Our kids are getting to an age where it is really hard to make the long drive down to Southern Ontario, where most of our relatives live. It’s at least six hours in the car and they’re really good for about three hours and then they start getting really antsy, throwing toys around in a snit and whining until our eardrums pop. Unfortunately, our families are not very inclined to travel up to Ottawa — our parents are getting older and can’t travel as well. Also unfortunately, our families are inclined to hound us constantly about when we are coming down again.

When Gal Smiley was born, we naively thought that we’d get away with only going down twice a year, a rule we have broken both of the years of her life. Just this past August, we had a major trip planned for the end of the month, but wound up making a special weekend trip at the beginning of the month to see Sir Monkeypants’ mom before she took an extended trip to India. Since we did the Drive Of Insanity twice in one month we swore we wouldn’t be going down again until Christmas at the earliest…maybe we’d even get all hardcore and go for next March.

But of course, that isn’t going to work out at all. Everyone we know in Toronto has planned a major life event for one weekend in October — and of course, everyone has chosen a different weekend. On the first, my friend Lisa is having a baby shower for her first child, an event I swore I would attend back in the happy days of April, because she had come up to Ottawa for my own shower a few years ago. The very next weekend is Thanksgiving and LittleSis is having her first big family dinner for all my sisters and nephews and nieces. On the 14th, Sir Monkeypants’ mom is returning from India and a visit to welcome her would be considered appropriate and would win us major brownie points. The very next weekend, an old friend of ours from university is getting married in downtown Toronto, and all our friends from up here are going, so we’ll be real sticks-in-the-mud if we don’t show up. So far the 28th is still free so I’m expecting another invite any moment now.

If only I hadn’t wasted so much time watching Star Trek in university, I could have perfected that teleportation system. Damn that Jean-Luc and his lovely bald head!

A while ago I read an article about a movie in Entertainment Weekly called High School Musical. It’s a made-for-TV movie, created by the Disney Channel, and it first aired in January 2006. In the next few months it aired several more times, and each airing was a ratings smash. It came out on DVD a couple of months ago and is still in the top 20 for DVD sales.

It’s a musical, set in high school, with songs and stuff, so I figured, that’s right up my alley. And if you think I’m being sarcastic, let me just warn you that Mary Poppins, The Sound of Music, White Christmas, and Gentlemen Prefer Blondes are all definitely in my top 20 movies of all time. I totally go for wholesome in my films. My favourite musical is actually Easter Parade, because the way Fred Astaire calls Judy Garland, “Baby” smacks of a raunchiness that makes my loins tingle. Hot stuff!

So I bought a copy for my 13-year-old niece, Red, for her birthday last month. Turned out she had already seen it on TV and loved it and was very excited about her gift. I asked her if we could watch it together because I was curious, and of course, it was awesome. Totally G-rated (the leads never get beyond a peck on the cheek) and cheesy, but in a joyous way. It’s the story of a basketball jock and a math-smart girl who just want to sing in the school play, but their friends advise them to “stick to the stuff you know,” and the usual leads — a brother/sister team — scheme to block their audition. Naturally it all ends with winning, winning, and more winning, and a big dance number in the school gym. Bliss!

A couple of weeks ago caught the last half-hour being aired on the Family Channel, and we watched it over dinner with the kids. Captain Jelly Belly was hypnotised. I think he’s found his calling in life — singing, in the movies. He made us rewind and rewatch the last half hour, with two major songs in it, four times. Then downloaded the soundtrack and we listened to that about 100 times on the ride down to Southern Ontario to visit our families.

While down in Cambridge we saw Red and rewatched the whole movie, and now we are all totally hooked. Between learning all the words to all the songs, all the actions to all the dances, and actually watching the movie, I figure I’m devoting about 25% of my current brain power purely to High School Musical. “Oooh, we’re breakin’ free!” Rock on.

The other day I was at the park with the kids, and Gal Smiley found a long, sharp, pointy stick. She started to use it to poke and stab at the sand, and every so often it would come flying out and chuck sand and a sharp, pointy end towards her face. So I said to her, “Be careful,” something I say to the kids quite a bit.

