Last night I had a dream that we were visiting Sir Monkeypants’ sister and her husband in Toronto. I told my brother-in-law that there was an awesome store near our house in Ottawa called Party Mart. He said that there was a Party Mart right near their house too, and that it must be a chain. Then I said that no, the one in Ottawa was the original store, and when the one in Toronto opened up, the Ottawa location sued and made the Toronto store change its name. My brother-in-law said that the Toronto store’s sign still said “Party Mart” and I said that no, if you look carefully, they added an “H” so that now it said “Pharty Mart.”

I don’t think this is a comment on my psyche so much as a message from my brain to not eat too many fresh vegetables before bed.

When Sir Monkeypants and I got married — 10 years ago today — I was going to make a list of all the things I loved about him, so years later I could pull it out and we could all have a good laugh over it, but in the chaos of the event I never got around to it. But even though I never actually wrote it all down, I still remember how I felt about him at the time, because I still feel the same today — lucky to have landed such an awesome dude. He’s smart and hilarious. He hates it when anyone is sad and will go to all possible lengths to cheer them up. He is great at diffusing a tense situation with a wisecrack. He’s generous with gifts but sensible about money, he’s great at figuring out home projects, he’s super fun when playing run-and-tackle with the kids, and he looks hot in a pair of jeans. And that’s not even to mention that one time that he bought me a whole box of those Papermate clicky pens that I like. A whole box!

Since I’ve lived with him for a long time pretty much everything reminds me of him, but one thing does stand out:

Making toast reminds me of Sir Monkeypants.

There’s two reasons. First, one time when we were playing Scrabble, I had one letter left, an “n.” Sir Monkeypants said it would be an easy letter to get rid of, because I could just stick it at the end of any word. And I totally disagreed, and as an example, I used the word “toast” — as in, “toastn” is not a word. We both laughed and now “toastn” and other random words that end in “n” are now part of our everyday conversation. Naturally every time one of us is making toast, it is customary to announce that you are “toastn” in the kitchen.

Second, ages ago Sir Monkeypants told me a story about one time when he was (I think) around 9 years old, and he went for a visit to India. He was obviously used to eating Indian food but after days and days of nothing Western, they went to visit one house that actually had a loaf of store-bought bread. Sir Monkeypants and his sister got so excited at the prospect of having toast that they went through slice after slice. I like the thought of little Sir Monkeypants, so far away from home, finding some comfort food, and being so happy. So whenever I have a slice of toast, I think about that story and smile.

Me: Hurry up and finish eating, I need to pee.
CJB: Can I see your penis?
Me: I don’t have one, because I’m a girl. Only boys have a penis.

[Editor’s note: Lest you think this is a huge traumatic moment for the Captain, this is a subject we have discussed many, many times before. I never thought I’d be so comfortable using the word “penis” in everyday conversation.]

CJB: Yes, you do!
Me: No, I really don’t.
CJB: But I’ve seen it! In the bathtub!
Me: You have? I don’t think so. Daddy, yes. Mommy, no.
CJB: Yes, you have a penis!
Me: No, I’m a girl.
CJB: You do so.
Me: Nope.

CJB gives me the eye roll and shrug that says, “Oh, Mother, so little you know of the ways of the world,” and gets down from the table to go play trains.

I can’t believe he hasn’t already blogged about this, but on the weekend Sir Monkeypants won the $1 000 000 playing the online version of Deal Or No Deal at the NBC website. We are virtually rich!

We’d actually concluded that winning the million was practically impossible, and unlikely to ever happen on the show. To win you’d first have to have the million in your case, which is only a 1/26 chance. Then, you’d have to refuse all deals and get to the point where you open your case — unlikely, unless the one remaining case up there is also a huge value. For example, if there was $10 and the million left on the big board, and the offer was around $500 000, I think most of us would take that offer rather than risk ending up with just $10. Only if the remaining value on the board with the million was $500 000 or $750 000 would you consider risking the offer to look in the case, and when is that going to happen?

However, Sir Monkeypants proved us wrong this weekend with what we now just refer to as The Game. He got down to $400000, $500000, and the million, and the offer was over $600000, but he went for it. Then he eliminated the $500K case, and the offer dropped to just under $500K (which doesn’t seem to fit with the TV version, which usually splits the difference exactly once you are down to two cases — in general we find the online game to consistently lowball with the offers even more than the TV show does). So, with less than $100K at risk, he of course looked in his case, and voila! there was the million. We’re rolling in it!

