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.

This week the Husband is away on business – for 4 days and 3 nights.   A situation which propels me into reluctant, albeit temporary, single mom status for the week.  While preparing for said week, I decided to focus less on the cons, and more on the pros.  Which, of course, required a “Pros vs Cons” list.  Fortunately that happens to be one of my most favourite lists to make.  And I make a lot of lists.

This is what I came up with;

As there’s no clear winner, I’m going to just go ahead and call this one a “draw”.

Hurry home Honey!  We miss you already.

Do you love it or hate it when your significant other is out of town?  What’s the one thing you like to do the most when left on your own?

When your youngest falls in love with bunk beds, he will be relentless for about a year, until he breaks you down.  You can drag it out and use a potential bunk purchase as a disciplinary tool for awhile, but in the end, he will win.

Finding a bunk bed that’s;

-       Made from wood in a colour that would match the rest of his furniture
-       A twin bed over a double bed
-       Upper twin able to be removed when he gets older, thus leaving a normal looking headboard/bed
-       In our budget

is no small task, and involves hours and hours of store and internet shopping (which, fortunately, is what I do best).

Just because you order a bunk bed in “honey oak” from a local sleep shop doesn’t necessarily mean that it won’t show up in “cherry”.  Which I assure you is very, very different.  And if that should happen, and you refuse to accept said cherry bunk bed, your son will not like you very much for a few days.

A 6 year old’s tears can easily be soothed with ice cream and TV.

Just because you order a brand new, criteria meeting bunk off Craigslist, at a ridiculously low price does not necessarily mean that it might have “fallen off the back of a truck”.  But the fact that it’s delivered at 8pm, by one young guy, out of the back of his decrepit mini van just might.  And the fact that you pay in cash and he gives you no receipt may or may not confirm your theory.

A bunk bed takes approximately 2 evenings to assemble.

Willie and I totally rock at assembling furniture!  We have assembled numerous pieces of furniture and backyard equipment during our 14 years together and although that simple act has been known to be the catalyst to divorce for many couples, we excel at it and even enjoy it.  Seriously, we are at our married best when assembling furniture.  I’m the details person who combs over instructions and sets up the next step, while Willie is the man’s man who uses tools and strength to get the job done.  We work like a fine oiled machine, chatting and laughing all the while.  We’re thinking about starting our own furniture assembling business.

(half done bunk bed – please notice new & very cool outer space wall mural in background)

Just because you call and visit the original local sleep shop numerous times over numerous days doesn’t necessarily mean that you will easily get a refund for the original, incorrect cherry bunk.  And that you might have to shift into “persistent customer with some knowledge of the legal system that isn’t going to take no for an answer” mode in order to secure said refund.

That I now have a very, very happy 6 year old that is in love with his new bunk bed.  And that’s really all I wanted.

Got any experience with bunk beds?  Do you like assembling furniture?  Love the space wall mural or no?

(be sure to check out the newest International Workspace Tour over at Cape Cod Awesome on my sidebar, and be sure to send me yours!)

(image via Google)

So let’s say, for arguments sake, that you have a 9 year old boy.  And he’s a very good boy.  He’s generally polite and kind.  Perhaps more of a follower than a leader, but he always plays by life’s rules.  And other than the first 4 months of his life (which is a whole other post in itself), he’s never given you a minute of trouble.  He’s the apple of your eye and a true joy.

But let’s say, for arguments sake, that this wonderful son of yours is OBSESSED with sports.  Any and all sports.  Including but not limited to; hockey, soccer, volleyball, basketball, cross country running, bike riding and swimming.  In fact you’ve considered sending him to Surferwife for a little training because you’re convinced he’d kick ass in a triathlon if given the chance.

And, due to the recent warm weather, said son has also become OBSESSED with playing road hockey in front of your house.  With his friends, with his little brother’s friends, by himself . . . apparently any road hockey is good road hockey.  Whether it’s after school, after dinner or all weekend.  Road hockey, road hockey, road hockey.

Now let’s take this scenario a little further by suggesting that you’re his Mother.  And last night at bedtime you’re going through the school backpacks – removing uneaten snacks, a multitude of school notices and flyers, and checking his daily agenda.  In which you notice “Project Due” on today’s date.

Clearly, said project must be something they were working on in class, because no information had come home about it, nor had your son talked about a project, nor had your son worked on a project.  Perhaps the conversation would have gone something like this;

Mother: “So Hon, is your project all ready for tomorrow?”
Son:  “No”

Mother:  “No?  Why not?!”
Son:  “Because I was supposed to work on it at home.”

How do you think the rest of your evening would have gone?  Would it have included;

a)     A son’s sudden realization that he screwed up royally and would be getting in trouble from the Teacher and getting a “fail” on his project?

b)    Numerous tears shed by said son for about an hour before and after being tucked into bed for the night as this realization sank in?

c)     A Mother’s stomach in knots and a restless sleep trying to figure what would have possessed her good son to completely and blatantly ignore an important school assignment?

d)    A Mother wondering how her son figured he’d get away with it.

e)     All of the above

If you answered “e”, you would have been correct.

During a phone call with the Teacher this morning, I learned that this major project on pulleys and gears was assigned a couple of weeks ago.  That an in-depth form explaining the project was handed out for the kids to bring home (which never made it to our home).  That the kids themselves elected for it to be a “at home”  project instead of an “in class” project.  That the Teacher had conducted several in-class discussions about the project to make sure all the kids were on track.  All of which were clearly disregarded and ignored by the good son.

But that she’s a reasonable Teacher that has agreed to grant him a 1 week extension on said project.

So . . . guess who’s not going to be playing any road hockey for the next week?

Guess who’s not going to be getting that new goalie blocker his Dad was going to buy him?

Guess who’s going to be pulling her hair out for the next week while her son unhappily attempts to build a pulleys and gears project?

Guess who’s had her eye’s opened to the potential sneaky nature of her children?

Guess who’s very, very disappointed.