Merry Christmas, and Thank-You

Anyone who uses Highway 1 to commute to Vancouver knows that the past handful of years haven’t been a cakewalk. Come to think of it, the only good thing about the freeway has been the lack of police presence.

Don’t get me wrong, I LOVE when the police are there to catch all the HOV cheaters and the people who didn’t get the memo that texting and talking on cell phones is I-L-L-E-G-A-L here. But whenever there’s a police car, there’s a standstill on the freeway. The absence of freeway shoulders had temporarily forced the police away.

Back to our commuting headaches:

-          Traffic congestion

-          Construction workers who forget to pick up the cones from the overnight shift and take the 3 lane freeway down to 2 for morning rush hour

-          Ice spikes falling from the overhead bridge cables, destroying everything in their path

-  sign confusion

Let’s talk about sign confusion.

First up:

This sign is almost completely useless unless dated and timed. Traffic patterns are changing daily (if not more frequent), so I never did know if they were warning me about a new thing that happened last night, or reminding me of the change that happened last week (or month).

This got me into trouble once. The “new traffic pattern” actually WAS a “new traffic pattern” and I had to swerve into another lane to avoid taking an unwanted trip across the new toll bridge to Surrey.

These signs should have all said:

Next up:

Juggling baby pogo-sticking in the Ocean?? Ok, I’ll beware of those.

And my personal favourite. I had to draw it because I’m sure it’s the only one of its kind:

When you are trying to merge onto the freeway, this sign at the start of the freeway entrance holds a lot of information to digest in a short amount of time. Especially since by the time you SEE it, you’ve already committed to a lane. Also, this sign was put up several months before this traffic pattern was actually true. It should have been this at first:

The orange dots above are construction cones, aka, freeway chicken pox (This construction project made me hate the colour orange in the same way Superstore made me hate yellow).

However, I was not seeing red on the drive in this morning! Most of the bad memories of crazy construction traffic melted away as I flew down the freeway without even as much as tapping the breaks! I think some of my grey hairs even turned back to brown!

While I was on the freeway, I didn’t even change lanes. This is notable for a few reasons:

1. I didn’t even ONCE have to merge with another lane, even though I entered and exited the freeway legally!

2. The traffic moved fast enough for me to not have to PASS anyone!

I got to work so early that I didn’t have to run in my heels to get to my office! Granted, the week before Christmas there is usually less traffic, but I did leave for work 10 minutes later than usual (thanks to that blasted Elf on the Shelf that I forgot to set up last night). I may even be able to get up later than 5:10 from now on! I’ll be less tired and cranky, and for that, my husband and kids thank you too.

So to Kiewit for all your hard work, and to the Province of BC tax payers for funding this project, MERRY CHRISTMAS, and thank-you.

Saskatchewan Road Trip

Rewind back to 2002. I’d been married for almost a year and had no kids.

We went on a road trip to Saskatchewan in August of 2002.

Most of his extended family members are farmers, and we stayed on a dairy & beef farm while we were there. Either that, or a mammoth grasshopper farm. It was really exciting! This was my first time on a real farm! A calf was born seconds before our arrival!

I learned plenty of things about cows on this trip from 2 of the family farms:

1. They come when they are called, especially when food is involved.

2. They all have names, and their names have to start with a specific letter, depending on your farm (I think that’s how it goes, it’s been over a decade)

3. They get milked by machines. I know, I know. Ignorant city girl.

4. They are scary. If you’re in a field with them, they’ll follow you when your back is turned. But if you spin around and look at them… they freeze. It’s like playing “Go, go, go, STOP” with a pack of thousand pound beasts. Shudders.

Although fascinating, learning about cows was not the purpose of the road trip. It was to attend Colin’s cousin’s wedding.

The wedding ceremony itself was a beautiful event, but what really sticks in my mind is what happened at the beginning of the reception.

At dinner time, we bowed our heads for prayer. Then, the most shocking and beautiful thing happened! More than 200 Mennonites simultaneously sprung into gorgeous 15 part harmony and sang the doxology as the pre-dinner prayer:

Praise God from whom all blessings flow,

Praise Him all creatures here below,

Praise Him above, ye heavenly hosts,

Praise Father, Son and Holy Ghost.

Amen.