It’s still quite unlikely to happen in real life because I doubt the TV show would make such a low final offer, in this rare case, and also, Sir Monkeypants is only reckless online when it isn’t real money. But still…The Game remains legend.

While we were away last weekend I thought of another person-to-memory correlation:

Blowing my nose with a piece of toilet paper makes me think of my best friend from grade 5, LW.

LW and I were the two shortest girls in the class, and in grade 5 we were completely inseparable. We sat together in class, spent recess and lunch together, did all our projects and homework together, and even slept over at each others’ houses most weekends. She taught me about perms and deodorant (Soft ‘n’ Dry); I taught her the thrill of crank calling boys we liked. Good times.

In grade 6, LW moved away to Stratford, Ontario, about an hour’s drive up the highway. We kept in touch through letters and phone calls, and I went for a couple of sleepover weekends that year. One time when I was sleeping over in Stratford, I got up in the morning and as part of my primping routine, I blew my nose using a piece of toilet paper. It was a piece about 5 or 6 squares long, and afterwards I waddled it up in a ball and threw it in the trash can.

A couple of hours later I was summoned to a powwow in the living room with Mrs. W, along with LW and her younger sister and brother. Mrs. W was hopping mad. She’d found a “clean, unused” piece of toilet paper in the trash and was furious that one of us could be so wantonly wasteful as to tear off a piece and viciously throw it away. It was evil to be so careless, it was insulting to her, and when she asked us who did it, we were NOT TO LIE, because Satan reserved a special place in hell for liars. If no one came forward, we were all to use our own pocket money to buy her a new roll each…”Even Lynn?” “EVEN LYNN.”

I was totally terrified. On one hand, the piece in question — now being waved before our noses — appeared to match the description of a certain piece I knew well. But on the other hand, how could Mrs. W fail to notice a certain dampness, and nostril-shaped pattern, that would indicate that this piece was actually not clean and unused? Should I confess? But what if this was an unrelated, separate piece of toilet paper that had nothing to do with my nose blowing? Very confusing for an 11-year-old.

Soon Mrs. W, in the full throws of persecution, started centering her accusations on LW’s 7-year-old brother, demanding to know if he did it, and screaming at him not to lie. I felt worse and worse and eventually I put my hand up and nervously admitted that I had used a piece to blow my nose. Mrs. W took a moment to say, “Well, I guess that would be alright,” before resuming the interrogation of poor little brother. Relieved to be exonerated, I quickly fled the scene. Eventually Mrs. W calmed down a bit and let the younger brother off the hook, but it was a pretty frosty day and a quiet drive home.

That was the last time I ever saw LW. My mom suspected we grew apart due to the distance, or that LW’s religious parents were unimpressed by my parents’ divorce a year or so later. But I know that, eventually, Mrs. W figured out the whole toilet paper situation, and I was branded as a wasteful waster for life.

I’ve carried the guilt around with me ever since. Every time there is no Kleenex in the bathroom, and I have to use a piece of toilet paper to blow my nose, I’m careful to a) use a very small piece and b) flush it, so there is no evidence. Both my mom and Sir Monkeypants’ mom don’t keep a tissue box in their bathroom, so it was a weekend full of clandestine activities!

We just got back from a short trip to Southern Ontario, and let me tell you, you haven’t known excitement until you’ve taken a 7-hour car ride with a newly-toilet-trained toddler. Since The Captain is new to the whole potty thing, he isn’t too familiar with the intricacies of Effective Rest Stop Management. Sometimes he’d be unable to pee the entire hour we were stopped at the KFC, only to have a pee emergency 10 minutes down the road.

