Lego is the Captain’s thing. It’s what he does when we aren’t forcing him to do boring things like eat, wash, and sleep.

For his birthday, he received some Ninjago Lego. Now we have daily conversations about ninjas. Is this weapon cooler than this one? Which is better, the blue ninja or the red ninja? Who do you think would win in this particular spinjitzu battle matchup?

Once while I was doing the dishes, he crept up behind me, ninja-like. “Boo!” he said softly, as he poked me in the back. I jumped about 10 feet in the air.

Most. Hilarious. Thing. Ever.

Since then he’s tried every day, many times a day, to recreate the moment. The problem is that he’s a leadfoot. Without gurgling, running water to cover his approach, he’s unable to pull off the sneak. The floor creaks, his feet thud on the floor; a soft giggle gives him away.

He’s no ninja.

I can fake an endless passion for talking about the Golden Weapons Of Spinjitzu but I can’t fake surprise. He knows when he’s been unsuccessful.

But that doesn’t stop the trying. Every morning when he tiptoes down for breakfast. Every evening when he creeps down in his jammies for a bedtime snack.

“Boo!” he’ll say. “Did I scare you?”

He’s only mildly disappointed when I say no. He is never discouraged. He’ll try his ninja moves again later.

“Mom, want to see my ninja battle? Who do you think will win, the blue ninja or the red ninja?”

This post is part of Brie‘s Monday Moments series – this week’s theme was “surprise.”

Today, Sir Monkeypants and I have been married for 15 years. It’s a long time but it has flown by. Our honeymoon feels like it was a thousand years ago, and yesterday. The kids we were when we got married are long gone, yet they are still there inside. We’re different people now but we both still know each other as all the things we were, and all the things we’ve been in between.

I really like being married to that guy.

In celebration of our anniversary this morning, we both totally forgot, as is 100% typical of us on an annual basis. We both are fighting off a doozy of a cold and I spent most of the morning moaning on the couch while he struggled to get the kids off to school. Just another morning for us. I’ll take 15 more years of them, thank you very much.

I intended to make a lovely post this morning full of in-jokes and love poems and secret messages, but my head is pounding and I need to lie down. So instead I offer him (and you) this list of our 15 favourite movie quotes. Know these, and you can communicate with us even when we’re at our most exclusive twosome level. Happy anniversary, honey.

Tape it! Tape it! It’s taping.

Ho there! Keep your ho there.

For Skinny.

You just threw that in the spa.

Don’t you get it? You see the hat? I am Mrs. Nesbitt!

I. AM. AN. FBI. AGENT.

Eorlingas, to me!

Tonight’s key words are “caution” and “flammable.”

Nice shootin’, Tex.

Not even God knows what you’re doing.

Schnell! Schnell!

I’m behind you, but I’m in front of you.

Fit so nice, he said I could keep it.

You’re sawing the table right now!

It won’t always be like this. [Yes, it will, Roy; yes, it will.]

So my Project 365 photography thing is still going strong. I’ve been finding it frustrating lately, however, because there’s no feedback on all these pictures I’m taking. Being a blogger trains you to expect instant comments, and Twitter is even worse – if you don’t get a response to a tweet within ten minutes, it’s total rejection. OVER. HAS BEEN.

I took a one-day photography course from BeachMama a couple of weeks ago, and that was the first time ever I had taken my camera off of total-automatic mode. It was a great class, and I highly recommend it if you are interested at all in developing your own personal style or artistic flair with your photos. Since then I’ve been trying really, really hard to improve my photography skills but mostly I’ve taken a lot of really crappy pictures. It’s very tempting to just pop the camera back into automatic mode, but I know I’ll never develop any mad skillz if I don’t work it, so I keep plugging away.

