The kids have been obsessed lately with the film Curious George, and its accompanying soundtrack. All the songs are by Jack Johnson, and they are mellow and sweet and I really, really love them. I like the jangly guitar and the unassuming tunes and the softness of the songs.

But most of all, I adore the upbeat lyrics. The songs are all about how beautiful nature is, and how wonderful it is to have a good friend, and how important it is to recycle. Sure, they are meant for kids, but they aren’t silly or pandering or simplistic, like songs by The Wiggles (who, don’t get me wrong, I also like) or The Doodlebops (who, don’t mistake me, I absolutely despise). Instead, Jack Johnson’s stuff is actually enjoyable by happy, optimistic adults everywhere.

And to think I was really into The Cure and The Smiths in university. Goth is dead, people! No pun intended.

We have the Curious George CD on permanent repeat in the car and we often listen to it inside as well. The other day was searching for the Jack Johnson songs in iTunes so he could queue them up, and he discovered that we actually have one other Jack Johnson song in our music library. It’s a track from Maybe This Christmas, one of my favourite Christmas CDs (although, I am quite the Christmas music lover, and pretty much anything that mentions Santa or snow while jingle bells jingle in the background is a big hit in this house).

Anyway, the Jack Johnson Christmas track is “Rudolph The Red Nosed Reindeer.” But in true Jack fashion, he couldn’t just leave it at, “Then all the reindeer loved him.” Instead, he adds this extra verse at the end, after “You’ll go down in history”:

But Rudolph he didn’t go for that
He said, “I see through your silly games”
“How can you look me in the face
When only yesterday you called me names?”

All of the other reindeer, well,
They sure did feel ashamed
“Rudolph you know we’re sorry,
We’re truly gonna try to change.”

And that’s what makes this my all-time favourite version of Rudolph. Adorable, and jangly, and upbeat, just the way I like it.

Plus, when Captain Jelly Belly and I were discussing Rudolph the other day, and singing the song, the Captain pointed out that it was NOT very nice of the other reindeer to laugh, and that their sudden change of heart seemed disingenuous (although he didn’t quite phrase it that way). I was able to pull out this version of the song and we talked about apologies and kindness and not calling people names. Nice.

Jack rocks!

This is going to sound strange, but I would like to thank the show So You Think You Can Dance for turning a bad memory into a good memory.

When I was young, my dad travelled a lot for work; he was a salesman and had to go to conferences and various other cities to meet with clients. It started out as a three-day trip here and there, but by the time I was around 10 years old, he was going away for weeks at a time. By the time I was 12, he would only be home for maybe three or four days a month.

When he was home, my parents fought a lot, but I didn’t really think about this too much. A pre-teen is really wrapped up in her own little world, and the daily dramas of being unpopular and who said what to whom at school were more than enough to fill my head. I had homework and trying to get enough bathroom time (four sisters, one bathroom) on my mind, and although it was scary when they fought, I never really thought much about the possible consequences of our situation.

One time, when I was about 13 years old — this would be just a few months before my parents split up for good — I was sitting in the living room with my dad and my older sister. We were all listening to the radio and my dad said he was trying to find out the name of a certain song he had heard that he really liked. Since SocialButterfly and I were teenagers, he tried to describe it to us — a “rock song with a real heavy beat,” but I thought there was no way we would possibly listen to the same music as our father, like, did he even know which station was CKOC? So I didn’t think too hard.

And then he said, “All the young people up at the cottage were listening to it.”

And my life changed forever.

The cottage he was referring to belonged to my grandparents and was up at Wasaga Beach (still is, but I don’t believe it is in the family any longer). We used to go up for a week or two every summer with our parents. I thought that was the only time we went there all year.

But here was my dad saying, ever so casually — it’s clear he thought we already knew — that he had been up at the cottage, when he was supposedly away on business. Hanging out with mysterious young people. Having a little vacation, instead of coming home to see us. Choosing, after already been apart from us for weeks, to spend more time away from us, with other people I didn’t know.

I just couldn’t believe it. Why didn’t he want to come home? I was hurt, and scared, and suddenly, the world didn’t seem so safe anymore.