Luckily Sir Monkeypants is a fabulous car packer and he arranged for the toddler potty to be in the very back of our Forester, ready to use. So when we heard the Emergency Warning Signal — “Peeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!!!” coming from the backseat — we’d pull off the highway, leap out of the car, pull Captain Jelly Belly out of his seat, throw open the Forester hatch, pull down the pants, and pop CJB onto the potty in the trunk. At first we made him wait a minute or two, until we found an exit ramp to pull onto, but we soon learned that he wasn’t scared of the passing traffic at all — in fact, it was a major appeal of the process. Twice on the way down we had to stop, and it was raining and freakin’ cold, so Sir Monkeypants and I huddled in jackets under the hatch as we tried to protect CJB from the rain with a blanket, and implored him to stop pointing out how cool the passing trucks were and just pee already. Twice on the way home we had to stop, and while I was dumping out pee on the side of the road, Sir Monkeypants was trying to convince CJB that we — SERIOUSLY — had to get back into the car RIGHT NOW, and no, he could not ride backwards in the trunk of the car while sitting on the potty the whole way home, because watching trucks is cool but there are no safety restraints in the cargo area.

Once we were into the last hour of the trip we started to suspect that CJB was giving the Emergency Warning Signal just because he was bored and wanted to watch some trucks for a while — the Boy Who Cried Pee, if you will. So we made him push through until we got home. He’s back to using the potty at home but really, it just isn’t as exciting when there aren’t trucks whizzing by at 120 clicks. I suppose next he’ll be asking me to make some “vroom, vroom, whoosh!” noises whenever it’s pee pee time.

A couple of weeks ago on the CBC I heard a special on traffic flow, and I can’t stop thinking about it. I know it sounds so boring, but I found it fascinating. A major part of the story talked about the traffic centre in Toronto, where they have about 240 cameras pointed at roads around the city, and a massive computer program constantly monitors the flow for any sign of trouble. The computer program is incredibly complex as it must model flow on a molecular level, as well as attempt to incorporate the clever attempts by human drivers to thwart the system. I really think I may have found my dream job — not in a “co-star in a movie with Ewan McGregor” kind of way, but in a real way, a job I could actually have someday and love. Before I had my kids I had a job, but it was just a 9 to 5 thing — something I enjoyed to pass the time, but nothing I really felt passionate about. This kind of modelling, though, and fluid mechanics science is really exciting to me — I think it’s the “real world” application that is so great. Unfortunately all of the engineers who worked on the system were civils — I have a systems engineering degree. Oh, if only I knew then what I know now!

Another thing that the program talked about was traffic ideas that seem like good ideas at the time, but really lead to more problems. One of these good/bad ideas is the “pause” that occurs after a yellow light turns red — for a moment, all of the lights are red, before traffic is allowed to flow in the opposite direction. Apparently, this is an Ontario invention, and in some other provinces, when your light turns red, the opposing light turns green instantly. You would think that the pause would help prevent accidents, since people running red lights are less likely to hit someone coming the opposite direction. But instead, what has happened is the erosion of respect for the yellow light — since people know they have that extra second or two, they will speed up when they see a yellow, causing more red lights to be run, and left-hand-turners to be stuck in the intersection after the light has turned red.

Since I heard this story I’ve tried really hard to respect the yellow — when I see a yellow, I very conciously try to stop. It’s amazing how quickly I have seen a change in my driving — it’s clear that before, I was definitely in the “speed up when you see yellow” category. Every time I’m tempted to rush through, I chant, “Respect the yellow! Respect the yellow!” in my head, and try to imagine that opposing traffic will be getting their green right away. I like the change, but it’s clear that other drivers are confused by my behaviour — today I was making a left turn, and when my advanced green turned yellow, I stopped, and got lots of angry honks behind me. Respect the yellow, people!

Maybe I’ll have it put on a T-shirt.

Today Gal Smiley continued with her plan for World Domination Through Cuteness And Charm. We had to do a little shopping and the forecast called for rain. Since Gal Smiley’s list of important things in this world goes like this:

1. Mommy
2. Daddy
3. BaaBaa (her sleep buddy)
4. Whatever Captain Jelly Belly is playing with this very second
5. Yellow Rubber Boots

we naturally put on the boots. Combined with her yellow rain slicker, a flirty smile, and eyes aglow with mischief, she cut quite the pretty picture. Everywhere we went, people had to stop and say hello to her, and remark on how adorable she is, and how well-outfitted she was for the rain. She took it all in stride, because, hello, just one more step in the master plan. This week, the WalMart, next week, the world!