I have a writer’s group where I take my non-blog writing for evaluation, editing, and ideas, and it’s great. I feel like I need something like that for my photos but I don’t want it to be online, as I don’t want to post the kids’ pics up on Flickr or my blog or anything like that. I think what I need to do is email all my photos every day to all the friends I have who take photos, then badger them for feedback on a constant basis until they block me, then send them photos by snail mail and call them over and over until they tell me they LOVE ME, LOVE ME.

Good plan, don’t you think?

I just need a few pointers. Sometimes I’ll try for a specific shot and it’s okay, but not amazing, and I want to know how to get from okay to amazing. Do I need to mess with the camera settings? Choose different framing or a new angle? Would different lighting have helped?

Also, I am totally confused and overwhelmed by the post-processing that is possible. I have GIMP, and it can do about a million things but I only ever really use it to increase contrast, maybe crop the photo. I need someone with the vision to say, man, that shot would be so great if you zoomed in on this one part, or amped up the brightness, or highlighted the reds. Know what I mean?

Here’s a shot I took a few days ago of Little Miss Sunshine swinging at the park. It was a very sunny day and I liked the way her shadow was trailing after her as she was swinging. I wanted to take a picture of her and her shadow in action.

This is the original picture. It turned out okay but I wish the background (the fence and the road) were more in focus (I know that means I should have used a smaller aperture):

Here is the picture after I brightened it a bit in GIMP – better? or worse?

After I looked at it for a while I noticed that the horizon line, which is very clearly marked by the fence and pathway, was extremely crooked. And I thought that if I were to post this photo to some kind of Flickr group, I’d get 500 comments saying, “Your horizon is crooked, DUMMY.” So I decided to straighten it.

Is that one better? It’s straight now, but I feel like the sense of motion has been lost – now she looks like she’s just dangling there, instead of actively cresting the top of the curve (which she was). So was crooked better?

SO CONFUSING.

Here are a few other kid-free shots from the past couple of weeks. If you love them, that’s awesome! But if you have ideas on how they could be better…I’m dying to hear them.

Blog Out Loud 2011 is booked! It’ll be on Thursday, July 7, 2011, from 7 p.m. to 10 p.m., at The Prescott, which is at Preston and Beech.

Yay!

More details are coming soon but in the meantime, why not grab a sidebar button?

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About a week ago, I cut my left hand while preparing dinner. I actually cut it twice.

The first time, I slashed my middle finger while chopping an onion. It was a deep cut and, as I have NO tolerance for pain whatsoever, I swore and yelled and carried on as if I’d severed my arm. Eventually I calmed down enough to bandage it up and soldier on with the dinner.

The very next cut of that onion, the VERY next one, I sliced open my left thumb. This cut was even worse – it opened wide and deep and probably should have had stitches. Even more horrifying, I had cut sideways through the nail, so any outward pressure on the nail (think peeling-an-orange type pressure) caused it to flex in an alarming way along the fault line, as if it was going to snap completely in half.

(I dramatically declared that that was it, there would be NO DINNER TONIGHT, but eventually bandaged up that one too and carried on, only without any chopped onion. SCREW THAT ONION.)

A few days ago, I was unloading the winter tires from the back of the van, after having had the tires changed, and one dropped right on my left index finger. The nail was crushed and now I have a black bruise underneath it that I know, from experience, will have to grow out. I managed to hold it together pretty well. For me, that means no swearing but lots of groaning and screeching because otherwise, no one else could feel my pain, and when I get a boo-boo, everyone must FEEL MY PAIN.

And then yesterday, I decided to take all the broken crayon bits we have around here and make rainbow crayons with the kids. I didn’t realize that my casual idea would result in an hour of picking paper off of tiny little crayon bits. I got so much coloured wax wedged under my already fragile left thumbnail that it creaked with the pressure and pain.

(The crayons turned out great, although a few of them do have a bit of blood in them. Only makes for a bolder colour, I say!)

