Here’s my shot at the movie quote meme that’s flying around. All of these are from movies I’ve seen approximately a hundred times each, so I hope they aren’t too hard for the general public — I find it impossible to gauge!

1. Pick 15 of your favourite movies.
2. Go to IMDB and find a quote from each movie. (or write it yourself if you can, you know, actually remember dialogue from your favourite films)
3. Post them here for everyone to guess.
4. Strike it out when someone guesses correctly, and put who guessed it.
5. NO GOOGLING/using IMDB search functions.

Quotes:

1. But I’m not available to drive tomorrow. Busy. Speed;

2. From the moment I first saw you, I knew I was through with bar girls and strippers and motorcycle chicks, and… when we first started talking I was smitten with you, and I’m smitten with you more every day I think about you, and the fact that you know I’m full of crapola only makes you more attractive to me. Tin Cup;

3. A: I love you.
B: Snap out of it! Moonstruck;

4. Someone is either a smoker or a nonsmoker. There’s no in-between. The trick is to find out which one you are, and be that. If you’re a nonsmoker, you’ll know. Dead Again;

5. That’s a piecrust promise. Easily made, easily broken. Mary Poppins;

6. Traveling through hyperspace ain’t like dusting crops, boy! Without precise calculations we could fly right through a star, or bounce too close to a supernova and that’d end your trip real quick, wouldn’t it? Star Wars;

7. Okay, everybody, shut up! I’d like you to meet my new girl, whose name is… Jersey! Jersey is an ex-kindergarten teacher, and a former nun, who just escaped from the convent, and is tired of being the only virgin in New York City! Would anyone like to buy her a drink? Coyote Ugly;

8. Don’t you get it? Do you see the hat? I am Mrs. Nesbitt! Toy Story;

9. Off the top of my head, I’d say you’re looking at a Boeski, a Jim Brown, a Miss Daisy, two Jethros and a Leon Spinks, not to mention the biggest Ella Fitzgerald ever. Ocean’s Eleven;

10. Mr. Takagi, I could talk about men’s fashions and industrialization all day but I’m afraid work must intrude. Die Hard;

11. I don’t want to sell anything, buy anything, or process anything as a career. I don’t want to sell anything bought or processed, or buy anything sold or processed, or process anything sold, bought, or processed, or repair anything sold, bought, or processed. You know, as a career, I don’t want to do that. Say Anything;

12. I’m not sure I agree with you a hundred percent on your police work, there, Lou. Fargo;

13. From here to the eyes and the ears of the ‘Verse, that’s my motto, or it might be if I start having a motto. Serenity;

14. We’ve been eating oranges and makin’ IDs. The Fugitive;

15. A life lived in fear is a life half lived. Strictly Ballroom;

This morning I wrote a nice, sentimental post about how hard it is to let go of the baby years, even when you know you’re all done having babies. Like how I carried a teeny pair of baby socks around in the diaper bag for months after the Wee One had outgrown them, because I just couldn’t bear to add them to the box of newborn clothes to give way. And how I found the bowl I used to use to fill the baby bathtub this morning, and got all teary-eyed when I realised I didn’t need to keep it in the bathroom anymore.

Then the Wee One had the Biggest. Poop. Ever.

When we had the Captain, I used to rate his poops based on how many wipes they required for cleanup. A typical poop was a 3-wiper. A really big one might be a 5- or 6-wiper. The Wee One’s deposit this morning was a 12-wiper.

Really helps knock the sentimentality right out of you.

Many thanks to Wipes Girl and Tissues Boy, without whose assistance I would have been, literally, up shit creek.

The Canada Reads debates are coming up next week on the CBC. Yay! I love this week. I’ve been listening to the debates for several years now — I think it’s the most fun and exciting part of the process, much more so than reading and discussing the selected book.

In January, my friend RheostaticsFan suggested that the two of us read all five of the nominated books before the debates. I’ve never attempted this feat before — I find having not read any of the books does not diminish my enjoyment of the selection process at all, and I can usually tell from the discussions if there are any titles that I should add to my reading list. I admit I was not very enthusiastic about the idea, because having the three kids on the go around here means that I only get to read maybe two or three novels a year, and getting through five books in seven weeks seemed nigh on impossible. But RheostaticsFan offered to buy all the books and lend them to me, so really, I had no excuse not to try.