As they belted their praise with closed eyes, I looked around nervously like I missed the memo instructing everyone to do this. I also couldn’t find the lyrics written anywhere! I’m embarrassed to admit that I’ve been a Christian since I was 5 and I still did not know the words. (We have since Mennonite-ized our own family, and sing this several times a week for our dinner prayers, although it sounds N-O-T-H-I-N-G like it did in Saskatchewan!!)

Apparently one of the requirements of living in a Mennonite area is that you must be musically endowed, as the reception was almost like a concert. Many guests presented musical numbers throughout the evening and into the wee hours of the morning. Just beautiful!

We got back to the farm about 2 am. This should have been ok. A 23 year old without kids should be fine staying up so late.

But the next day had a mind of its own…

We woke up at 4 am (after about 2 hours of sleep) and drove to a nearby town to meet one of Colin’s old fishing buddies who had moved from the Coquitlam area to Saskatchewan several years earlier. Let’s call him Bob.

Bob planned a fishing day for Colin and himself, and I kinda tagged along. Being a newlywed, I suppose I was still in the phase of pretending I liked fishing. Or maybe I was afraid of being alone on the farm with the cows?

We drove for HOURS to get to this lake. We were more in the middle of flipping NOWHERE than I’d ever been in my life. I thought we’d hit the Northwest Territories border when the announcement was made that we were almost there.

Shortly thereafter, we saw a cat. A HUGE cat. I couldn’t believe my eyes! It was a lynx! It was creepy the way it sauntered across the road with confidence, making no effort to quicken its pace for us.

Yay! I saw a lynx!! Yay! I’m fishing in… lynx… territory!?!

Fishing was… well, fishing. We caught stinky and slimy fish, much different than ones on the coast. We even used different lures: the 5 of diamonds. Why I remember this, I don't know. This is classified as "useless information" that I would prefer to delete our of my memory bank to make room for something more interesting. 

We fished allllll day on the cold and windy lake. I learned how to pee out of a boat because the men don't want to go to shore. Useful skill.

Dinner hour has passed and we were starving. But have no fear! Bob has dinner planned for us! He takes his camp stove out of his truck and makes dinner on the side of the lake. He makes us fish. Juuuust fish. A big ol’ plate of Northern Pike coated in Fish Crisp (a.k.a. Shake-‘n-Bake for fish).

It’s getting dark so we start the long drive back home. There was no moon out that night, and no street lights, since we are, let me remind you, in the middle of nowhere. I am totally exhausted and looking forward to sleeping the whole way back when all of a sudden… everything goes black. Everything. 

The headlights, dashboard lights…every light in the truck stops working. Bob can’t see a THING. He makes it to what may, or may not have been the side of the road and diagnoses that the fuses are blown. He fiddled for awhile, but no luck. We were without any type of driving light in a situation where you can’t see your hand in front of your face.

Bob is quite adventurous/calm/crazy, so he decided to keep going, despite the fact that he couldn’t see:

-          the road

-          animals to avoid

-          any street signs he may need to turn at

Luckily, there was no oncoming traffic at that location and time, because they wouldn’t be able to see us coming.

Somehow, using the different textures and sounds of ‘hard road’ vs ‘gravel road shoulder’ as a guide, he *slowly* inched his way back into town. It turned our 4 hour trip into a panic-stricken, white-knuckled 6 hours or more.

At 2 am, we return (miraculously alive and unscathed) to his house and say our goodbyes.

Utterly spent (physically and emotionally), we start driving back to the farm. All of a sudden, bright green swirls cover the sky. The Northern Lights!?!

Thanks, God. Your timing is impeccable. Could’ve used these a few hours ago!

We pulled over, turned off the car, and allowed the beautiful display calm our nerves.

Next time, I’m staying at the farm. I’ll take my chances with the cows.

Curb Appeal

People who know me well, know that my thumb is completely black. I have a total of 6 house plants, 5 of which are in the “succulent category” so do not require any specific care (or maybe they do… I don’t know). I sometimes remember to water them, but I catch my mom watering them when she notices that the cacti are thirsty.

I’ve recently branched out to “tropical air plants”. They have no roots, and only require a misting from a spray bottle once per day. After forgetting to mist them for their first 4 days at our house, I’ve taught Evan how to do it. It’s sad that I’m counting on a 4 year old to care for my plants, but he’ll do a much better job, especially since a spray bottle is involved.

Sometimes I wonder how I’ve kept my kids alive.