My point here is that my poor left hand is in a terrible state, and you don’t realize as a right-handed-person how much you use your left hand until it is swollen and numb with pain. I seem to use my right hand a lot less than I thought I did – it is the hand of strength, while the left is the hand of dexterity. For example. I hold the juice bottle with my right, while I unscrew with my left. I hold an orange in my right, while I peel with my left (BAD idea). I hold dirty dishes with my right, while I scrub them with my left; I hold hot pots with my right while I spoon out food with my left.

An entire orange-peeling dish-washing food-serving crayon-label-removing juice-opening dynasty has been brought to its knees. I’m crippled, begging my left thumb to just heal, already.

STUPID ONION. STUPID TIRE. STUPID CRAYONS.

Here’s an interesting website: Project Democracy.

You can look up your riding and it will show you the election results for the past several elections. It will predict the results for this coming election and let you know how close your riding is expected to be.

The website is aimed at preventing a Conservative majority by alerting people in swing ridings to the possibility of vote splitting. If the Liberal/NDP/Green vote total is higher than the Conservative vote total, then left-leaning voters have a chance to prevent a Conservative win by consolidating their votes behind the strongest left candidate (usually the Liberal candidate).

In many cases, the race is so far gone that there’s little that can change the results, so the site recommends just voting with your conscience (see: my ultra-conservative-until-death riding). In other cases, it’s amazing how close the races are. For example, in West Vancouver, the current Conservative incumbent won by only 400 votes; his Liberal opponent, who has held the seat in the past, last won by only 328 votes. So clearly, the more than 16 000 people who voted NDP or Green could make a huge difference here; if just a handful of those voters supported the Liberals instead, we could avoid a Conservative seat.

It’s a fascinating site, but I’m not sure it’s a good thing. I worry that people in forgone-conclusion ridings will not bother to vote. It can certainly be discouraging to see the numbers when they aren’t going your way.

But how can we ever make a difference if we don’t vote? I think my own riding, despite its firm historical base in ConservativeLand, is changing. The urban centres here are growing exponentially; floods of new people are coming into the area all the time. The face of our riding is changing and I believe that someday, my voice will be heard.

I believe that this riding contains many young families who care about access to affordable, reliable day care. I believe this riding contains many new Canadians who care about increased access to family immigration visas. I believe there are thousands of productive, working women in this riding who do not appreciate being told that their only value to society is as housewives.

I believe that this riding contains many parents who love the easy access to the green belt we have here, and who wish to protect the beauty this land has to offer for their grandchildren and great-grandchildren. I believe that this riding is full of smart, caring people who want Canada to resume its international role of peacekeeper, rather than wannabe bully. I believe that that this riding has many fair-minded people who see the need to reform the Senate, so it is no longer being used as a back-door Prime Minister’s Veto; and who want funding for political parties to continue so all voices can be heard, not just those of the rich who can afford to keep their party afloat.

I believe that if all these people would just SHOW UP on voting day, we would make a difference. Maybe not in this election, but someday, and someday soon.

So for that reason, I worry about the impact of a site like this. I would hate to see even one voter decide that there is no point to participating in democracy because their opinions just don’t matter.

On the other hand, if this site prevents even one Conservative seat, that could stop a Conservative majority, which scares the crap out of me. I’ll be keeping my eye on you, West Vancouver – don’t let me down.

In the Ottawa area, the only potential swing seat is Orleans. It’s a long shot, but if everyone on the left rallied around one candidate it’s possible that the Conservative incumbent could be defeated. It’s exciting to think that you could make a difference, isn’t it? That your vote could change the political make up of Canadian Parliament?

Do something. Vote. Make change happen.

We have a drummer.

Somewhere in my immediate neighbourhood, there lives someone who likes to drum. Someone with a full drum kit, who enjoys practicing on it several times a day. For an hour or more per practice.

It’s a subtle thing. If you were over at my house and we were chatting, you might not notice. At a lull in conversation, you might sense rather than hear a gentle thump-thump-thump in the background. You might ask, “Do you hear something?”, not quite sure if it was there or not.