Luckily I had already read one of the nominees, Timothy Findley’s Not Wanted On The Voyage. I started in January with book number 2, King Leary by Paul Quarrington. It was the smallest of the books, a slim little paperback, so figured I’d be able to get through it easily. Four weeks later…I finally got it done. Eeep. Not looking good.

Then I got a second wind and whipped through Icefields by Thomas Wharton in a weekend. Now, I’m halfway through Brown Girl in the Ring by Nalo Hopkinson, and I’ll definitely finish that one by Monday. I probably won’t be able to read all the short stories in Mavis Gallant’s From the Fifteenth District, but still, that’s four out of five…not bad at all!

I didn’t really think that reading the books in advance would make a difference, but man, am I excited now. It’s just like seeing all five Best Picture nominees before the Oscars — you’re so much more invested because you can understand all the references, fully appreciate all the comments, and of course, root for your own favourites. Thank goodness the CBC posts audio of the daily debates on their website, since I could never listen to it live (for some reason, the kids just do not appreciate talk radio — what is with that?).

I can’t decide which one I liked the best, although I can tell you that I did not think Icefields was a very good book. Brown Girl is cool and very different; King Leary is funny and has great characters and is very, very Canadian. But I think probably Voyage is going to take it — Findley is a master and Voyage is his masterpiece. A book every Canadian should read, I think.

Read, Canada, read!

I was going to email this youtube video around to a bunch of my friends but I hate getting that kind of mail, so I decided just to post it here instead, so I could always find it when I wanted it.

It’s all the things a mom says in a 24 hour period, condensed into 3 minutes, set to the William Tell Overture.

It’s so funny but SO TRUE, I totally cried. Recommended for everyone who has a mom — watch it twice to get the most out of it.

Two of my haikus are finalists in the Haiku Buckaroo contest. You can vote here. Both are nominated in the “most evocative” category — the one beginning “venomous white snakes” and the one beginning “tiny and trusting.”

There is chocolate on the line here people!

Feel free to pick the haiku that you like best, but if you’re looking for direction, “white snakes” is leading the voting so far.

I think this is the first time I’ve ever been tagged for a meme. I’m so honoured! Thanks, SillySocks!

The rules are simple.

1. List 7 quirks or facts about yourself.
2. Tag 5 people.

My favourite candy is Swedish Berries. Yum!

“Satisified” by The Odds is my personal theme song. It’s about feeling good about your life, no matter what other people say you “should” be doing, or how you “should” be measuring your success. It’s me — I like my life, I’m a happy person.

It really bothers me that although the handicapped and pregnant lady parking at the Superstore is right next to the entrance, the cart return kiosk is like, a kilometer away. So you get the nice close parking, but then you have to trudge out to no man’s land with your cart anyway. I think the Superstore parking lot designers have some serious thinking to do on this issue.

I don’t think I embarrass easily, but this one time, I got my hair caught in a printer at work. I had to actually rip out the hair to get free because even though lots of people were walking by, I was too ashamed to admit that my head was physically attached to the printer and ask for help. I had a little tuft of horn-like hair at the front of my forehead for many months to keep me humble.

My poker nickname is “Bittermaker” because I like to exclaim that when I have 80% of a good hand, and just can’t draw out for that last good card. Also I think it has a nice double meaning in that I am the Bittermaker, I will make you Bitter, Losers! I’m such a bad-ass.

I hate shopping for myself, but I love to buy gifts for people. And gift wrap. Paper is so fabulous.

I’m a really, really good touch typist. When I’m on a roll, it kind of sounds like a machine gun in here. I hear that touch typing is going the way of the dinosaur, because kids these days are learning to use computers long before they have the discipline to sit down and do the drills required to touch-type, and that makes me sad. But on the plus side, I could be a really, really good secretary. Or maybe a court recorder.