And then I started thinking, she’s two years old, she has no idea what I mean by that. She can’t possibly understand what is potentially scary or dangerous about what she is doing — she can’t forsee the consequences. And then I thought, what do I really mean by, “Be careful”? I guess I meant, keep the stick away from your face, don’t pull it out of the sand with too much force, and don’t fling sand at your brother. But sometimes, “Be careful” means, “Take three steps back from the hot stove RIGHT NOW,” or “Do NOT wave that guitar around your head like a member of KISS when your sister is standing right next to you,” or “Go AROUND the pile of broken wood with nails sticking out of it, not through it.”

I hereby resolve to be more explicit with my Scary Warnings Of Impending Injury And/Or Death.

Apparently, I’m running a singles bar for insects in my backyard.

Previously I wrote sweet pastoral things about the delightful butterflies in our backyard. We also have lots of other bugs, though, good and bad. Spiders, flies, caterpillars, and grasshoppers. Bees, wasps, and plenty of mosquitoes. About five million of those little gnat things that create an afro around your head at dusk. Tons of ladybugs, flying ants, and dragonflies. Maybe this scene is typical for a backyard environment…I must admit I’ve spent a lot of time avoiding the outdoors in the past, but my kids really like the new swingset built for them, so now I’m outside being freaked out by creepy crawlies all the time. Ever since we visited the Insectarium in Montreal a few years ago, and saw cockroaches bigger than my hand and millipedes the size of a broom handle, I’ve had a minor phobia of the ones with legs.

Anyway, a few months ago when they finally put our grass in, the kids and I were outside and we noticed how many ladybugs were flying around. We looked closely at a few and talked about how they are red, and can fly, and are not biting bugs, and I felt like it was a damn shame I wasn’t a grade 4 science teacher, because I was kicking the ass out of learning about nature. Then we followed a few of the ladybugs and they were all congregating in our basement window well. And in the well, where there were maybe 50 ladybugs…it was quite the scene. Ladybugs were paired off, and each pair was flying or jumping together with one on top and one on the bottom, and in each case, the top one was humping in a distinctive manner. I felt kind of like Tom Cruise at the end of Eyes Wide Shut, and feeling like Tom Cruise in any circumstances is Not. Good. I’m guessing a grade 4 science teacher has never had to deal with the birds and the bees while learning about ladybugs.

Luckily my kids didn’t ask too many questions about the ladybug couples, and seemed happy enough just to observe as their innocence slowly ebbed away. But then yesterday, while we were outside swinging, what do we see but several dragonfly couples — one brown, one blue — lurching through the air together. Captain Jelly Belly was a little freaked out because they kept banging into him on the swing, as if they’d drunk a six-pack before taking to the air and no longer spot the swinging child through their beer goggles. I guess it’s pretty hard to maintain a straight flight path while doing 69 at the same time. As the Captain might say…Jesus! Get a room!

So I assume we’ll be hosting MothFest 2006 in a couple of weeks, minimal entry fee with two drink tickets included. Voyeurs and swinging moth singles, sign up now!

A while ago I found a website for parents called Screen It!. It’s a site that tells you, in detail, anything that might be objectionable in a film — swearing, scary scenes, sex, smoking, and disrespectful behaviour. One of their categories is “imitative behaviour,” which I guess is things that characters do or say that your own kid might want to try out at home. Kind of like that time I was driving and someone cut me off, and I heard a tiny voice from the backseat exclaim, “Jesus!”

Up until now I haven’t really noticed a lot of imitative behaviour in our kids so I thought they were all independent minded and stuff. But I guess the Captain is getting to the influencial age as nearly everything that comes out of his mouth these days is quoted directly from the TV show Toopy And Binoo. Witness this conversation we had yesterday over popsicles, in which CJB pretends to be an old man sitting in a rocking chair in front of the Gas ‘n’ Sip:

CJB: I looooove popsicles.
Me: Me too.
CJB: These should cool us right down.
Me: Um, yup.
CJB: Good lickin’, huh?
Me: I guess so.
CJB: Nothin’ like a warm, sunny day.
Me: Nope, nothin’ like it.
CJB (after three licks): These are almost melted!
Me: I guess…
CJB: Did you know that butterflies eat nothing but peanut butter sandwiches?
Me: I did not know that.
CJB: Will you make me a sandwich?