Then the song in question came on the radio. It was “Sweet Dreams (Are Made Of This)” by the Eurythmics. My dad was happy to hear it. I wasn’t. It became a song that was strongly associated with one of the worst memories of my life, a moment when I realised that things were going to change, and not for the better. All this time, I’ve never been able to listen to it without feeling sad. It’s safe to say that I hate that song.

Or at least, I used to.

This past summer, I got really into So You Think You Can Dance. After the C-section I had with the Wee One, I had to spend a lot of time lying around, and SYTYCD is quite safe to watch during the day in front of the kids, so I watched a lot of it. I think I watched every episode at least twice, and maybe three times. It became known as “Mommy’s Dancing Show” and sometimes, Gal Smiley and the Captain would even ask for it.

Close to the end of the season, two of my favourite dancers did a fantastic, mind-blowing number set to Sweet Dreams. It was so good, and I loved it so much, that I watched it over and over and over. They repeated the number in the season finale, and I’ve kept that finale kicking around on our PVR so I can rewatch it any time I want.

And then, Sir Monkeypants made a CD of hits from the 80s to listen to in the car, and he put Sweet Dreams on it. He played it in the car for the first time when he took the older kids camping by himself, and when Sweet Dreams came on, there was a lot of excitement in the back seat. Mommy’s Song! From Mommy’s Dance Show! Mommy! Turn it up!

Now the kids love that song, because they associate it with me, and a show that made me happy and always put me in a good mood. For them, this song is a joyful memory that reminds them of a happy time.

And I didn’t think it was at all possible, but now I have completely changed my opinion of the song. I can hear it now and I feel…okay. I think of my own kids and how awesome they are. I think about great dancing and how my kids love stuff that I love just because I love it and they love me and it’s one big lovefest.

So thank you, So You Think You Can Dance, for erasing something bad and replacing it with something good. I can’t wait until next season.

Last night I went to the movies with LuckySevens. This is probably the third time I’ve been to the movies since January of 2004, when I took Captain Jelly Belly to the last of our Mommy And Baby Movie Afternoons to see one of the Lord Of The Rings movies and he crawled under my chair and I couldn’t get him out because he was stuck to the floor in a puddle of sticky half-dried pop. Ah, good times, good times.

We went to see Dan In Real Life, which I loved. It has everything that appeals to me in a movie — a mixture of comedy and drama; emotional, heartfelt ending; adult siblings interacting with each other in a holiday setting; and parents and their children in mostly functional relationships. It’s a romantic comedy but it’s not formulaic at all, and it’s sweet and true-to-life. It also scared the crap out of me in terms of having teenagers some day. Yikes.

Anyway, we paid for the movie ticket, which was $10.50 at the AMC, a price that I do not think has changed since the AMC opened about 8 years ago. And then we went to get snacks, because a night out for us is seriously at least 50% about the quality of the snacks — we’d never get a consistent turnout to girls’ night poker if it weren’t for the high quality snacks.

I got a medium popcorn and it was $6.25. $6.25!! I couldn’t get over it. I went on and on and on about it. It was unbelievable! Highway robbery! Why, I remembered when a medium popcorn AND a coke was $2! And that was expensive even then!

And the kid behind the counter, who was easily at least 20 years younger than me, rolled his eyes like, “Lady, I’ve heard it before, and why can’t you senior citizens just bring your own prune juice and tapioca pudding for snacks and be done with it?”

Then I realised that I am officially an Old Fart.

It really was a good movie, though.

Since Captain Jelly Belly started school, he’s gotten a little bit rougher, a little bit tougher. He’s more likely to hit or shove or scream “No!” at the top of his lungs. So sometimes, I forgot that deep down, he’s a really sensitive guy.

This morning was talking about how, when he holds the Wee One, she likes to grab his ear as a handy handle for stability. She does the same to me, and I usually wear hoop earrings, and she can hook her little hand into my earrings real good. I’m always terrified that she’s going to rip them out of my ear, so a couple of days ago I took them out, and I told Sir Monkeypants about the earring removal over breakfast.