Colin comes from a long line of farmers. He doesn’t so much care about having a pretty yard with flowers, but he is the gardener in our house. He plants the veggies, the kids water them, and I weed. Because that’s all I’m good for: destroying plants.

Due to my lack of landscaping skills, I had “nicely landscaped yard with a lawn” on my list of must-haves for our potential new home last year. I figured that if it was nice to begin with, we could maintain it. But to start from scratch? Impossible.

This is what we got.

 It actually doesn’t look too bad from this angle…if you like junipers. What you CAN’T see is the 4 square metres of ivy and morning glory (a swear word in our house) up to 3 feet thick behind the mammoth juniper bush in the front. You also can’t see the other mammoth juniper bush. From NO angle can you see the ground, but I’m willing to bet there is not a single blade of grass on the entire thing.

 (View from the living room)

This wasn’t on our list of things to fix at the beginning, but when the kids wanted to ride their bikes on the street, I had nowhere to watch them from. And there’s no front lawn to play on. So I thought, “Hmm. I’ll take it on as my project to make a front lawn”.

[hits head] Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

And so it began.

For the next YEAR, whenever the kids played in the front, I’d rip up ivy or search and destroy morning glory roots. Hardly a garbage day went by without a full green waste bin. I could even be found gardening in the pouring rain if I hadn’t yet had the chance to fill the bin. The neighbours think I’m nuts. They also thought I was a bear one time when I was gardening in the pitch black at some stupid hour. Freaked them right out.

At the deepest point of the ivy, I discovered two huge stumps several feet tall from evergreen trees of some sort. Pretty bad when something that big is concealed by the devil vines.

Next…the junipers. I do know that God created the world and everything in it. However, the juniper shrub is straight from hell. If not the whole shrub, then at least the bottom anchor root that shoots straight down to the middle of the earth.

Considering that touching a juniper shrub is as pleasant as hugging a hedgehog, I don’t know WHY, but our kids and the neighbour kids liked to use them as chairs. They’d climb up on top of them and chill out, or jump on them like a trampoline. One day, the neighbour reached inside of it and pulled out a toaster. A camera. Also, spray paint cans and beer bottles.

Everyone stop reading. I’d like all of you to find a juniper (I don’t care where) and completely remove it (stump and all) with only:

-         your hands

-         gloves, if you can reach where your husband has put them

-         a trowel

-         a pair of loppers (which will be bent out of shape at the end)

-         a waiver that says you won’t sue me if you get hurt

Done? Ok. I’m sorry about all the blood, sweat, tears and scars (both physical and emotional) that caused you, but you can’t POSSIBLY relate until you’ve done it.

It was a nightmare…13 times over.

We have underground lines running through the front yard, so we were not allowed to rip the shrubs and their 35 year old spider web root system out with a truck. We had to smite these enemies with our bare hands.

On the first bush, I took the branches off with loppers. I enlisted Colin’s chainsaw when I realized that I’d be 237 years old by the time I lopped off the branches. Advice: I don’t care how hot it is. Wear boots, pants, long sleeves and gloves. These barbed-wire bushes are not fun to handle.

Next was the demoralizing task of digging out all the stumps… 13…by hand. The first one came out in a hour long fit of rage. I was walking past it and impaled my leg on one of the jagged branch ends. Bleeding, I went berserk on that beast until I was holding the stump and roots in the air, laughing like a mad woman and grunting like a man.

For those who didn’t take up my challenge, here are the steps for the stump removal part:

-         Dig and dig and dig and dig and dig and dig until a root is exposed

-         Sever root

-         Wiggle the stump to see if it’s moving

-         It’s not

-         Expose another root

-         Sever

-         Wiggle

-         Contemplate taking up swearing. Cry instead.

-         Repeat all steps for an absolute MINIMUM of an hour (possibly two, three, four…)

I did most of the stump removal this spring when one or both of the kids were at school. They love digging and using loppers, so when they were home, I got some “help” too. Colin joined the party for the truly awful ones I saved for last.The ones that had intertwined roots, and you couldn't tell which root belonged to which shrub.

On the final week leading up to grass planting time, I brought out my super hero ability of working my butt off without realizing how tired my body is. I’d spend up to 10 hours a day in that stupid yard by myself, with Colin, or our hired help (my Mom, whom I inherited my super hero powers from).

Nathan and Evan, being the sweet boys they are, would bring us snacks and water without being asked. They also got their bikes out and dirt biked on the lawn we were trying to build.

