Sunday, January 20, 2008

"You want million dollar?"

For those of you who have never met my Hubby, he has a fairly zany sense of humour. It's one of the reasons I fell in love with him, and one of the things that helps us through tough times.

Hubby has an obsession with YouTube, especially when he can find episodes of the show Robot Chicken there. And unfortunately, he has a bad habit of showing these (admittedly side-splitting) clips to the boys.

The other day, he found this on the Net:

The boys, being boys, thought this is the funniest thing they had ever witnessed. For two days, our happy PMQ has rung with shouts of: "You want million dollars? Who Poop Rast!!!!"

It was all very funny until this morning. Super A. woke up at 6:30 a.m. and the first thing that came out of his mouth was the triumphant shout, "Who Poop Rast!!!!"

He woke everyone in the house. Soon his brother and sister were also shouting, "Who Poop Rast!!!" (Baby N.'s version was just the word "POOP" over and over.)

I sent Hubby to put them back to bed. His "poop"y mess, not mine.

You want million dollar?

Friday, January 11, 2008

A whirlwind visit

I haven't dumped you, readers. I've just had a whirlwind trip across the continent.

My grandmother had open heart surgery on Christmas Day. She survived the operation but there were doubts she'd live in the days following the surgery.

I was a wreck. She had asked to see me and baby N. before she went into the OR. Here I was in British Columbia, too far away and too broke to fulfill what might have been her last request. I cried for most of Boxing Day.

My sister-in-law L. was visiting over Christmas. Just before we took her to the airport on Boxing Day, she gave me a big hug. She understood, she said. She would have been a wreck, too. And she also understood how grief and sadness just creep up on you in unexpected moments.

She would know, I mused. Her beautiful father died when she was in high school and her grief was enormous. It seems to have made her wise.

My mother-in-law called on the 28th. After much wrangling, she had gotten me and the baby a plane ticket.

Four hours later, I was on a plan to Halifax. It was the red-eye. We spent 12 hours in Pearson on my anniversary.

The look on Nan's face when I came into the hospital room was worth every torturous minute. Her face shone as she looked at N. It was the first time she'd ever met her.

"Cindy! And the baby!"

Over the next few days we had a chance to talk and to pray together. Mom and I also spent lots of time hanging out and playing with the baby like a pair of nuts.

I returned home yesterday to two little boys who missed me and their sister desperately. C. held his own fairly well, though.

Now I must go un-Christmas my house. Taking down the tree is something I insist on doing every year.

Glad to be back, folks!