He asked me why I don’t put some studs in, and then I explained that one time, when the Captain was little, I had put studs in due to the same problem. And then, when we were at the grocery store, he managed to grab the front of the stud and yanked it right out of my ear and threw it away, where it was lost forever. They were quite nice earrings, a gift from my grandmother when I was a teenager, so I wasn’t too happy about it. So I’ve decided not to wear any earrings with the Wee One.

At about this time in the conversation, the Captain joined in. I should have guessed that something was wrong but I wasn’t paying close enough attention and he asked me, “Were you sad that you lost your earring?”

And I said yes, I had been sad, but that he was just a baby and he didn’t know what he was doing and didn’t mean anything by it.

But it was too much for him to think that he had made me sad, and he burst into tears, and had to spend the next 10 minutes calming him down.

Poor little guy. He’s such a softhearted sweetie, I love him so much!

When Sir Monkeypants went back to work — jeez, was that only 22 days ago? It feels like a lifetime! — I thought I’d basically never leave the house again. Sure, I had to go out for school drop-offs and pick-ups. But other than that, the baby’s nap schedule was so restrictive, and the thought of leaving the house with all three kids was so incredibly daunting, I figured we’d just hole up here and live on canned goods and learn to knit our own clothes and we’d see the rest of the world in three years or so.

Then last week, I had to take the Wee One in for her four-month checkup. When I called to make the appointment, I asked for something early in the morning, so could just get to work a bit later than usual and I could take the baby to the doctor by myself.

They offered me 3:15 p.m. on a Thursday. I asked for anything, anything else. They said, “We have 3:15 p.m. on Thursday.”

So, all too soon, it looked as though the kids and I would be making an Expotition.

I packed for our trip like a Sherpa heading for Mount Everest. I’m actually pretty proud of my ability to keep my kids entertained during long waits in doctors’ waiting rooms. I was well trained by my OB — every time I took the two older kids to one of my prenatal appointments, it would mean at least a one hour wait. I guess it takes a really, really long time for pregnant ladies to waddle in and out of the office. Anyway, your Big Bag Of Waiting Fun must contain: snack boxes (I don’t know why putting food into little compartmentalized Tupperware suddenly turns it into a super fun activity, but I don’t question); many, many books for reading aloud to your kids and all the other kids in the waiting room, who will flock to you like it’s storytime at the library; colouring books and crayons; and a wide assortment of small cars and action figures.

I dare say my kids and their Big Bag Of Waiting Fun are the envy of all the other toddlers in the room. It’s like they’re presenters at the Oscars and have gotten a goodie bag full of thousand-dollar items, that causes the unwashed masses to drool enviously.

When we got to the doctor, we were ushered into a room right away and I thought I wouldn’t even need the Big Bag. I settled in the kids — removing coats and boots, resolving fights over who got to sit in the spinny chair, undressing the baby. I broke out the snack boxes and settled in. A few minutes later the nurse came by to tell us that we would probably have to change rooms, and I was like, “Lady, do you SEE the snack boxes? The enormous pile of coats? The three bags I had to bring just to carry all our supplies for this outing? We are NOT MOVING.” And so we got to stay.

And stay we did, in a really hot room, with a baby who was overtired, waiting for the doctor, for 45 full minutes. I can’t really complain too much, because I adore our doctor, and she is totally awesome about everything, and rarely late. But of course, the one time I’m out with the kids…she’s late.

Don’t panic, dear readers! We had the Big Bag! We snacked, then we coloured, then we read books, then we fed the baby, then we played Buzz and Fake Buzz. And we made it to the summit and returned enriched, emerging triumphant in our epic battle of Man Versus Doctor’s Office, cutting a new path for Mommies-Of-Three everywhere. I am Mommy Edmund Hillary!

The Wee One is in tip top shape, by the way, and took her two immunization needles like Rocky Balboa in the seventh round (“Adrian! I went the distance!”) And as for the older two — sometimes I forget how awesome our kids really are. They sat patiently and quietly and didn’t hardly whine at all. I’m a lucky mommy, indeed.

