An outstanding long weekend such as this has been ripe with all kinds of shots… What, with happy kids, all the sun, the lake, and our reliable little boat. We’ve waited a long time for this weather and we are drinking it up!

Newfoundland (today’s projected high: 10C… ack!), I apologize for these, on this Best Shot Monday! Oh, and it’s hosted by Melody.

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Yesterday was spent on the lake.

Today:  Rinse.  Repeat.

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Or, Don’t Forget to Tighten the Stopcock!  Oh… and You Might Think About Turning On the Pump….

We have been waiting for this day since last September….  OK, WE might be overstating it a little.  Make that HE has been waiting for this day since last September.

Don’t get me wrong, when the boat is up and running, it is sheer bliss.  We live on a perfectly lovely lake- clean and clear… and very cold right now.  During hot weather there’s no better place to be particularly because our little beach gets pretty durned crowded.  And to be out… and away… on the water.  Nothing like it.

However, the boat is really HIS summer baby, second only to his golf clubs.  Maintenance, cleaning, upkeep, all that jazz falls in his lap and he welcomes it.  Believe me.

Luckily on this crowded, cluster fack of a long weekend and for the following week, we are fortunate enough to have lucked out in the boat stall draw at our little marina.  It’s going to be upwards of 30 degrees Celcius, so break out the boat, baby!

Break it out we did.  10 kms down the lake, after having opened ‘er up down the middle, slicing through the water under the glorious sun.

From amidst the noise of the motor, Fidgey Fidgenstein calmly asks me, as I am blissfully distracted by the stunning view that was exclusively ours- alone on the lake, the calm before the tourist storm- “Where’s the water coming from, mummy?”

Without breaking my gaze of our surroundings, I casually respond, “Oh, it’s just the splashing, sweetie.”

Absorbed in the unadulterated beauty of our lake once again, within moments I hear a young voice, a boy… becoming increasingly shrill, “There’s a lot of water coming in…”

We look back to children in back of boat.  Three sets of shins engulfed in water… and disappearing fast.

Followed by, “TAKE THE WHEEL!!”

“WHERE’S THE BUCKET?!?!”

And then, “WHERE’S THE FUCKING BUCKET?!?!”

Children scatter throughout the small craft searching frantically.  In vain. No bucket.  I gun it.  I can see our marina markers in the distance.  I smell smoke.  Faster.  Home.

I glance back to see Husband tossing water with his baseball hat.  Madly.

I work to contain a smile.

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We head to town this morning. Bank. Library. Groceries. Pick up papers.

Meet with our liason with School District. The nice lady who ensures we are, in fact, teaching our kid something at home. The meetings always make me nervous. I find myself overcome with feelings of highschool inadequacy as I anticipate having to admit we haven’t completed our homework. I will have to present unfinished little workbooks confirming we haven’t been working diligently away on our ‘modules’… but likely she already knows this. I’ll feel compelled to list the things we are in fact getting formally (read: academically) accomplished, even though it might be a short list… but likely she has already determined that we aren’t a particularly structured bunch and already knows this.

Sally will confirm what lady already knows by stating casually, ‘nothing’, when she asks what we’ve been doing. I will flush, and kick him frantically under the table give him a look, silently reminding him of what we have been doing over these past two months and in my eyes he will read, ‘tell her about:

the garden… the camera… chess… camping… your first triathlon… baking… cleaning up after baking… how, after so many years HATING it, how much you absolutely LOVE reading… THE READING!’

And he will not understand my pleading stare, no matter how hard I will him from the depths of my corneas, and he will sit, his feet casually kicking the legs of his chair, as we all hang on the word, ‘nothing’.

And then I will begin to babble… as though negotiating frantically for our lives.

But, as with meetings past, she will finish by saying, we’re doing great, give us a few ideas and bid farewell. I will breathe a huge sigh of relief and as we walk out to the van, I will ask, incredulous, “how can you tell her we do nothing?”

He’ll look up at me with a mischievious grin, and as it grows into a downright evil smile, reply so very knowingly, “I dunno….”

Little shit.

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I am so very exhaustedly pleased, as I lay here headachey and largely shattered on my comfy, cozy couch, to say yet another month is in the can. I know it’s a monthly. It’s all of six pages. But, by golly I swear it’s bloody well like giving birth every month. And, if you’ll indulge the birthing analogy just a little longer, this month was excruciating. I was prepared the day before ‘due date’. I had everything written, laid out, and all submissions in and placed… all but one. A blip on the heart rate monitor strapped around my heaving, bloated belly. So as I readied myself for the final push, the print to CutePDF…. I awaited eagerly, anxiously, the final contribution.