Lucky for us he still hasn’t watched many made-for-TV cable movies, or that last line would have been, “Make me a sandwich, woman!”

For a year or so now, we’ve had the same grocery store routine. Gal Smiley rides in the seat in the cart; Captain Jelly Belly gets to ride in the big part with the food. Once we reach the checkout (after solemnly respecting the traditions of removing a still-wrapped package of cheese from Gal Smiley’s mouth, and rushing the Captain to the bathroom once we hit the frozen food aisle), CJB is allowed to hop out of the cart and check out the impulse buy items while I’m paying, but Gal Smiley remains in the cart, usually to charm the pants off the old lady in line behind us.

This past week, the Gal has started demanding to be let out of the cart with CJB at the checkout. The problem with letting her out is that she won’t get back into the cart when it’s time to roll out to the car. She also refuses to hold my hand or hang on to the cart while we are walking through the parking lot, because why would she do something so lame, when clearly, her fabulous outfit has been carefully designed to stop traffic? On the other hand, CJB wouldn’t dare take one step off of the safety of the sidewalk without holding my hand, so I end up pushing a loaded cart with one hand, holding on to a hysterical CJB with the other (hysterical because he is convinced his sister is going to end up as roadkill ANY SECOND NOW), and trying to nudge Gal Smiley with the end of the cart in the general direction of our car, while using the cart as a traffic shield for all three of us. It’s a challenge worthy of American Gladiators.

On our most recent grocery store visit, however, something magical happened. When we were exiting, the Gal again refused to ride in the cart or take my hand…so in a moment of inspiration, I asked her to take CJB’s hand. And she did! The two of them walked carefully hand-in-hand to the car, with CJB giving instructional advice all along (“Watch that step, and stay on this side of the cart, and hold on to my hand because THERE IS A CAR!”). My heart melted into gooey marshmallow ice cream topping, I was just so proud of both of them. I’m sure it’s not too often that you see a suburban mom wading through the grocery store parking lot with her face beaming a thousand watts of joy.

Last night we rented 16 Blocks, a movie that got pretty good reviews but for some reason, came and went at the box office faster than Captain Jelly Belly can down a plate of french fries. I liked it — it wasn’t anything too groundbreaking but it was a well-paced little thriller with some great acting and interesting characters. Plus, it has Bruce Willis as its star, and I love me some Bruce. In fact, I declare that Bruce Willis is one actor — possibly the only actor — that can get me interested in a project just by attaching his name to it. Who knew?

Sidebar: Bruce will be playing my friend Dave in a movie about Dave’s life. And while I’m at it, I’ll mention that Kyra Sedgwick has just signed to play RheostaticsFan in a movie about her life.

Anyway, the thing I love about Bruce is the Iconic Bruce Willis Character. Like the big movie stars from the 40s and 50s, Bruce can always be counted on to play a variation of the same guy — that guy who is having a very bad day, but who is still going to find the strength to stand up for what is right. I eat that kind of thing right up with a spoon and chocolate chips on top.

I just finished reading Roger Ebert’s review of 16 Blocks. Near the end he sums up the standard Bruce guy perfectly:

“He gets that look in his eye that says: It’s going to be a pain in the ass for me to do this, but I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t.”

Love it!

When we moved in to our new house almost two years ago, we were one of the first houses on the street. It kind of looked like the Psycho house — nothing around, able to be seen from several streets in any direction, overlooking the neighbourhood with a kind of menace totally non-reflective of its happy, sunny, completely sane inhabitants.

Since then most of the lots on our street have filled in and now there are just three lots left, but one of those is the one right next door to us. It’s a large corner lot and although every time we are at Hazeldean mall we throw a penny in the fountain and wish for it to be sold, it remains empty except for like, one hundred million weeds.