We got about 5 (or 6? Stopped counting) yards of dirt to level the yard. And finally…grass planting time (this is where Colin totally takes over as it is no longer a destruction process, but a growing one).

Fast forward a month, and now look at our beautiful lawn!

It has taken countless hours over more than a year to get to this point, and who knows how many years off our lives! 

Just as we’re about to step on the podium and accept our medal for our wonderful performance, we see this:

And this:

Flipping mole hills?? In my brand new lawn??

YOU. HAVE. GOT. TO. BE. JOKING.

Someone get me a mallet because we’re about to play "Whack-A-Mole". I’ll keep you posted and let you know who wins. And if you ever stop by my house…feel free to play along.

Happy Thanksgiving, Deer

Happy belated Thanksgiving! We spent the weekend where we usually do on Canadian Thanksgiving… in the States.

Since we head down every year, I wanted to do something a little different than usual, so I decided to turn my trailer into a “Thanksbucks”. I brought my espresso machine and served Pumpkin Spice Lattes, Caramel Macchiatos and Crème Caramel Lattes (among others) to whoever came by. It was a lot of fun!

I almost got busted by the Park Ranger for not having a concession license but when he found out they were free, I was all good. Evan, on the other hand, was hustling out of a wagon.

Every year, the kid’s Preschool has a “mandatory fundraiser”. You must, MUST sell 30 chocolate bars for $2 each. Oh, and don’t send the coins in. They require a CHEQUE for $60. So basically, we give the school $60 and then I have $60 in change to waste spend on coffee.

This is our 4^th and thankfully last year to do this. We got the box right before the trip, so we brought it with us. Colin and Evan went from site to site, selling the chocolates to the hungry hunters who shared the campground with our crew. He pawned them all off except 5. The best part? We were paid mostly in USD! Nice!

Since Thanksgiving was quite late this year, we were lucky enough to be at the campground at the commencement of the hunting season. The campground is obviously a no-hunting zone. The deer must know that, because it is FULL of deer. They mosey around the campsite, and you can get quite close to them before they spook and bound off. I once stood in one place and counted 40.

The Park Ranger came by to our campsite in the morning and “warned” us that the hunters may be bringing back their kill later in the day.

“Yup, we’re veterans of hunting season at this campground” I said, trying to look tough. Sadly enough, we have experienced this several times. Not the kids though.

I decided it was necessary to prep the kids for what they might see later. In their short number of years on the planet, they have no experience at all seeing dead animals (except fish and crab), and certainly nothing as big as a deer. Their poor innocent and pure eyes and minds are about to get a shock. I, Mama Bear, must protect them.

Me: “[blah, blah, blah] camo [blah, blah blah] guns [blah, blah, blah] shoot [blah, blah, blah] dead. Then, the hunters are going to hang the dead deer in the trees from their antlers. How does that make you feel?”

Nathan (wide-eyed): “AWWWWWWWWWWESOME!”

Clearly this won’t scar them for life.

Sure enough, I looked out the trailer window a bit later in the day as I was waking up from a nap and saw a lifeless deer hanging by it’s antlers from a nearby tree.

I have never in my life seen my kids get their shoes on so fast. Nathan is practically running as he puts his shoes on mid-stride. And Evan? If he EVER falls limp on the floor and says, “I don’t know how to put my shoes on!” EVER AGAIN… I swear…. I’ve seen proof, Evan.

I break into a sprint so I can get there first. I want to assess the gore factor before they get too close. I probably looked like a red-neck woman who just couldn’t WAIT to get a good look at the kill. Not so. 

First, I asked the hunters if we could come and take a look. Talk about inflated egos. I purposefully corral the kids to one side, the side without the bullet hole or slashed open belly. Yes I realize this is, like, the best day of Nathan’s life, but let’s ease into it.

A few quiet moments of reflection, and then the questions/comments come out like rapid-fire.

 “Can I pet it?”

“Why are his eyes open?”

“Is it dead?”

“Look! There’s blood dripping from his bum!”

“Why does his belly have a cut?”

“How did it die?”

“OH LOOK! There’s where the gun shot it!!!”

I managed to tear them away from the CSI scene before they noticed the slice through the, um, throat. We went back to our campsite. Not long after, a truck drove by with a dead bear on the back of it, and it stopped just feet from our site.

Here we go again.

“Are his claws still sharp?”

“Can I pet it?”  (ENOUGH WITH THE TOUCHING!! IT’S DEAD!!!)

