doing his best to be annoying) Nope, they’re mine.

Me:  (growing more annoyed)  How would you know?!  Did you buy these socks?

Willie:  No.

Me:  No, that’s right!  I bought these socks.  In fact, have you EVER bought yourself socks?  Or underwear for that matter?

Willie:  No.

Me:  Right then.  Trust me when I say these are MY socks.

Then I got to thinking . . . it IS always me who buys the socks and underwear in this house!  And before me, it was his Mom (in fact, it’s often STILL his Mom because he likes a particular kind of underwear that can only be bought in Britain and she travels there once or twice a year and brings some back for him).

Me:  Have you EVER bought yourself socks or underwear?

Willie:  No.

Me:  You’re a grown man.  You’re in your late 30′s.  Don’t you think it’s about time you did??? 

Willie:  makes a feeble attempt to ignore me . . .

Me:  In fact, I’m going to take the boys shopping this weekend so THEY can buy their own.  Let’s break this cycle early, shall we?

Willie:  They don’t have any money.

Me:  Then I’ll give them some.  Then I’ll take them to the Mall and tell them to use it to buy themselves socks and underwear.  It’ll be for their own good.

Willie:  Ah . . . they’re not going to like that very much.

He’s probably right.

Does your husband/boyfriend buy his own socks & underwear or are we creating a society of Mamma’s Boys???  I’m launching a campaign to stop this madness – who’s in?

Friday night the boys and I were on the sidelines of Daddy’s soccer game.  It was a beautiful summer evening.  We were enjoying the great weather, the fact that it was the start of the weekend, and the rare opportunity to watch their Daddy play.

Before the game started, the boys were kicking around a ball – naturally.  Because isn’t that what you do EVERY.WAKING.MOMENT when there’s nothing else to do?  No?  Okay, well they were.

As the game was about to start, they returned to our sitting blanket. The Eldest had something in his hand that he had clearly found in the grass.  It looked like one of those small, hard cases for reading glasses.  You know – the kind you can get in the drug store.  I was wrong.

“What’s that?” I inquisitively ask.

“I don’t know” replies The Eldest.

And as I looked closer, I noticed that you can pull it apart.  And it opens.  And . . . THERE’S 2 TAMPONS INSIDE!  (I will take the time to mention that they were new, unused and still wrapped.  Your welcome.)

It was just like this – only black .

Once the case was open, and it’s little wrapped contents were revealed, questions ensued.  Now I will say that The Eldest and I have had chats about boys vs. girls, babies, birth and the like.  But we have not yet gotten down to the nitty-gritty of Aunt Flo, a girl’s monthly visitor.  Because really?  I prefer to impart required info on an age appropriate and need-to-know basis.  I’m not at all shy about discussing such subjects with them, but at age 10, I didn’t think this particular topic was on the priority list quite yet.

The Eldest:  “What are those?”

Me:  my voice in a whispering manner as I lean in closer, so as to give the impression that its private information and we’re not going to be having a big discussion/explanation about it here on the soccer sidelines, surrounded by other families “Oh, those are just girl things.”

Clearly not enough info.  My fault.

The ever-curious Youngest:  “What kind of girl things?”

And I know he’s thinking that perhaps they might be some type of toy or jewelery or something fun that he could play with.

Me:  again with the whispering, private voice “You know, for their vershinas” (it’s their slightly incorrect terminology, but kinda cute so I don’t bother correcting them quite yet)

And then I tell a little white lie to get out of the situation.

“It’s just some special cream.”  Followed quickly by “We should just put it down now – it’s not ours” so as to prevent any thoughts The Youngest would likely have about opening the little packages to investigate the cream further.

At which point I started wondering – how long till they discover my en-suite bathroom drawer filled with wrapped up little “vials of cream”?

But there the subject died.  Either they didn’t find it at all interesting, or the soccer game acted like a memory eraser because there were no follow up questions on the drive home.  Or all weekend for that fact.  Because I was expecting it.  And I was ready.

What would you have said they were?  How do you feel about having “The Talk” with your kids?  There’s nothing wrong with a little white lie, is there?

(Me.  On Sunday night.  As depicted by Google)

As you know, Willie was away for the weekend.  The boys and I had a nice, but busy couple of days that included;

• riding our bikes to a local park so they could try out the jumps
• going for dinner
• watching a DVD
• sleeping in the new bunk bed (yes, all 3 of us – no, I was not on the top)
• an All-Star soccer tryout for The Youngest
• a shop around the hardware store
• inviting one of their friends over
• watching World Cup games
• going to see The Karate Kid movie
• getting a pizza
• another All-Star soccer tryout for The Youngest
• a road hockey game at the park
• grocery shopping

So when they asked if some friends could come over Sunday afternoon to watch the Germany vs. Australian World Cup game, I said “sure”.  Friends would keep my boys busy, while I gave the house a much needed tidy, watered the garden, returned some phones calls, made dinner, etc.  In total there was to be three 10 year olds and two 7 year olds.

I should have known better.

Boys don’t just sit and watch a World Cup soccer game.  They;

• talk incessantly, using VERY loud voices.  Kinda like shouting.  All the time.
• constantly want snacks and drinks
• shoot each other with Nerf guns.  A lot.
• get hurt – then they cry
• spill things
• announce loudly every time they need to use the washroom
• build blanket forts
• trade Pokemon cards
• play Hide & Seek
• tell on each other

They do not watch the game.

