End of an Era...Sort Of.

And.....SEND!

"No more school, no more books, no more teachers, dirty looks!"

Kinda.....for now.

Having had one more paper left hanging from my last class that ended in December, I finally polished it off and hit that SEND button just minutes ago.

My last paper for the year.

As I breathe heavily and glance soulfully at the papers and textbooks strewn around me, I try to collect my feelings of.....accomplishment?  Of dread? Of forlornness?

My feelings are mixed: like waiting for the other shoe to drop, I'm waiting for the jubilee I expected from completing my final assignment before my pending maternity leave from work and school, but it's just not coming.  It's like I'm missing something: is it a fear? A fear of a lack of purpose in life?  Perhaps not a fear of a lack of purpose but perhaps a fear of being rejected from the life I knew, a built-up, dream-like state of academia life and being lost within my real reality, of family and obligations.

Is that wrong?

School will be there for me next January when I resume my degree, and although it's difficult to envision now, next January will come around so fast I'll likely be cursing the passage of time and longingly look back to what the future holds for me today.

So, as parallelisms go, as I gather my papers and close my books, I end another chapter in my life and open another one.  Instead of going to classes, taking notes, writing papers, one thing that will remain the same are my group projects, albeit of a different kind.

My group will now consist of my husband, my two little boys and my new little girl who arrives in 3 weeks, and my new projects will be more colourful, likely messy and dysfunctional, and most definitely more satisfying than I could possibly imagine.

A Red, Pink and Blonde Valentine's

I've never been much into Valentine's Day. Just another commercial day to force you to acknowledge those who love you. Ok, to remind you might be a more diplomatic term. (Did I mention I got a paper shredder one year from my husband? I try not to read between the lines if I can help it).

Yesterday, while I didn't do anything to acknowledge the day (I wore black , coincidentally), my two little men each gave me a long-stemmed rose that they picked out themselves...red and pink.

And Hubby surprised me with tickets to Legally Blonde: The Musical!

I love this musical....the music is catchy, and I've been wanting to see this for a while. I DID have to go online and pick out the seats I wanted. AND because I'm an email subscriber to Broadway Across Canada, I had a promo code for $45 Orchestra seats ($30 off!). He was going to pay $122US/ticket but thought I should pick the seats I want so I had to go online and buy them first, and good thing: he was on the venue's ticketing site, and not Ticketmaster (who DOESN'T go through Ticketmaster?)

So, I saved him a bundle, I get to Go Pink, and life just became peachy again!

Just a Litte Tear Drop

I've been sick, as you know, and not liking it one bit.

I've worked five whole days since March 25 and I'm sure my coworkers are coming to some conclusion by now that this is getting rather ridiculous.

I couldn't agree more.

At the risk of providing TMI, I'll spare you the details of how gross my sputum has become and where it's decided to lodge itself permanently and set up house. Whether what I've got is indeed pneumonia or not (I'm on Avelox, at $7 a pill!), it sucks even worse when compounded with excruciating lower back pain which boldly surfaces whenever I have to suddenly cough (and expel said sputum!).

So, in addition to Avelox, I'm also on Robax, an OTC medicine for backpain. Containing some magnesium, I have to delay taking it in the morning because of reduced absorption of the Avelox medication. So in the morning, I've got no meds to numb the back pain, usually until about noon. Afterwards, I'm good to go, popping two of those suckers every 6 hours, the max dose allowed. 500mg of Methocarbamol, a muscle-relaxant, and 200 mg Ibuprofen in each pill and I can at least get up from the toilet without crying out Momma.

But the physical pain doesn't compare to the mental anguish I got today from watching my kids leave the house with my parents. My 16-month old slept over at my parents' place last night, the second time ever, and twice this month, and I had a feeling he might stay over again tonight. It was really nice to not have to wake up in the middle of the night and rock him back to sleep as he requires, usually both of us cranky at this point, and waking up in the morning because you felt like it was actually a good time to get up. (Frankly, the only reason I got up was to pop an Avelox so I can take my Robax by noon, and not, as most would think, to pop in some waffles in the toaster oven for the The Big Kid's breakfast -- priorities, people!).

Although I'll see The Big Kid later tonight, I quietly cried at the window as my parents piled the two kids into their van. I can't carry my growing 25-pounder, nor kiss him lots, for fear of getting him more sick (he's still got a bit of bronchialitis); my back is too painful to cart him around like he likes me to. And suddenly a waft of sympathy fell over me, a little sliver of the pain my cousin's wife must have felt as her daughter was carted away from her as she battled her fight with cancer. Then I lost it completely, crumpled to the ground, reliving the agony.

I'm not equating my silly little ailment to something monstrous like cancer, but I felt a tiny twang of pain than must have been a billion-fold more horrendous for my dear cousin-in-law who passed away last October, leaving behind her husband and the sweetest little 2 year old you'll ever meet. I understood it then, but I feel it now.

But now is not the time to reminisce about something still so painful to our family. No, the focus is to take things into perspective and just get better!