I tag:

Back in December I took some charming photos of the kids outside, to illustrate the fact that the snowbanks along our driveway were over their heads. So much snow! So much fun! So crazy!

Now, I’m done laughing. The snowbanks along our driveway are now over my head. I tried to shovel on Wednesday and I couldn’t even lift the shovel high enough to get it to the top of the snowbank. This morning, I found five more inches in the driveway and more coming down. The kids don’t even want to play outside anymore, because they can’t physically wade through snow that is waist-high.

I don’t think I’ll be taking any charming photos this time.

Instead I plan to hibernate until Spring.

And on that note, did you know that there is a wildflower called the Turtlehead? See my pretty new icon!

So, I totally predicted this would happen.

This morning we were rushing around getting the Captain ready for school. With six minutes left before he had to be putting on his snow pants, I asked him to go upstairs and get his valentines out of his bedside table.

And they were no longer there.

The Captain freely admitted that he had moved them. But he couldn’t remember where his new hiding place was.

He thought they were most definitely probably could be in the kitchen. So we looked in every cupboard, every drawer, every cereal box.

Then we moved on and checked every dresser, every couch cushion, every toy box in the house. No dice.

So, with two minutes remaining before he had to leave, I got out the package of unused valentines. He has a small class, so luckily there were enough Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle valentines left over for almost every one in the class. Gal Smiley kindly donated one of her unused Pretty Pony valentines to make up the balance. Fifteen Ninja Turtles (“Give ’em Shell! It’s Valentine’s Day!”) and one Pretty Pony (“Wishing you a rainbow day!”) makes for quite a juxtaposition.

I hurriedly marked them all as being from the Captain while got him dressed for school. Then we sent him off with the new bag in his backpack.

And he came home with them all, undistributed. Every one, even the Pony, accounted for.

We quizzed him about this but we’re not sure what happened. In the frenzy and joy of getting other valentines, he can’t seem to remember if he gave any out or not. But he does seem to think that he had one for his French teacher.

So, near as we can figure out, this is what really happened. Gal Smiley had to take her valentines to school yesterday, because she only goes to preschool on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. When the Captain saw her getting her package out, he ran to his secret hiding place and got his out too, and put them in his backpack. Then, when his teacher checked his backpack yesterday for messages from home, she found the valentines, assumed we had sent them, and took them out to save them for today. Then today, she gave him the original pack to hand out.

We think.

In sweeter news, the kids and I made these beauties yesterday:

They’re pretty good at smoothing over any valentine hiccups, let me tell you.

Last Friday, for his birthday, Sir Monkeypants requested a special dinner — cheese fondue.

Making cheese fondue reminds me of my best friend from high school, Sapphire Jones (name changed as she is quite obsessive about maintaining her internet privacy).

Sapph was the daughter of a good friend of my mom’s. We’d met each other a few times as children, and then when we were around 8 years old, she moved with her family to Holland, her parents’ original home country. Our mothers thought it would be nice if we could be pen pals. That lasted maybe, two letters apiece before we had more pressing things to attend to, like when Darth Vader said he was Luke’s father at the end of Empire Strikes Back, did he really mean it, or was he lying?

Her family moved back to Canada when we were in high school but we went to different schools and didn’t see each other at all, although our moms played bridge together once a month. One day her mom said to my mom that Sapph was applying for a summer program for “gifted” kids (read: extremely geeky), to study at a university for a few weeks, then go work in a high tech job for a few weeks. My mom was all like, “Well, if you think your daughter is gifted, you haven’t met my daughter! If yours can get in, mine can too!” And next thing I knew, I was filling out an application.

We both got into the program — it was kind of like summer camp for math nerds, in that we stayed for four weeks together in the dorms at the University of Waterloo. When we arrived there with my stuff, my mom took me right away to look for Sapphire, to renew our acquaintance. I was all like, “Hey, how are you doing? What have you been up to for the past 8 years?” And she was all like, “Um, do I know you?” But it all worked out and we grew quite quickly to become best friends.

