21-month-old firecracker, female, looks for buddy to make mischief with. Must enjoy climbing things, touching sharp objects, breaking things, and devising plots to get at stuff that is supposedly “too high” for you to reach. Should also like milk, pretzels, bubbles, and going for long walks in the stroller. Ability to turn on the TV a plus.

4 1/2 year old tenderheart, female, seeks same for playdates that do not involve Star Wars. Must enjoy running games, gymnastics, being outside, and sucking your hand while cuddling your bear in front of the television. Ideal candidates will have several dolls to bring to the table and will enjoy changing their clothes an unlimited number of times. Knowing all the lyrics to the Toopy and Binoo theme song a plus.

Six-year-old Jedi-in-training, male, seeks video game aficionado of either sex. Must be able to set up the Nintendo and load the Star Wars game, help put on Darth Vader costumes, and discuss the merits of Jango Fett versus Boba Fett ad nauseum. Should enjoy eating bacon and grapes to the exclusion of all other foods, and should never, ever suggest going outside. Ability to separate small pieces of Lego a plus.

It’s our thirteenth wedding anniversary today!

I read several years ago that the secret to a good romantic match is two people whose Myers-Briggs types differ by only one letter. The Myers-Briggs types are four-letter codes that describe your personality — Extrovert/Introvert, Intuitive/Sensory, Thinking/Feeling, and Perceiving/Judging. I don’t go in much for the labelling of people, but knowing your Myers-Briggs type can be useful on a personal level, to help you understand just why do you do the things you do, and why you tend to make certain kinds of decisions.

Anyway, as I said, a good marriage is supposedly made up of two people whose personalities fall into the same category on three fronts, and are different in just one of the categories. Sir Monkeypants and I, though, are pretty much different on all around.

It’s working out, though. I think whoever wrote that thing about the one-letter-difference needs to add us to their study.

For example, Sir Monkeypants is an Extrovert, while I am an Introvert. In the early days of our marrige this was kind of an issue, as he wanted to go out and see people all the time, and I just wanted to stay home and watch Survivor in my jammies. Now, though, I absolutely value this quality in him — I like to call Sir Monkeypants “our family’s ambassador to the world.” He’s the one who goes out to meet new neighbours when they move in, who chats with people on the street and in the mall, and who talks to the other parents when dropping off our kids at school. He converses with friends and strangers alike when we’re at a party, while I just hang at the wall with RheostaticsFan or LuckySevens, who I see all the time. He’s the one who makes sure that we have a place where we belong, where we fit in, where we feel like part of a community. Meanwhile, I’m more than happy to stay at home and organize the closets, or do the grocery shopping, or send out the Christmas Cards — which is good work too, which otherwise would never get done — while he’s mixing and mingling.

He’s also Intuitive, whereas I’m Sensory. If you have to be different in one area, I highly recommend this one. He comes up with the grand plans; I execute. He sees that our garbage-taking-out system is a mess; he comes up with a plan, whereas I’d be more than happy to just keep stepping over piles of garbage for the rest of my days. Then I actually make it happen; I buy the bins, label them, organize them, and replace the bags, whereas he’d be more than happy to sit on the couch watching Survivor and talking about his awesome plan. It keeps the house running smoothly.

Most people who meet Sir Monkeypants would guess that he’s a Thinker, not a Feeler. Really he’s sort of on the fence on this one, but I am definitely and without a doubt a Feeler. He knew it was time for us to buy a house, because we could afford it and it was a good time to get into the market and it was the next life step. I could not be convinced until Sir Monkeypants figured out that all the number crunching in the world would not appeal to me, but a lovely, warm tale of us snuggling in front of the fireplace with hot chocolates after a night skating on the local rink definitely would. And now we know exactly how to convince the other one to do something — Sir Monkeypants uses the Warm Fuzzies Approach, while I stick with the Numbers Game.

And lastly, he’s Perceiving, and I’m Judging. That means I like to have things settled, and he likes to think about a decision for one million years before making it. This sometimes gets us into trouble, as I begin nagging him to pin down our Christmas plans three months in advance, whereas he’d prefer to wait until the day before we leave. We do eventually find a happy medium, however, between advance planning and playing it by ear. Plus, he’d shop forever for things like MP3 players or computers if I let him, but we only actually own these things because I’m the one who puts my foot down and tells him to JUST BUY IT ALREADY, while he stops me from buying a lot of crap on a whim, forcing me instead to at least try two different stores before purchase. So it’s all good.