“Are you going to eat it?”

“Look! His tongue is hanging out of his mouth!”

I just wished it was Bob.

Later still, Nathan ran up to me and exclaimed, “MOMMY!!! COME SEE!!! They’re peeling off the deer’s fur and now you can see the MEAT inside!!!”.

Um, no thanks. I have to, um, make a latte.

Growing Pains

 I am SO not as young as I used to be. My body reminds me of this from time to time. Evan is also not as young as he used to be. My baby is growing up.

Yesterday was proof of both of these.

We HAD to take advantage of a blue sky, no rain day, so we went on a bike ride by the river. There were so many things that could have gone wrong on the ride, but didn’t. That in itself is blog-worthy.

Going bike-riding with Evan is always a patience-trying adventure. Don’t get me wrong, I am SUPER proud of him for learning to trail ride a 2 wheeler at 3 years old. He’s really awesome at it.

But only when he WANTS to be. And that’s where the problem lies.

He is capable of going really fast and keeping up with the rest of the family. He showed us this last night. Two blocks into our ride, he caught sight of a girl his age standing in her front yard. Evan pressed the imaginary “rocket” button on his bike and started speeding forward, while staring intently at the girl with a “look what I can do, sweetheart” grin on his face.

You know what’s coming, right? He’s not watching forward at all, so bails and ends up crying on the street in view of the little girl.  

Not a successful first attempt at showing off for the girls, my son.

He suffered a scrape on the back of his heel from his pedal. After his cry, he sucked it up, puffed out his chest, reassembled his 4-year-old pride and kept going.

I think one reason I get so frustrated with him when we ride is because of our differing personalities. I like to go fast. Evan however, doesn’t care if he ever GETS to the destination. For him, it’s all about the journey.

There were many, many stops along the way. Some were for actually interesting things, like fuzzy caterpillars, but most were to scratch his head. Note to self: must check helmet for fleas.

We had a 10 minute break at a boat launch so Evan could rest his tired legs. So he got off his bike and stared somersaulting and rolling down a grassy hill, jumping off concrete walls, and using up all the energy he said he didn’t have to begin with.

There’s a fun spot at the boat launch I like to ride on. It’s a very steep downhill for maybe 6 meters, then comes back up again. If you go fast enough, you coast back up the other side. I did it over and over while I waited for Colin and Evan to show up.

When it was time to leave, Evan asked if he could go down the hill. Um, no. Sorry, but you’ll have to wait a few years. Nathan’s never even done it, and he doesn’t have a good track record for hills (another post, another time). Getting a bloody kid home from this spot would be very difficult. Plus, if you neglect to make the turn at the bottom, you will end up in a river.

Nathan called Evan a baby because he can’t go down the hill. Evan must have taken that as a double-dog-dare, because he turns around and sails down the hill! His front tire wobbles, but he maintains control and has enough speed to coast back up the hill!

He’s trying to show up his big brother, and he did a great job at it! I was sort of proud and horrified at the same time.

Then Nathan gave it a try and also did not injure himself. My boys are growing up, sniff.

Several minutes and head scratches later, we were back at the trail head, and saw 2 bears. The boys get super scared, or maybe excited? I’m not sure, as they just dropped their bikes and ran down a hill to their dad, leaving me to walk my bike and both of theirs simultaneously down a steep gravel path.

“It’s all right, guys. No one come and help me. I’ll nurse the bruises and cuts these bikes dangling from my arms are causing me when I get home”.

We saw 2 more bears before we’d ridden another block. I’m praying Evan won’t have an itchy head for the next minute or two…

We stopped at a playground on the way home. This is the part where I realize I’m getting old.

One awesome thing about Colin as a dad is that he jumps right in there and plays with the kids. He’s hanging onto those spinning wheel-monkey-bar-things that didn’t exist when we were kids. After spinning on it a few times, he got off and admired to quality of the bearings (there’s an engineer for you).

Last time I tried that, my shoulder hurt for a week. No way I’m trying that again.

Then I see it… a chin up bar!

If you were an elementary school girl in the ‘80’s, you know what I’m talking about. We didn’t actually use them for chin ups. No, we climbed on top of the bar, and with one knee on it, we spent hours upon hours, spinning around and around and around until blisters had formed and broken on our hands (and behind our knees if we wore shorts). Recess and lunch were competitions as to who could spin the most times without vomiting!