A year or so later, her family moved up to Barrie, which was about a two hour drive from my house in Cambridge, so we didn’t get to see each other as much, but we talked on the phone all the time…constantly, my mom might say…and we used our super awesome IBM XTs, with 512K RAM, to chat to each other over the internet (I guess we really were that geeky!). We’d get together on long weekends and sometimes in the summer we’d join each other on family vacations.

Every year, we’d spend New Year’s Eve together. She sometimes had a boyfriend and I had , but circumstances always seemed to arise in which we could not be with our men, and so we just hung out together. Then it became an unshakable tradition, and boys took second place to New Year’s at Sapphire’s.

Her parents had their own charming New Year’s tradition — they got together with four other couples for a big fancy dinner. The men did all the cooking, and each man was in charge of a different part of the dinner — appetizers, veggies, main course, dessert, or wine. They took turns hosting the event so for the first several years of our own New Year’s bashes, Sapphire’s parents were out, and it was just me and her, and her older brother and a couple of his friends, to sit around and do giant puzzles and listen to music (thanks, Sapph’s bro, for introducing me to the Beatles) and to have deep meaningful conversations about life and boys.

And to make cheese fondue.

The first New Year’s I spent at Sapphire’s, she made cheese fondue for dinner, a favourite family recipe. I’d never had anything so exotic before, and it was so delicious and so special and so very grown up that we immediately decided to do it every year. She always did the cooking while I entertained with amusing stories and drank enough gingerale to work up a really good sugar high. Then we’d gorge on the fondue — a recipe meant for four people, but split just between us two — and then we’d eat candy until three or four in the morning, before crashing wherever we could find a soft surface.

One year her parents were hosting the big dinner, so we had to have New Year’s at my house instead. Sapph drove herself down from Barrie and when she arrived, she had with her a big bowl with the cheese fondue inside. We warmed it in the microwave and refused to share it with my mom or any of my sisters. Get your own traditions! It was still yummy even after two hours in the car.

Over our years at university, we drifted apart — we were off stream from each other, which meant one of us was always working while the other one was at school. We made new friends and were busy studying and we only managed to call or write every few months. But we always had our New Year’s fondue to look forward to.

Eventually we graduated and I got married and she got engaged, and since we now lived very far apart and were starting our own families with new traditions, that was the end of the fondue parties. Sadly, it was also kind of the end of our friendship — we did the Christmas card thing for several years, but they moved and we moved and we had kids and family obligations that kept us from visiting, and now I haven’t talked to her in at least three or four years. I do miss her.

As a wedding gift, she gave me a fondue pot. Nestled inside was this:

In Holland, where Gouda reigns supreme, the Jones’ Famous Cheese Fondue is widely renowned from the shores of the North Sea to the heart of Germany’s Black Forest. This closely guarded family recipe has been passed from generation to generation and has only recently been made available to a privileged few.

I’d give you the recipe, but then I’d have to kill you.

and I, without fail, have made this recipe every year for New Year’s Eve since we have been married. I sometimes make it for other special occasions, like ‘ birthday, but it’s really a New Year’s tradition.

Making the fondue always makes me think of Sapphire, and I wonder if she is having some too.

My Mommy’s Place is having a haiku contest. To enter, you have to post your haikus in your blog.

Ordinarily I would not abuse this blog by using it to force you to read bad poetry. However, one of the prizes is chocolate, and when it comes to chocolate, I am powerless to resist. Bad poetry it is!

Venomous white snakes
Poisoning the old brown plain
Time for a dye job

I liked the way that one turned out. Here is another one I liked:

Morning Coffee
Two-week-old baby
Medium double-double
Elixir of life

I thought that this one was quite brilliant, with the double meaning of “elixir of life” there and all, but then it occurred to me that “medium double double” is a rather Canadian colloquialism (for a coffee with a double shot of cream and sugar), and perhaps the international nature of the voters will cause this poem to be under appreciated. I thought of changing the middle line to “coffee with cream and sugar” but I didn’t think it sounded as cool. So I added the title to help explain things instead.

One more, a little on the earnest side but again, I was happy with it:

Tiny and trusting
Your fingers around my thumb
I am a mother

Inspired by the way the Wee One likes to hold my hand while nursing. I’ll miss that in a few months.