I think our differences balance our relationship, and make us stronger as a team. Thirteen years can’t be wrong.

I’m afraid I must apologize to Sir Monkeypants. It seems I have accidentally converted our older two children to Christianity.

I blame Coldplay.

Here’s our conversation from the car, as we listened to (of course) Viva La Vida:

Captain: What does “ruled” mean?
Me: When you’re a king, you get to make all the decisions and everyone does what you say, so that means you “rule.”
Captain: Does the king get to be boss of the princes and princesses, too?
Me: Yes.
Captain: I would like to be king. But why does this man say he doesn’t want to be king?
Me: Well…this song is about a specific man named Jesus. Remember we talked about him at Christmastime?
Gal: Yes! He was a cute baby.
Me: Yes. Well, when he grew up he was kind of like a king.
Gal: Is he still alive? Can we go to his house?
Me: No, he lived a long time ago. He was born 2009 years ago, in fact.
Captain: I guess his parents are dead, then.
Me: I guess so.
Captain: I bet he was sad that his parents died.
Me: Yes.
Captain: Why didn’t he like being king?
Me: Well…he wanted people to be good and nice to each other, and to change the way they did things so it would be more fair for everyone. But not everybody liked that idea, and the people who didn’t want to change and be nice were mean to him.
Captain: Why were the walls closing on him? Does that mean they killed him?
Me: They tried to, but it didn’t work, and he didn’t die.
Captain: OH! Did his body just disappear like Obiwan Kenobi in Number Four Star Wars Movie?
Me: Yeah, kind of like that.
Captain: What did they do with his clothes? Did they bury them?
Me: Um, I guess so?
Gal: So is he still alive now?
Captain: He is everywhere, around the whole world, with God.
Me: Yes, that’s right. And now when we have Easter, we remember when he went to be with God.
Captain: Are all the holidays about Jesus? Even Valentine’s Day?
Me: No, only Christmas and Easter.
Captain: I think they should all be about Jesus. He would like Valentine’s Day.
Gal: I am going to ask him to come over and live with us in our family! And he will be my best friend and stay with us forever!
Captain: He can sleep in my room. Do you think Jesus will like to play Lego?
Gal: I love Jesus!
Me: Let’s listen to something else now.

After the Viva La Vida incident, I flipped it over to The Beatles One, and for the rest of the drive home, I fielded the following questions:

Why is the boy sad? Why did the girl go away? Will she be coming back? Where is her ticket to ride to? Does the boy still have a home to live in? What does ‘lonely’ mean? Why doesn’t his wife understand? Why is he disappointed in his son? Why do they say ‘All You Need Is Love’ when you really need food and water, or else you’ll die? Why doesn’t the girl love the boy anymore? How do they get food if they live in a submarine?

You know those people who say that they never let their kids listen to crap like The Wiggles, and instead their kids will just listen to their own music? I think I am going to be putting The Wiggles on permanent repeat.

Last night I went to see the SCI! FI! SPECTACULAR! at the National Art Gallery. The NAC Orchestra played selections from sci-fi movies and TV shows, with some narration provided by George Takei (Sulu of Star Trek fame, last name pronounced tak-AY, not tak-EYE).

The event was AWESOME. Nothing could contain the awesomeness! Laser light show! Women in Star Trek uniforms! Light saber prizes to trivia contests! SULU!

I went with RheostaticsFan because she loves Star Trek, and we both had such a good time. The music was amazing and all the better for being completely recognizable. I’m not at all ashamed to say that I could hum along with the three Star Wars selections bar-for-bar. I practically could have joined the singers that they had on hand to add the choral bits to the Star Trek theme and Duel Of The Fates, which is the big lightsaber battle music from the end of The Phantom Menace.

At our house, we call Duel Of The Fates “The Jammies Song,” because Sir Monkeypants has created lyrics to it that go like this:

jammies, jammies, jammies, jammies
jammies, jammies, jammies, jammies
jammies! For bedtime!
jammies, jammies, jammies, jammies
jammies, jammies, jammies, jammies
jammies! For Captain Jelly Belly!