Trust me, it was there.

I hear it. I can’t NOT hear it. Our house is a quiet house, especially when it’s just me and the Little Miss at home. My quiet is being interrupted now, all the time, by thudding and crashing and bam-bam-bam-bam-bam.

I’ve become obsessed with figuring out who it is. The drumming started when our new neighbours moved in next door, but they’re a respectable couple with young kids, not John and Yoko.

There’s a teenaged boy who lives behind us. He has dyed hair and an earring. SUSPECT. And yet, I often see him coming home at the end of the day, a solid alibi for all the daytime drumming.

Once I was outside when the drumming started, and I could have sworn it was echoing up the street to my ears from a house four or five down. They’ve got two teenaged boys, too. But shouldn’t they be in school?

The drummer is fairly considerate. He never drums after 8 p.m., nor before 10 a.m. (although that’s probably the typical morning waking time of a rocker dude). I guess he’s a good enough drummer, too – it’s not offensive, just annoying. And I like to think that all this practicing – SO MUCH practicing – means he’s gotten a semi-pro gig and is on his way to greatness.

(Not that it is necessarily a boy, I just don’t have any female suspects at this time. Man, am I going to be surprised when the middle-aged mom next door turns out to be the drummer.)

I’m worried, now that summer is coming, that I’ll never escape the drumming. It will flow into our household through open windows, surround us as we play in the backyard, a constant, steady beat driving our lives forward. Bada dum, bada bam, bada bim bam boom.

Which will be louder, the drumming or the sound of my head beating against a wall?

When Little Miss Sunshine is feeling lonely, or tired, or hungry, or bored, she wants cuddles. She needs to be held, hugged, kissed, snuggled. When my lap is already full of a laptop or potatoes I’m peeling for dinner, it can get a little challenging. But if I need to make the Little Miss feel better, I need only pull her into my arms and smother her with kisses.

When Gal Smiley needs a show of love, she wants to do something with me. Doing an activity together makes her feel included, part of a club, an insider. She’s not into physical affection – kisses are out of the question and small, quick hugs are barely tolerated. But if you’re too busy for a game, or if you’re working on something that she can’t help with – that’s rejection. She’s our social girl, and you need to show her you love her by spending time with her.

When Captain Jelly Belly has had a hard day, he needs to be pampered. An upset Captain needs to be gently led to the couch and wrapped in a blanket. He needs someone to bring him a hot chocolate and a snack, fetch him his favourite stuffed animal, maybe rub down his back. If you ask him to do chores around the house, it’s akin to telling him you don’t love him – how could you possibly expect him to make his own bed? Don’t you CARE ANYMORE? It’s a challenge to find a good balance, but if the Captain really needs to feel loved, you only need to wait on him a bit.

I wonder if these will be their behaviour patterns their whole lives. Will the Little Miss always need to be touched to feel loved? Will Gal Smiley only be happy with friends who invite her to every event and activity? Will the Captain require a wife who is willing to pick up his socks and make him dinner every night (extremely likely, and my deep apologies in advance to the future Mrs. Captain)?

These are the kinds of things that make parents feel that they, and only they, will ever truly know and understand their kids. Will I always know them better than they know themselves? Or will they change someday, and suddenly I’ll find everything I thought I knew is no longer true…leaving me on the outside, looking fruitlessly for cuddles and inclusion and pampering?

I can’t even tell you what makes my own self feel loved. I should ask my mother, or Sir Monkeypants. I know it isn’t any of these – I’m not a cuddly person by a long shot, I value my time alone, being served makes me feel antsy and fake. But I’m learning to give my children what they need, and to find my own comfort in that.

My three little ones have taught me how to make them feel loved. And that makes me feel loved, in return.

Man, I love Elizabeth May. Everything that comes out of that woman’s mouth is just so darn sensible. Every time I see her on TV or hear her on the radio, I find myself nodding along in agreement. With EVERYTHING. Why is it so hard for all the other parties to see the obvious?