With the lot remaining unsold we can’t finish our own backyard by building a fence on that side and putting in our planned patio and shed, but by far the greatest annoyance is the weeds. Our back lawn is doing okay but the front, although fighting a good fight, is slowly succumbing and looks like warmed-over elf barf. There’s always pollen blowing about which, due to various allergies, makes it hard to play outside or sleep with our windows open to take advantage of the cool night air. We’ve often thought about plowing down the weeds but we’re afraid of releasing hundreds of seed spores into the air where they will find nice homes in what is left of our front lawn, and we’re really hoping to keep that neighbourhood as exclusive as possible, thanks.

The one really good thing about the weeds, though, is that most of them are wildflowers. That means that they are a breeding ground for butterflies. Every day that we play in the back or front yard, we see probably 10 butterflies — mostly little yellow and white ones, but sometimes bigger orange, blue, and brown ones. We see so many that my kids are totally jaded — they hardly care anymore, and the sight of a caterpillar or ladybug gets them much more excited. They don’t realise that not everyone gets to see so many butterflies in their own backyard all the time. I’m still totally enchanted — I think they’re just the most delicately beautiful creatures I’ve ever seen.

This morning Sir Monkeypants asked me to call the builder and ask them to clean up the empty lot, but I couldn’t do it because I can’t handle the idea of all those lovely butterflies being homeless. If I didn’t have two purple thumbs I’d get out there and plant some butterfly-friendly plants in our actual backyard and try to transplant the population before they really do sell the lot. As it is I think I’ll just do nothing and enjoy the wilds for a little bit longer.

About an hour ago I went to open our sliding glass door to the backyard, and sitting on the outside-side in the handle was this tiny green frog:

This photo is pretty much life-size. The real frog is smaller than my thumb from the last knuckle to the tip. I have no idea how such a small guy got up so high, or where he lives. I’m a little worried about him, but every time we look at him up close — through the glass of course — he gets panicked and starts moving his little froggy chin in and out really fast. So I don’t think I will try to move him or help him out — we’ll just try to stay out of his way.

Anyway…Cutest. Frog. Ever.

When Sir Monkeypants and I got married, lo these 10 years gone, all he wanted was a sandwich maker — one of those grill-type kitchen appliances that you press down on a sandwich and it toasts both sides while making whimsical little triangle pockets of melty goodness. We registered for one, but also, we told lots of people who asked us what we wanted that we wanted one of those, because we thought we were pretty hilarious, and we actually really wanted one, and we felt really weird about asking for gifts and the sandwich maker was an economical little gadget that didn’t seem too hoidy-toidy for the asking.

But of course, that meant that lots of people listened to us. And in the end, we wound up with, I think, six sandwich makers (many thanks to FameThowa, who was the only one to update the registry with her sandwich maker purchase). We exchanged them all but kept one, and we loved it, and used it many times in the first few years we were married. But then we got tired of sandwiches (known in our household as “magic sandwiches”) and it fell out of favour, wasting away in the back of the cupboard with the big coffee maker and the bread machine. It became such a pain to get it out — you had to take out several other appliances and dig it out of the bottom shelf — that whenever we wanted a grilled cheese and tomato, we just used a frying pan.

When we moved last year, we went through a big purge. Sir Monkeypants convinced me to ditch the sandwich maker. I was skeptical — he really, really loves the magic sandwiches — but I agreed.

So this past weekend we were down visiting his folks, and his mom sent us home with some of her famous Samosa Shaq, a spicy potato mixture that is meant to go inside magic sandwiches. And as soon as we got home, Sir Monkeypants went to the cupboard to pull out the sandwich maker, and I reminded him what happened to it, and you could see his poor heart shattering into a million pieces before your eyes. He used a frying pan but I swear I heard sniffing and a lot of cursing under his breath about how it just wasn’t the same.

Today at the mall I had to go to three different stores but I finally found a sandwich maker — their rarity is a little alarming for the magic sandwich lovers among us. But now, we are a sandwich maker owning household again. I think I can guess what Sir Monkeypants is having for dinner.