And I get very little time to myself.

And Willie now owes me very big.

Can someone PLEASE find a way to increase the number of hours in a day.  In the meantime, I’m going back to work on Monday morning – for a much needed rest.

(The Eldest – aka “Sporty”)

One of the perils of living in house full of boys is sports.  Lots and lots and lots of sports.  My guys are all particularly athletic, and it’s what they live for.  Their list of favourites include, but is not limited to -  hockey, soccer, golf, volleyball, basketball, track & field, cross country, swimming, football and farting (what?  that’s not a real sport?  could have fooled me).

If they’re not playing it, they’re watching it.  And if they’re not watching it, they’re talking about it.  But two sports in particular run most of my life.

Obviously, I live in Hockey Land.  Canada.  The Great White North.  Where we construct an ice rink in our backyard for the winter and make approximately 5 trips a week to cold, stinky arenas.  Where nasty smelling hockey equipment can be found either at my front door or drying in the basement from October – March.  Where balls of used hockey tape are regular accessories in my Family Room and trips to the skate sharpener or stick store are frequently on the weekly agenda.  Where our television is tuned to NHL games approximately 3 times a week and where getting a kid up for a 6:00am practice on a Saturday morning is significantly easier then getting the same kid up for the 8:15 school bell.

But then it ends.  And Angels sing.

Then soccer season begins.

Which is a similar schedule to the hockey months – our front yard OR backyard can double as a soccer pitch at any given moment.  Nets and pylons.  Ball and drills.  You never know when Coach Daddy will break out a skill building session, or when an impromptu game will be played.  Where we make approximately 5 trips a week to a soccer pitch.  Where cleats can be found at my front door and jerseys hang proudly in their closets.  Where stinky shin guards are left to dry on bedroom floors and a folding chair takes up permanent residency in my trunk.  Where the annual arrival of our seasons tickets to the Toronto FC MLS team is great cause for celebration.  Where temporary coloured hairspray is used to accent “faux-hawk” hairstyles to match their uniforms and the sweat of a hard fought game is cleanse by a dip in the pool afterward.

But there’s one big difference . . . the weather!

I’ll gladly take a warm sunny summer’s evening on the soccer sidelines over a cold, snowy, early morning at the rink ANY DAY!  And with the World Cup of Soccer set to begin this Friday, you don’t need to guess what my life will be revolving around for the next couples of weeks.

Now if I could only get them as interested in clothes shopping and home decorating . . .

Will you be watching the World Cup?  Got any little athletes in your house?  Do you feel as sorry for me as I do during hockey season?

(do I really have to spell it out that this image is from Google?  Is someone out there really thinking I may have actually taken this picture myself and photoshopped it into a DVD cover?  Really?  Okay f ine.  It’s from Google.  Happy?)

I’m sooo tired today.  Don’t expect much from me.  I had one of the worst sleeps ever last night.

Allow me to explain.

As you know, Willie’s out of town on business.  Whenever one of us is away, the boys always like to sleep with the parent that remains.  Which, frankly, we enjoy.  Snuggling their warm, soft, quiet little bodies through the night is one of the joys of parenthood.

But of course they both want it to be their turn.  And it’s really hard to say “yes” to one and “no” to the other.  Because that means someone’s going to be left out and unhappy.  So I agreed they could BOTH sleep with me last night.  We have a king sized bed, so I figured the three of us could easily fit.

They went to bed first, and when it was my turn, I quietly slipped under the covers in between them.  It was a Mommy Sandwich and I was the meat – as they like to say.  Which I don’t particularly think is all that flattering, but I’m sure they mean it in the very best way.  Don’t they?  Don’t they?  Anyway, I happily drifted off to sleep.

Until The Eldest and his legs of steel made an appearance at about 2am.

I’m a very very deep sleeper, and yet I was vaguely aware that I was being kicked and pushed by two incredibly strong legs.  Suddenly the middle spot I had carved out for myself had become more of a sliver than a spot.

I drowsily pushed him back.  He pushed harder.  Every time I moved his legs, they’d reappear – heavier and stronger than before.

After about an hour of this I seem to remember some very harsh words escaping my lips that sounded something like “STOP IT!  GET OFF ME!  I’M NEVER SLEEPING WITH YOU AGAIN!”  Words that may or may not have been accompanied by a quick left handed punch to his upper thigh.  I have no excuse.  I was in a sleep induced haze.  I regretted it immediately.

At this point I decided to just throw in the towel and take my leave.  I headed off to his room, which was sitting vacant, and found a quiet, peaceful bed to lie down in.  It was now 3am.

But guess who came wondering into his room looking for me at 4am?  Guess who had had a bad dream?  Guess who proceeded to climb into his bed with me?  Sigh.

I wonder if his bad dream had something to do with a crazy woman yelling and punching while he innocently slept . . .

Do you like sleeping with your kids or not?  Should I be offended at being called “the meat”?  Was I justified in my late night tirade?   Could I have psychologically scarred my son?  This are all important questions people.  Leave me answers.