Notes from the Blue House

Recently, I put myself out there. I learned of an opportunity and I leapt at it. Picture a 7 year old girl twitching in her desk with enthusiasm, hand stretched into the air, each finger straight and reaching for the ceiling. "Pick me! Pick me! I can do it!". Yeah, that was me. Well, figuratively speaking. There was no desk, no room full of competing students. I simply filled out an application with thought, with diligence and with fervor and mailed it in. I told myself that I had it. I was a shoe-in, I could totally manage this task and be of use to these people. I began making plans in my head around this new opportunity, thinking about how it would impact my family, my calendar. They didn't pick me. They picked some other person I've never met and have no knowledge of. When I heard the words "thanks for your interest, we've selected another candidate", I cried. I sniveled. I phoned my mom and wailed "It's not fair! I would've been g

We all have our own idiosyncrasies. Growing up, I was never allowed to touch the walls of my house. Putting on your shoes? Don't touch the walls. Balancing backpack, books and a bag of take-out? Don't touch the walls. Tripped on the doormat and are plummeting face first towards the tile floor? Go ahead and make the landing, your nose will heal...just don't touch the walls.  My Dad didn't appreciate finger prints all over the walls. He has other hang-ups too, the typical ones that most fathers harbour. "Why are the goddamned lights on in here?? There's no one in this room!". "We aren't heating the outside! Shut the door" or, alternatively, "We aren't air-conditioning the neighbourhood! Shut the flipping door!". He also has some over-inflated ideas about his own handiness. I think my Dad's suffered minor electrical shocks more times than he can count-he strides toward the electrical box in our family home like he's about t

I know he loves me, but sometimes my husband says things that make me want to give him a nurple. For example, I splurged on a new BB cream. Ok, Ok-so it's $23.00. Whatever, that's a splurge in my books. This cream promises miracles, I'll be dewy, radiant and flawless with one application. As I took the cream out of the box I said light-heartedly "oooooh, I hope this cream makes me really purty!" To which Tim responded "Whoa. Don't put too much pressure on one cream." Wait. Did I hear him correctly, or have I had a mini stroke? Did he actually suggest that making me pretty is far too much work for one single cream to undertake?? I'm sure that what he meant to say was "Darling! Love of my life, how could you possibly improve upon perfection?"  Hmmmpfh. Well, screw him. I rolled my eyes dramatically but said nothing more. A few days later, I was mid melt-down over Simon's upcoming baptism. We were having a sizable crowd of friends an