We woke up this morning to three inches of snow on the ground, and more in the air. It was still dark outside, and you could see billows of soft snow falling in the circles of streetlight. The wet snow clung to the trees and the effect was so beautiful — it looked just like Christmas outside. Seeing as how I’ve been playing the Hi-5 Christmas album for the kids for the past three days now, I’d say it’s official: we are In The Spirit.

Sir Monkeypants went outside to shovel the snow and the kids couldn’t wait to get their snow pants on and join him outside. They helped with the shovelling and frolicked about like puppies. Gal Smiley didn’t even cry when I dropped her off at preschool — the first non-cry day in weeks — because they were building a snowman outside and she was excited about that.

This is one of the awesome things about having little kids — the wonder that every new experience brings. I got excited to see the snow because it was something I knew they were going to be excited about. At least for today, I can see fresh snow and think, “Wow! Footprints! Snow angels! Snowmen! Snow pants!” and not “Crap! Bad driving! Shovelling! Snow pants!”

It’s above zero today, so already the snow is getting slushy and the stuff coming from the sky is more like rain than actual snow. Our driveway is already bare and the rest probably won’t last.

But the magic will.

Last night I set the stove on fire while making dinner. I’d like to be able to say that it was the first time ever, but sadly, the best I can do is to say it was the first time in this house. I am not a good cook.

The kids were pretty freaked out at the foot-high flames coming from their dinner. I must admit I was a wee bit scared myself. I grabbed the pot and popped it in the sink, where I ran cold water over the flames. At the time I wasn’t sure it was going to turn out to be a good idea — it was an oil-based fire, and something in the back of my head was saying, “Water, bad. Salt…or maybe it’s baking soda…or is it flour? Anyway, one of those…Good.”

That same little voice was also suggesting that a) we get a fire extinguisher for the kitchen and b) I learn how to use it. For next time. And I’d like to say that there probably won’t be a next time. But I am really not a good cook.

Anyway, the water worked, after about a minute, and a huge amount of very stinky smoke was created. One of my best pots is besmirched, but possibly still usable with a lot of scrubbing. Although I think I heard it request, in a very tiny voice, for spaghetti-only duty for a while, to get over the trauma.

The smoke detector went off, but luckily there was little to no reaction from the neighbours. That’s because it goes off every single time I make oven fries, so they’re pretty used to hearing it by now. This time, it didn’t even bother to go off until I’d put out the fire. You know, there’s fashionably late, and then there’s missing the party altogether.

I think I’ll make sandwiches for dinner tonight. Just to be on the safe side.

We’ve started to think about Christmas presents for our kids, and we’re finding that maintaining the Santa mythology is quite the delicate dance.

For months now, Captain Jelly Belly has been rhyming off the things he wants from Santa. His friend has a new car? “I’m going to ask for that from Santa!” He sees a racetrack on TV? “I’m going to ask for that from Santa!” Lately we’ve had a lot of talks about how Santa has limited room on his sleigh, and he can only bring one thing for the Captain. Why? Because Santa has to bring presents for all the boys and girls in the world, so he can’t fill his whole sleigh with stuff for the Captain.

CJB always walks away with a frown on his face, like he can tell he’s being had, but he just can’t quite see how.

Anyway, once I put the “one item” rule in place, CJB decided he wanted his one thing to be Arthur. Arthur is one of the Thomas the Tank Engine trains. CJB has about 25 Thomas trains, and he only plays with them sporadically now. Plus, he already has Arthur, only in the small metal version, and now he wants him in the big wooden version.

Needless to say, we will not be getting him an Arthur for Christmas.

So this brings up a problem. I want him to have the joy of the whole Santa thing. But he is exactly the type who, if Santa does not bring him the very thing he asked for, will a) be hysterical and b) will never trust Santa again.

Yesterday I went to the Superstore and purchased his actual Santa gift — a Lightning McQueen racetrack, in the shape of Mack, the big 18-wheeler who is Lightning’s transport. Excellent long-term play value, plus on mega-sale, plus the Superstore had a deal where if you spend a certain amount you save an additional $30, so overall, I basically got it for free. That justified the early shopping, which I swore I would not do this year, but did I mention basically free?

Now our job is to make him think that this item is what he really wants for Christmas, before we go see Santa next week (although, if CJB will actually bring himself to talk to the weird stranger, I’ll be shocked).