Come on ladies, can I hear a, “That was choice!!”?

I told Colin about this ‘80’s trend and start thinking, “I bet I can still do it”. He must have read my face because he insinuated that I probably can’t do it now. This is the equivalent of a “triple-dog-dare” in our relationship, so I MUST do it. One spin around? How hard could it be?

As I approached the bar, it seems to get higher and higher. Truth be told, I didn’t think I could actually get up on the bar let alone spin around it.

I grabbed with both hands and swung my knee onto it with about the same gracefulness as a drunk monkey.

Next, hanging upside down, I had to remember how I got right side up on the thing. I swung to get momentum and after a few tries, I heaved myself up onto the top! Everest conquered!

Time to show off my rad stunt. I swung around that bar like an 8-year-old gymnast! But when I tried to stop at the top, I fell sideways and landed with my armpit and ankle on the bar.

The dismount was equally as graceful as the mount, but at least I landed on my feet. I did not get injured. Tubular!

This morning, my leg was hurting every time I bent it. I thought it was due to the workout DVD me and Nathan did last night until I looked at the back of my knee. There’s a big red “burn” with a line of broken dark red blood vessels across it. Seriously? I can do a Jillian Michaels DVD but can’t handle one swing around a chin up bar?

Getting old is a double edged sword. Sometimes it can be really awesome, but sometimes it just plain hurts. Right, Evan?

Scratches are Forever

I think my car got keyed the other day. Or maybe sideswiped? I don’t know, and I don’t really care either. Let me explain…

The year is 2000. I have no ring on my finger yet. Some friends had a bet as to when Colin would propose to me. Amber guessed 2000 and Tim guessed 2001. As the year was coming to a close, Colin said, “I think Amber’s prediction is going to be right”, meaning, “I’m going to propose before the end of the year”.

As the days grew closer and closer to year-end, I was increasingly more excited every time we saw each other, as I knew “the day” was coming soon! At our New Years Eve party, I could barely contain myself! TODAY WAS THE DAY!! If Amber's prediction really is correct (as Colin says it is), it would HAVE to be tonight at this party!!

I really started to stress out as the hours ticked on without a proposal. Then the countdown:

10…

9…

8…

7…

6…

5…

4…

3…

2…

1…

Nothing. Happy stinking New Year.

Up to this point, I’d been saving up money for our wedding, but had yet to earn the bling. And since Colin tricked me, I blew all I’d saved up on my first car a few days later.

I let Colin choose the car for me, since he’s the mechanic who’d be doing all the maintenance. And I knew NOTHING about cars.

My budget wasn’t huge, so I ended up with a 1984 VW Diesel Jetta.

I’m not sure how he talked me into buying a standard (or a 1984 VW Jetta), as I didn’t know how to DRIVE one. I learned on the freeway on the way home from Vancouver though.

Colin proposed 10 days later. He claims he thought Amber predicted 2001, not 2000. So now I have a junky car and no money.

Right from the get-go, this car was a PIECE (surprised?). Being a diesel, it had “glow plugs” (is that even a technical term??) instead of spark plugs. I can’t remember how I got it started, but I know it involved a lot of waiting to let the glow plugs warm up, button pressing, hood opening, and an occasional push start at 4 way stops.

Our first basement suite was on a steep hill. The e-brake didn’t work, so I had to park at the top of the hill where it was flat, and walk down to our place.

The horn was a small button somewhere near my knee.

Within the year, I noticed that when I depressed the clutch pedal on a rainy day, my foot got a shower. Kinda pathetic to need boots to drive. Initially, Colin took the carpet off floor and noticed that there were holes all over the bottom of the car.

Sing along to find out what happened next:

“There’s a hole in my beater, dear Colin, dear Colin.

There’s a hole in my beater, dear Colin, a hole.”

“Then cover it dear Nancy, dear Nancy, dear Nancy.

Then cover it dear Nancy, dear Nancy, cover it.”

“With what shall I cover it, dear Colin, dear Colin?

With what shall I cover it, dear Colin, with what?”

“With my old sock, dear Nancy, dear Nancy, dear Nancy.

With my old sock, dear Nancy, dear Nancy,  my old sock.”

“The sock is not sticky, dear Colin, dear Colin.

The sock is not sticky, dear Colin, not sticky”.

“Then wet it, dear Nancy, dear Nancy, dear Nancy.