As we were leaving the Indigo (fabulous, fabulous children’s section, by the way), a big honkin’ WT truck drove by, driven by a guy in a muscle shirt with a cigarette hanging out the window, and a hard rock song pounding on the radio. And of course, Gal Smiley stopped immediately to a) groove to the beat and b) watch the guy drive away with this wistful look that says to me she already has a bad boy complex. It was like a moment from my high school days back in the hick town where I grew up. Clearly, you can take the girl out of Cambridge, but you can’t take the Cambridge out of her genes!

Ongoing commentary by and Captain Jelly Belly, during the first watching of Buzz Lightyear Of Star Command:

CJB: There’s Buzz!
SMP: Yes, this is a movie about Buzz.
CJB: Buzz and the fake Buzz! [Editor’s note: Toy Story 2 features a “fake” Buzz Lightyear.]
SMP: No, that is Buzz and his new friend, Warp.
CJB: I only like the real Buzz. Not the fake Buzz.
SMP: This is Buzz and Warp.
CJB: What’s happening now?
SMP: That monster is trying to eat Buzz.
CJB: And the fake Buzz.
SMP: That’s Buzz’s new friend, Warp.
CJB: They’re flying together!
SMP: Yes!
CJB: Woody isn’t in this one.
SMP: No, it’s only about Buzz. Look, that monster only has one eye.
CJB: Where is his other eye?
SMP: I don’t know.
CJB: Look, they’re flying together! Buzz and the fake Buzz!
SMP: Sure.
CJB: Where’s Woody?
SMP: This movie is only about Buzz and his new friend Warp.
CJB: There’s lots of green guys.
SMP: Yes, they are looking for more green guys.
CJB: Why?
SMP: Zurg has them.
CJB: But I don’t like Zurg!
SMP: I don’t either, but let’s see what happens.
CJB: I only like the real Buzz, not the fake Buzz.
SMP: That’s Warp.
CJB: Where’s Woody?

…and so on.

It occurred to me today that I do a lot of complaining about being a stay-at-home mom. Sir Monkeypants gets the worst of it — almost every day, when he comes home, he has to hear me talk about how hard my day was, and how exhausted I am, and how if he doesn’t take the kids off my hands right now for a half hour, I’ll be moving to Texas under an assumed name. And really, complaining is pretty much a mother’s sole inalienable right — can’t you hear your own mother right now, saying, “I was in labour with you for 19 hours, and this is how you repay me???”

Being a stay-at-home mom is by far the hardest, most frustrating job I’ve ever had, but it’s also the best, and I’m so grateful that we have the means available to us that I can stay home. When I see the changes our kids are going through on a daily basis — if anything, they are growing and changing more in their second and third years than in their government-sanctioned stay-at-home first year — I’m so happy that I get to be here to see it all happen.

Last night was a really hard one for us. Captain Jelly Belly has a nasty cold and overnight he woke up about every hour and a half screaming. At around 2:30am he spiked a huge fever and we had to force him to take some medicine, which he hates, which resulted in him throwing up all over his bed, and then again in the bathroom, and we came very close to running out of fresh PJs. We finally got him settled down (with his barf-covered special friend) but neither of us could sleep over the roaring noise of his humidifier and the sound of the poor kid coughing. This morning it was really tough to get out of bed, and even harder to have patience for whining and aching and runny noses.

But magically, this morning he is feeling better, and so is Gal Smiley (who has a bit of the cold too). So this morning we played some trains, and took the Special Friends for a walk around the house in our toy strollers, and shared “smiles” with each other from our smile box (little pieces of coloured paper with stickers on them), and we hid in the big box in our living room that serves as a fort. And then we watched the construction guys building the new house right behind us, and speculated on who would be moving in, and Captain Jelly Belly suggested that maybe it would be another little boy with his same name. And then we had a little lunch and watch Hi-5, a brand-new episode with a new title song that we all loved, and we learned the actions so we could dance along with the closing credits, and CJB pointed out how much he liked that song and how happy he was.

And then it was naptime, and usually there is fussing, but since both kids are still a little sick they practically ran upstairs to get into bed. CJB found his Thomas The Tank Engine sheets in a pile of clean laundry — washed this morning after they were barfed on last night — and got out the whole sheet set, wrapped himself in them, and climbed into bed by himself. He announced he was going to sleep “Just like this” and went to sleep right away, and Gal Smiley was asleep about three minutes later.

They’re both adorable and sweet and smart, and I love them to death. Being a stay-at-home mom is definitely the best job ever. And now it’s naptime for Mommy, too.