You get the idea.

The crowd was a fascinating mix of elderly people and really young people. RheostaticsFan and I were seriously the only middle-aged people there. Everyone else was either over 70, or under 18. Strange. In the bathroom at the intermission, I thought there might be a rumble. Several elderly ladies were unimpressed at the language on the younger kids, and one of them said, “I DO NOT APPROVE OF THE WORD SUCKS” as if it were a throw-down. Another of the older ladies was very, very unhappy with the line-up management and took it upon herself to lecture a bunch of the teens on exactly how they should be waiting for a toilet. I’m just happy no one took out any switchblades.

Anyway, the one thing that boosted the event from merely awesome all the way to SPECTACULAR was that I got to meet Darth Vader in the lobby:

I got RheostaticsFan to take this shot with her Blackberry so I could prove to Captain Jelly Belly, when I got home, that I really had met Darth Vader. As expected he melted into a puddle of envy, poor kid. It didn’t occur to me until I was actually at the event how much he would have enjoyed it; I should have brought him. Next time, buddy, for sure.

This next shot is the first one RheostaticsFan ever took with her fancy techno-thingy, so it’s a little blurry, but I include it here because who wouldn’t want to see me chillin’ with the Fetts?

The show is still on tonight and tomorrow…if you can get tickets, I highly recommend it.

Just a quick update to let everyone know that Little Miss Sunshine did produce pee this morning. She is still vomiting but was able to keep down (so far) a slice of dry toast and a half cup of water at dinnertime, so no hospital for us.

I never knew I could be so happy to change a wet diaper!

I really want to thank everyone who left a supportive comment to my last post. It really kept me going during the day to know that people were pulling for us and thinking about the Little Miss. I freakin’ LOVE YOU PEOPLE.

I was kind of flip about this yesterday, but our Little Miss Sunshine is actually very, very sick. We’re into day four now of The Flu and that makes four days since she’s been able to keep anything down, even water. Last night, as she lay sobbing in Sir Monkeypants’ arms because her bum hurt so much from ongoing diarrhea, and I was folding in my sixth load of barfy clothes for the day, I made the switch in my head from “riding it out” to “really, really worried.”

We’re sure it’s just the flu, but she’s starting to show signs of minor dehydration. We took her in to the doctor this morning and if she doesn’t pee by noon, we’re off to CHEO. She did finally manage to drink a few ounces of juice this morning so we’re hopeful that she’s finally turned a corner.

It’s amazing how quickly something like this can zoom your focus. Last night as I was rocking her to sleep, all thoughts of PTA stuff and laundry to do and grocery shopping were completely gone — I just wanted to hold my baby and make her better, somehow.

I actually even said a little prayer. I’m not a religious person, and in general I feel that any higher powers out there are too busy to consider personal requests. But it’s very hard when someone you love very, very much is very, very sick to sit back and accept that there just isn’t anything you can do. You have to do something.

I think God heard me. I know she’s going to be okay.

Everyone is home sick today. The big kids have a cold with a nasty cough and fever. The Little Miss has a different bug, and has been throwing up for the past 48 hours. I have what Little Miss Sunshine has; Sir Monkeypants is threatening to come down with what the Captain and the Gal have.

On the plus side, I’m getting very good at getting barf out of the carpet.

I spent almost all weekend searching for more stuff to wash. Every hour or so I’d have a set of barfy clothes that needed to go in, and I quickly ran out of other dirty stuff to throw in with them. I was all, “Are you done with that shirt? Oh look, there’s a small dot of apple juice on it, Quick, take it off so I can wash it.” Or maybe, “Do you need to wash your face? Here’s a towel…and another one…and you better use this third one, too…oh look, more laundry, good!”

These are the dog days of motherhood, for sure — days when you know you’re doing to spend a ridiculous amount of time watching Treehouse, just lying on the couch or occasionally changing the load of laundry, trying to survive. But you know, this really is what I signed up for when I decided to become a mom. It’s not exactly A+ mothering, but a day like this is a day when my kids really need me — for comfort, for nursing, and to clean up the vomit.

It’s not glamourous, but it’s good to be needed. And really, what could be better than the four of us curled up together on the couch in front of Curious George? If not for the chorus of coughing, you might think we were having a special treat of a day, a work-free day when we can all just cuddle and enjoy each other’s company.