Yesterday afternoon CJB was playing with his Lightning McQueen so I offered to play with him. Then I said, “Wow, wouldn’t it be SO COOL if only we had a Mack?” And he said, “Yeah!” And I said, “I know! We could totally ask Santa for that to be your one thing! Then we could play Mack and Lightning together!” And he said, “YEAH! I want a Mack from Santa!”

I hope it’s not wrong to manipulate your kids like this. Now all I have to do is convince Gal Smiley she’d like a Little Tikes kitchen from Santa and we’re all set.

Then it’s on to the talk about Jesus. I think that one might be a little tougher.

I turn 37 years old today. It’s not really such a big deal. I guess I’m officially moving from mid-thirties to late-thirties…okay, that does give me pause. Shouldn’t my acne have cleared up by now? And are those a few new wrinkles and grey hairs I see this morning? Overall, though, I’m okay with the number.

I had a bit of a crisis when I turned 20; I hadn’t been dating Sir Monkeypants for long and I think he thought I was a little crazy (but in a good, sexy kind of way). I wasn’t popular or anything in high school, but I was surprisingly happy there, with a close circle of friends and lots of activities and the adoration of all my teachers because I was such a brown-noser. I really felt like a great period of my life was over, and I was sad about it. Just for one day, though. Sir Monkeypants is really good at cheering me up.

Then when I turned 23, my friend Ruth gave me a birthday card on which she had written, “Happy Birthday! Only 17 more years until 40!” Which totally freaked me out.

By the time I turned 30, I was married and working and already had at least ten grey hairs. We had a house and were talking about maybe having kids one day, and so I had another freak out, but in a more productive way. I decided to do all the stuff I’d always wanted to do, now, before I was too old and decrepit and washed up to do it. I took guitar lessons. I went back to tap dancing. I started Sidekick, which was my website where I did movie reviews and wrote entertainment-related columns. I took up ultimate and got in shape. I was busy every day of the week.

The frenzy of activity was a really good thing, in that when it came time to have the kids, I felt like I’d done a lot of things, seen a lot of things, had a lot of fun, and was now ready to settle down. I haven’t had any regrets about giving up my social activities because I know they are there, waiting for me, and I’ll get back to them some day. In the meantime I’m having lots of fun staying at home.

So now we’re up to 37…only three more years until 40.

I think back to that 20-year-old, who was so obnoxious and thought she knew everything and that there were no more good times to be had, and I sigh at the total insufferability of 20-year-olds. I’m happy that’s all behind me.

I think back to that 30-year-old, who was so frantic to get all of live lived in one year, and I smile because I’m proud of the things I did, but I’m prouder of the life I have now, the family I have now. So I’m happy that’s all behind me.

Thirty-seven feels pretty good. It feels right. It feels happy.

I’ve been having very strange dreams lately about organisation.

The other night I dreamed that I was over at the Carl Sagans’. They invited me down to their basement to see how they had reorganised everything. Their basement was huge, with a high ceiling, like a warehouse. Everything — huge bolts of fabric, speedboats, exercise equipment — had been grouped and sorted, and had its own place. They had a whole separate storeroom for toys, where the walls were lined with shelving from floor to ceiling. At the end of the tour, Mr. Carl Sagan showed me the special shelf he had ordered online to organize all their kayaks and canoes (neither of which they own in real life). Since the kayaks had to be kept at a special temperature, this shelf connected to a hose which pumped a constant stream of cool water through the shelving.

Then I bumped into the shelf and knocked it down and water sprayed everywhere.

Last night I dreamed of our own basement. People had come to finish the basement and had divided it into several lovely, fully decorated rooms. They’d put all of our crap back into the basement too, and as such, every single room was lined with shelving full of stuff. There was a whole room devoted to wrapping paper. A whole wall of large cabinets opened up to reveal about a thousand stuffed animals. A tools area contained so many table saws that they had to be stacked on top of each other with special tables and a rolling ladder.

I think I’ve been watching a little too much Clean Sweep. Also, apparently, I feel a deep need to get our basement organised.