My last contributor, my one complication, in an otherwise uneventful, yet joyous, delivery. A fifty eight year old baby- I mean, man- with long, grey hair and a love for all things musical. He’s in a band. A percussionist- a genius on the maraccas; bloody brilliant on the tamborine. A middle aged master home builder who missed his calling in a for real rock ‘n roll band. He also has his finger on the pulse of all things musical in our area. With no wife and no kids, but for some young, groupie girlfriends, he is everywhere… and knows everybody. His life is one big ol’ party. He is my Music and Entertainment Reporter.

Granted, the job offers no compensation other than a case of beer and the honour and prestige of the title, Music and Entertainment Reporter. Understand that in our town, during the low season: quaint and charming, sort of Northern Exposure meets Deliverance. High season: Northern Exposure meets Deliverance meets Dallas- the Alberta oil money comes to town. So the title is one of great respect and admiration.

No, really.

I do appreciate that given there is limited compensation, expectations have to be managed. I must treat my talent with care, sensitivity and immense gratitude. Not to mention exuberant praise for the work they do… a case of beer only goes so far. Egos must be stroked, readily and consistently.

However…. when I say Wednesday. I. Mean. Wednesday. Even if your 58th birthday was Tuesday.

Thursday afternoon does not cut it. And “I’ll have it to you in 20 minutes” NEVER means four hours.

So, the music column for July has been replaced by a last minute sad-ass review of The Other Boleyn Girl. Music Man’s submission did finally arrive. Too late. I had pressed SEND an hour before. I haven’t been this angry at a man other than Husband in quite some time.

In this case, as with my children, I exercise consistency: You don’t play by the rules, you don’t play. Say what you mean and mean what you say. Take your commitments seriously and show your friends and colleagues respect. And please, we’re all busy adults here, if for whatever reason you can’t do somethin, let me know and then I can plan accordingly. Just don’t leave me hangin’!

Music man will not know he missed the boat until he picks up the issue at newsstand on the weekend to read it. He will call me. Angry. Dejected. Hard done by. Unappreciated.

And I will say, “Tough Tittie, Music Man. A woman in labour is not to be toyed with.”

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I am pleased to help announce the launching of BlogNosh Magazine! Yesterday marked the first day of a new online magazine featuring the best archived content from primarily personal blogs, spotlighting a cross-section of topics and perspectives. New posts daily.

I am also pleased to call myself an Editor. A Channel Editor. For the Education Channel. My hope is, as I surf education, and homeschool specifically, blogs that I will come across some really helpful stuff. In finding great posts I will undoubtedly benefit, but I can help in bringing them to the people. Give a little more profile to really good information that I need and without question, others would like to have.

New to this homeschooling game, it’s been a challenge finding homeschoolers of like mind (read:secular) and if I can play a small role in simplifying the search for others in this blogosphere sea, then I will have done my part. I’m looking forward to it!

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Interesting thing about a busy week. It’s overwhelming. OK… so not funny in the sense of ‘ha ha’. Just funny in the sense that last week was pretty relaxed, without Husband around, we all sort of took it easy and enjoyed a relatively stress-free week of a little school work and kids games and activities.

This week… the shit essentially hits the fan. Husband returns with a full plate, not the least of which are two days of golf back to back. I’ve got my little newspaper to get out before this long weekend as well as a campspot to set up and reserve for our family and friends for this weekend- two days before we will actually be there. It’s called beating the long-weekend campground rush. And of course, 15 days of school module to squeeze into three. Oh, and another triathlon to prepare for early next week. Hmmmm………

So the motto between us is simply. Just. Do. It. It sounds strangely familiar… as though I’ve heard it somewhere before……

Anyhow, on my way to Calgary on Sunday I managed to catch a talk radio show and the guest was a psychic, life coach, crazy lady but she did say one thing that stuck in my brain.

We spend far too much time thinking about the things we have to do. The things we want to do. Too much time thinking…. Always thinking…. A lot of energy. Thinking. Perhaps rather than stewing. Ruminating. Contemplating. Instead of persistently thinking about the life we want perhaps actually Do SOMETHING to actually achieve it. We should exert a little of that precious time and precious energy spent in our heads, actually doing.