Then wet it, dear Nancy, dear Nancy, wet it.”

“With what shall I wet it, dear Colin, dear Colin?

With what shall I wet it, dear Colin, with what?”

“With fiberglass dear Nancy, dear Nancy, dear Nancy!

With fiberglass dear Nancy, dear Nancy, with fiberglass!”

So Colin mixed up the stinky concoction, saturated the sock and WHACKED it onto the holes, where it will sit for all of eternity.A jackhammer wouldn't get that off.

Turns out the holes weren’t the problem though. Now, the perfectly sealed car floor filled up like a foot bath, as there were no drain holes anymore. It was the window seal that leaked. I did the worst caulking job you’ve ever seen in your life around that windshield. The window looked like it was oozing jell-o. But hey. I was sick of being wetter INSIDE my car than I was OUTSIDE.

We got rid of it eventually. One of Colin’s friends asked if he could BUY it from us. Um…ok? If you insist! Another friend was selling his 1994 Purple VW Golf GTI, so we bit the bullet and bought a better car.

I loved that GTI. Not the day we got it, because our friend hit a skunk the day before, but all the other days. It drove awesome, hugged the road curves and practically begged me to drive faster! It didn’t do well on logging roads on the Sunshine Coast though. Maybe because it was lowered?

I would have kept that car forever, however, with both of us in school full time, tuition had to be paid. I cried as it drove away…

Enter…the ’92 Honda Civic. We proved the statistic that says Honda Civics get stolen more than any other car. It got stolen once and broken into two (maybe three) times. Granted, I used to watch crack deals at my apartment, so we weren’t living in the best part of town (PoCompton, as some might say).

In a one month time period, we had to pay $900 in deductibles to fix the damage. That’s when we got smart and stopped locking it. Nothing bad happened after that.

Fast forward several years of Civic bliss. Nathan was about to arrive and a 2 door isn’t ideal for those bulky baby seats. The car still worked pretty well, even though it had reached “beater” status. We sold it for cheap, informed the guy of all its problems, and took him for a terrifying test drive. He couldn’t drive a standard to save his life. 

We received a nasty phone call shortly after he bought it, as the clutch died on the Port Mann bridge on his way home. I wonder why it broke? He put more wear and tear on the poor clutch in 20 minutes than I EVER did. Gee whiz. Who in their right mind buys a standard if they can’t even DRIVE standard??? Oh wait…

With the exit of the Honda in 2007, my 1996 Toyota Corolla came into the family! The newest car I’ve ever owned! Rear defrost! 4 doors! Power locks and steering! Maybe my tendonitis has a chance to heal now.

I really liked this car. I was proud of it until a friend called it a beater. I honestly thought she was kidding. I mean, it runs AWESOME! Then she reminded me that it is nearly 15 years old. Which is how old my ’84 Jetta was when I bought it.

Ok, yes so this small list may make my car a beater:

-         Headlight is held on with packing tape (maybe we should fiberglass that)

-         Half the dash lights are burnt out (which makes seeing my speedometer impossible in the dark)

-         Heat doesn’t work anymore (I forgot about that one over the summer)

-         The seatbelt warning light has flashed nonstop since I got the car

-         The e-brake light is always on (even though the dash lights are out)

-         The interior lights are gone (I think Evan’s to blame for that one)

-         I took the right side mirror out with a construction cone. Colin tried to fix it with a DIY kit. Now, objects in the mirror are less distorted than they appear. Business on the left mirror and Fun House on the right

-         Countless scratches and scrapes from speed parallel parking in Vancouver alleys (don’t diss me. I’m a parallel parking BOSS. You should see what I shoehorn myself into. I’m not gonna lie though, I occasionally touch a cement wall or telephone pole, especially when I’m running late)

-         Leaks oil

-         Gouges from Colin dropping stuff (like skis and shovels) on it while working in the garage

The main reason I don’t care about how awful it looks, is because I park in Vancouver alleys. You never know when someone’s going to scraaaape all the way along the side of your car, smash your bumpers while parking, or bust the windows to get an empty water bottle worth 5 cents. If something happens, I honestly don’t care (as long as I don’t have to make a claim through ICBC)!

If I sound like I'm trying to be un-materialistic, I’m not. I’m not better than those of you who take pride in your cars. I just use my materialism elsewhere (like an iPhone 4 or higher, Colin, preferably before Thanksgiving).