(Except for those times when everyone makes a run for it to avoid being barfed on.)

(Gotta run.)

I had a pretty small chest before I had kids, but now that my breasts have finished their work of nursing three children, they’ve decided to retire to Boca Vista and leave behind a mere shadow of their former selves to check the mail and feed the fish.

As a result, bra shopping is a bit of a challenge. The only store at the mall that stocks my size is La Senza Girl, and although I have been known to shop there in the past, I’m getting kind of embarassed at wearing bras that have Bratz on them.

The only adult brand name I’ve found that fits small enough to flatter my figure is Calvin Klein, and of course, that’s one of the most expensive brands on the market. So I’ve been making do with cheaper bras for a while now, and waiting for a CK sale at The Bay.

This week was that sale, so I forced myself to go (bra shopping is even worse than swimsuit shopping in my book) and I found a bra I just love love love. It was $50, though. FIFTY DOLLARS. I am not in the habit of spending fifty dollars on ANYTHING for myself, let alone something that almost no one is going to see. My winter coat cost less than $50, for heaven’s sake. So did my watch, at least half of my shoes, and every piece of jewelry I own other than my wedding rings.

So it was kind of a big deal, but due to the sale I forced myself to get it.

And it is SO GORGEOUS. It does things to my figure that I do not understand. And so comfy! There isn’t even any underwire!

This morning I was standing in the bathroom in my new bra and jeans, wondering if I could get away with just that as an outfit, since it seemed like such a shame to cover up such a thing of beauty. Sir Monkeypants was VERY supportive of this plan — we joked I’d be just like Sue Ellen Mischke on Seinfeld.

Saner thoughts prevailed, though, and I did pull on a t-shirt to take the kids to gymnastics. Even the t-shirt, by the way, could not fully conceal the fabulousness of the bra. I have to be careful now, because I’m all perky and round again and I keep spilling stuff on the poor girls.

Later I was checking online to see if I could order more of the same style (they only had one in my size at the store), and guess what? My new bra is apparently the exact same model that Sue Ellen walked around in on Seinfeld! I KNEW it could stop traffic.

The bad news, though, is that it has been discontinued, OF COURSE. Once one woman finds a bra that fits, they have to block that from happening again immediately.

Would it be inappropriate to spend this week touring the Bays of Ontario to see if I can find another one? I’m sure the kids are up for a good car trip!

I grew up in a house with three sisters, and by the time we were all in our teens, that meant a lot of girly socks and underwear going through the wash. We all had the same brand names and the same colours and wore close-enough to the same sizes that it was practically impossible for my mom to sort the wash out after it came out of the dryer. Who’s was whose? Who could say?

So, my mother came up with this scheme in which she marked all new socks and underwear as it came into the house with a small stitch of coloured thread. SocialButterfly was red; I was light blue. FameThrowa was dark green; LittleSis was yellow. That way, she could fold the laundry and ensure that we weren’t doing any totally gross sharing of underpants. Ew.

I got used to having a small blue thread in all my socks and underwear, to the point where I hardly ever noticed it. Every time I’d take my shoes off at a friend’s house, though, they’d almost always ask, “What’s that weird thread doing on your socks?” I’d explain and they’d give me a funny look. I don’t know, though…I thought it made sense.

So just a month or so ago, I bought the Captain a bunch of new socks, because all his socks had holes in them. And then, out of nowhere, he grew like five centimetres and went up a shoe size, and none of those previously new socks fit anymore. Now he has all new socks, again, and they are exactly like the old socks, only one size larger.

I’d like to use the old/new socks for Gal Smiley, because they are perfectly good socks, and they are nice neutral colours like grey and navy blue, and she needs new socks, too.

But I’m afraid to put them in her drawer because I wouldn’t be able to tell them apart from the Captain’s socks in the wash. This was so not a problem when they all wore socks with the size imprinted right on the bottom of the sock in little non-slip lettering, but they’ve moved on to big-kid socks now, and they’re too much alike to tell them apart.

So this morning…I have taken out of my sewing bin a spool of bright yellow thread, Gal Smiley’s favourite colour.

And those old/new socks, I’m afraid, are going to get the Nanny Turtlehead treatment.

Welcome to the family, socks!