Think less. Do more. And so far, so good. Last night as I was about to get ready for a typical evening of dwelling on what I needed to do, what had to be done to accomplish this weeks demands, instead, for a change, I just did something. Instead of laying upon my couch, thinking, becoming increasingly overwhelmed and anxious, I got a good start on the newspaper. Instead of thinking about doing. I just did.

Just Do It.  What a concept!  Somebody should really do something with that….

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Another Attack on U.S. Would Be “Big Advantage” For McCain….

Ummmm…. Wow. As usual tasty morsels for the press. My only question is: after the past eight fucking years, there’s anyone out there that would reasonably dispute this?! Bush built- and subsequently lost, a term or two too late- a presidency exclusively on the fear and paranoia of the American public. Based on the terror and tragedy of 9-11. Bush got a whole helluva lotta traction out of 9-11… disturbing, really. More disturbing still: The public bought it, and an unjust war, hook line and sinker.

My husband’s- American that he is, despite my best efforts- initial response to McCain’s advisor was one of indignation, something about “insulting our intelligence…”

Huh?! After a backhand upside his handsome head most gentle reminder that after the past near decade, our hopped up neighbors to the south have absolutely no right to indignation with regards to their intelligence. I’m sorry hopped up Americans. But as an objective observer, enjoying the buffer of an international border and a vastly different set of values with regards to foreign policy, you have to understand that the rest of the world can only sometimes just stare in incredulous stupefication.

The sad truth is… an international or domestic incident fundamentally threatening the national security of the United States would be better than Jesus ariz at Christmastime for the GOP. Sick, yes. But the fact is when push comes to shove- Jihad Style- nobody’s gonna put the security of the nation in the young, inexperienced hands of Barack Obama. McCain’d ride the wave of fear all the way to the White House.

Bush was a goofy, po-dunk, good ol’ boy before 9-11. Until the unfortunate quagmire that is Iraq, it was the national crisis that took down The World Trade Centers that defined his presidency. It rallied overwhelming public support and approval. It got him elected a second term.

The power of fear….

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Well, right about now, dear Filipes should be sipping a rum and coke latte in Minneapolis. He’s on his way home. I’ll be picking him up at the airport in the City of Black Gold and Riches tonight.

After a 3 and a half hour drive. After the soccer cluster#%&$ jamboree. After I vacuum the gobs of black dog hair growing legs and mating collecting in the corners of our stairs, not to mention everywhere else. And we have to squeeze in some school work. We meet our liason lady on Friday and lately we have done a whole lotta crap-all in terms of structured learning via ‘modules’. So a week of catch up awaits us. And the newspaper…. Ugh. I can’t think of coming week just yet.

Let’s just get through this day of soccer cluster#%&$ and drive to Calgary.

However, we get the joy of coming home to some Ethel Lovliness…. Our cleaning lady. She will have been while we return from the city. The house will be awash in the scent of vinegar and lemons. And after being alone with my animals kids this week, some Ethel lovliness is just what this ittybittycottagehouse needs.

The kids will sleep at Nan’s while I make the trek to the city. Silence. Alone. Four hours. A little taste of bliss before the reality of this week comes caving in. Oh God… maybe even a little shopping…. and a duck into one of bazillion Starbucks….

Oh… and of course, there’s hubby. Bestill. Heart.

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Husband… dear Filipes is on the east coast of United States this week.  He is at the office.  For a change working in a place that 90% of professionals work- in an office- not on my couch.  In my living room.  With Golf Channel on mute.

For that it’s been a nice change.  The rigours of work life bring all kinds of interesting energy into our already quite energetic home.  What with three kids, a big dog, my own work and homeschool… hells bells, I can’t imagine, really, how he gets shit-all done in a day.  Obviously, they can’t either… hence their requiring his presence onsite this week.

Strangely, in his absense, I find myself expecting something momentous to happen, i.e: a suitcase filled with a million bucks to drop from the persistent grey clouds overhead with a loud THUMP upon my deck; the opportunity of a lifetime presents itself in my ‘Inbox’- other than Murray O’Toole of Birmingham, England requesting “to pay anything for only the most photography finest for his day of blessed matrimony to the very most honourable Miss Smith.  But if it is please possible can I send him my account number so as to deposit  most gratefully the appropriate funds for my most wonderful of services…”- is that an english accent with a distinctly Nigerian twang I’m reading?!?; or Filipes being presented just the bestest of opportunities with company encouraging him to stay and earn beaucoup buck-olas… the only hitch being we have to move to the east coast.  Like, as in to the beach, where he commutes in only a couple of days a week.

And we actually get to experience some REAL SUMMER FUCKING WEATHER!!!

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