So until I run that sucker into the ground and NEED a new car, I plan on parading around in my Corolla, dents, scratches, tape and all. As Mater, a wise tow truck once said, “I don't get them dents buffed, pulled, filled or painted by nobody. They way too valuble. I come by each one of 'em with my best friend. I don't fix these. I wanna remember these dents forever.

Bear-rogant Bob

Last night, while drifting off to sleep, I heard a “sliding” noise… like a window being opened. I lay perfectly still trying to hear other noises from a possible intruder over the sound of my pounding heart. Just when I was ready to dismiss it as my imagination, we hear a BANG! Both of us spring up from bed and ran to a window.

Then I see him.

Bob. The biggest black bear you’ve ever seen, has just smashed right through our fence, and is sauntering down our driveway. How arrogant can he be? He’s as big as a car, and is easily 8 feet tall if he stood on his back legs. According to Wikipedia (the source of all things true), “despite their heavy build and awkward gait, [bears] can run quickly and are adept climbers”, so CLIMB OVER THE FENCE YOU LAZY BEAST!!

In the midst of our adrenaline rush, I managed to get a few photos of Bob.

 

 

Bob has quite the reputation in our neighbourhood. When the moms at school say, “Bob came to visit last night”, we all know we’re talking about a bear and not gossiping about a midnight affair. You see, MOST of us have had encounters with him.

He’s broken our fence three times now. He’s broken my parents’ fence I don’t know HOW many times. He’s left claw marks in their trees. Teeth-marks in their garbage bin. He’s knocked over COUNTLESS garbage, recycling and green waste containers around the neighbourhood. (Maybe if people got the mandatory locks for their garbage bins there wouldn’t be a problem, but hey, that’s just my uneducated opinion). Our garbage is locked and in the garage, so he went after our recycling. Maybe the toy fish on the Duplo box in the bin made him salivate?

Bob freaked the living snot out of me last year (although technically, it was Colin’s fault). We were watching TV and heard a noise. We went to the door to see if anything was amiss. Before I could see out the door, Colin SLAMMED it, shouted “GET UPSTAIRS!!!!!!!”, and proceeded to run up himself instead of helping his terrified wife (who thought there was a crazed gunman at the door) clamber clumsily up the stairs, receiving several bruises on her legs in the process.

It wasn’t a gunman, of course. It was Bob. Riiiight outside the front door. We went out on the deck to see Bob sauntering away from our broken fence. It was the first time we actually saw Bob. He was walking the same route he walked last night, and went across the street to the same house he went to after ours last night. 

Well, Bob. 2 years in a row you didn’t get SQUAT from us (except maybe some slivers), so get the hint and STOP COMING!

Then there was that time this exact week in September last year when a different, MUCH smaller bear got stuck in our yard. I got home from work to a house decorated with police tape. That’s a sign that your evening is about to get interesting…

The police showed up after a few minutes to tell me that there’s a bear trapped in my yard. He’d eaten all the plums off the neighbours tree, which makes them get woozy. So he came into our yard and passed out like a drunken college boy after leaving 13 extra-large piles of crap all over the yard. A lot of fruit will do that to ya.

The conservation officer and police have their shotguns and tranquilizer guns out. We were new to the neighbourhood at the time and the neighbours were really nervous when the police tape went up. “What kind of gangster young family moved in here?” they thought. So I invited the curious ones over to watch the show from my porch. Really was a good icebreaker.

The police and conservation officer decided that it was better to tranquilize the bear after they gave it a chance to run away on its own:

-          in a family neighbourhood

-          at 4:30 in the afternoon when the kids are home

-          on a hot sunny day

Makes PERFECT sense, right? So, they scared it, got it all mad and aggressive, and chased it up a tree. NOW it’s time to shoot the sleepy juice. So that it will fall 30 feet when the meds kick in. SMRAT.

Even though I was glad the bear was being transported back to the mountain, hearing that “THUD” when it fell wasn’t a particularly happy sound.

I am SO TIRED of having these visitations. I have 2 young kids. We can’t even let them play outside by themselves. I’m more scared sleeping in our trailer when it’s in our YARD than when it’s in a CAMPSITE for crying out loud.

I know there are readers out there saying, “It’s not their fault, you are living in their territory”. Yah, yah, I get it. Other people (ie. not us) are destroying forests and building houses on their ex-territory. But for Pete’s sake, our house has been there for 35 years. Time to buzz off and find a new home in the wilderness.