This morning I heard her on the CBC talking about Parliamentary Reform, and what needs to be done to make our system work again (representatives free to vote as their constituents would like, rather than towing the party line; coalitions or other alliances encouraged and approved; Senate abolished or made elected; crazy amounts of power given to the Prime Minister’s office, when he is not even elected to the position directly, removed). And I was like, yes, yes, and more yes.

I was reading a while back on Milan’s blog about how maybe the Green Party should restrict themselves to talking about the environment only. The idea behind it is that the Greens have important stuff to say on the environment, but if someone is turned off by their opinion on a lesser issue – say, their immigration policy or their health care plan – they will reject the whole party. Personally, I think the role of the Greens right now is to bring in some fresh blood and new ideas. And to be sensible. And if Ms. May has ideas on anything plaguing Canada right now, I want to listen. She just makes sense.

The really frustrating thing for me in this election, and indeed every election, is that my riding sucks. It’s considered a Conservative “safe seat” in that I don’t think we have ever elected anyone who was not a conservative, federally or provincially. In fact, my riding is the only one east of Manitoba to ever elect a Reform candidate – stand proud, my brothers! If there were something to the right of the Conservatives – and then something farther to the right of THEM – my neighbours would be all over it.

So although the Liberal party has produced an excellent candidate here (shout out to Karen McCrimmon!), she has no chance. Whether I vote for the Greens, or the Liberals, or the NDP (who have totally and rightly given up here by offering up a sacrificial lamb of a new-grad candidate), it’s like throwing my vote away. Don’t get me wrong, I will be there on voting day and I will cast my vote. But all the time I am investing in learning about the issues and researching my local candidates and carefully weighing my decision feels…meaningless.

Everyone around here has already decided to vote Conservative (the number of conservative lawn signs on my street is FRIGHTENING); my riding even throws tons of money at the local candidate and the party on an annual basis. It’s all just so FRUSTRATING.

As I get older I find I care so much more about things, but it feels like my vote just does not matter. How is it I ended up living in a place like this?

“Call me a rock.”

Little Miss Sunshine loves bathtime. No matter her mood, a bath will settle her down. Her already high little-girl voice raises an octave as she softly murmurs a dialog between her mermaid toys: i’m a good swimmer i can swim fast too flounder don’t be such a guppy let’s swim to the cove today i’d like to come along but watch out for that shark he’s hungry.

Eventually, after many warnings, I pull the plug. She sighs and gets out of the tub.

“Call me a rock,” she says, curling up in a ball on the bathmat, completely hidden by her towel.

That’s my cue to start my lines in her little play. Any protests that I am too tired or it’s too late or I just don’t feel like it today, not after doing the same thing for the past 100 days, are just met with louder and louder demands to be called a rock. “CALL ME A ROCK,” she calls from her hiding place, as if my protests mean I have gone deaf.

Here’s my part: “Oh, look, such a lovely rock! It’s so big and pretty, all covered with flowers. I’d love to take it home to my garden. I’ll just pick it up…oh that’s funny. It’s all lumpy…here…and here…and here [insert some giggling]…why, this isn’t a rock at all!”

Little Miss Sunshine peeks out. “Meow?”

Me: “Ooooh, it’s a little kitty! A wee white kitty, hiding under a blanket! She is so cute and soft! What is your name, kitty?”

Her, very high and squeaky: “Marie.”

Me: “And do you have a famiy, Marie?”

Her: shakes her head forlornly

Me: “Would you like to come home and live with me? I would love you forever. I have a nice room where you can sleep and a little stuffed bear that will be your special friend.”

Her: nodding happily and jumping into my lap “Meow!”

She is the director, and I am just a player on her stage. She’ll decide when we have enough takes of Call Me A Rock.

[This post is part of Brie’s series called Monday Moments – her prompt for this Monday was “hiding.” It’s not Monday. Better late than never?]