Health is pivotal to everything in life ... doing daily tasks, caring for my family, and yes, doing the Daily Grind and working your ass off. I'm sure my husband would appreciate me getting better, as he (un)intentionally makes me guilty of him doing all the laundry and tidying up for me (I swear, being home all day does not benefit the beauty of our home, and in fact it's on a downward slide) and making dinner (oh, who am I kidding --- my cooking hiatus started way before I got sick).

So, my tears fell because I miss my life. I want everything to return to normal, whatever normal is. Just not THIS. I want to return to work, I want to return to running, I want to return to caring for my family.

But all that will have to wait until I return to health.

Parlons Francais, Part Deux

So, we accepted the enrollment spot for french immersion in the Fall.

It took over a week to finally hash it out with my husband, the pros and cons. I was already set on it, having mulled it over while driving to and from work, during running, before drifting off to sleep each night, during commercials of Olympic coverage. I just needed to go through the formality of having actually having a discussion with the hubby before making a final decision.

Technically, we have until this Monday, Feb 22, 3pm, to inform them of our acceptance. I wanted to confirm before the weekend though, in case, through a slight oversight, should the school decide to rescind their offer, pulling a fast joke on us or having had placed their bets that we would never have called back in the first place.

Hubby was hesitant, of course, to agree with me, without so much of an argument, though. He's a brooding-kind of debater, if there was such a thing, and getting him to speak his mind succinctly is like arguing with the wall.

He was concerned with how he would learn to spell dog or cat if they weren't going to teach him that. We would have to help him, by continuing to read to him in English at home, I say. But we're so busy in the evenings as it is, he argues. We'll have to change that, I insist.

But, bottom-line, he just wants him to go to a good school, learn well, and be "more smarter than his father".

As I see it, since hubby hit the nail on the head by admitting out loud his education goals for his son, whatever decision we made is ultimately the best one.

Slap This to Your Forehead!

My husband just doesn't get it!

Just because your son is wearing a long-sleeved shirt doesn't mean that it's warm enough to be in and out of the car in 7C/44F degree weather. He came down with a fever that night, and, sure, it may not have been because he was without a jacket, but why chance the fact that viruses are already propagating around and he could already be fighting something.

Why stress the immune system?

And he doesn't see anything wrong in what he did! That's what irks me.

Strike One....I'm counting...

Happy Anniversary To Me!

Today's my 7th wedding anniversary.

Where has the time gone?

I find it difficult to understand how time has really flown by. I remember getting married back in 2002 (it's a little hazy but I have photos!). We bought a house that year. 2003 were my "running days". 2004, got pregnant, gave birth in 2005. 2006 and '07 are a blur (with a kid, that's a given). 2008, got pregnant again and gave birth by year end...

And here we are in 2009.

I wanna say I'd like to celebrate our 7th anniversary, but it's a moot point when we've been together for almost 18 years.

Yes, high school sweethearts. I've been with the man in my life for longer than I haven't been. We went to the same high school; I remember seeing him in Grade 8 across the hallway at his locker. No, it wasn't love-at-first-sight (he may disagree), but he was cute: aren't all red heads? Something about that fiery colour and quirky freckles does something to me. Well, I had a Raggedy Andy rag doll which I still shared the same bed with, so I did have a penchant for red heads for as long as I can remember.

And, yes, we were band geeks (why my love for the show Glee is growing fervently!). Technically, he was the band geek, playing trumpet, while I was rocking with the guitar club -- I migrated over to the vocal jazz and chamber ctoir soon afterwards. We went on a week-long music department field trip by bus in the Spring of Grade 10, when he tried to "talk to the cute girl" and introduced her to the styling rhymings of Flava Flav and his Public Enemy crew (he was a wanna-be white boy rapper, back in the day!). I don't think I ever returned his cassette tape!

We wouldn't talk again until Grade 11. There, we sorta went our separate ways, so conversations were pretty limited: I, the Honour Roll student, taking every single accelerated class I can fit in my schedule, and he, trying not to flunk out of English and Math, tired from early morning hockey practices and evening bowling leagues (yes, he was a 5-pin bowler!).

Another summer would pass and still no contact. He phoned me once, and I wasn't home, and I phoned once, and he was out too. I guess we couldn't be bothered to try a second time.

So, come Grade 12, he was determined to get to know me better. After spending 4 hours on the phone, watching the movie Space Balls "together" -- to this date, THE longest conversation we shared, married or not :P -- our first date ensued (saw My Girl, where he cried and I didn't -- the first of many movies where he would shed a tear while stoic-me would roll my eyes). A second date a week later would culminate in an awkward first kiss and a "would you be my girlfriend" request. I obviously meant "yes" but I seem to recall shrugging "why not?".

We would date -- I kid you not! -- for another 10 years before he proposed to me. I know not many people would have waited, but given that we started seeing each other rather early in our lives, and with my university and post-grad studies and my career, only the last couple of those years were dragging.

We've had our ups and downs before and during marriage, but it's been good, overall. He's a part of me, regardless of how crazy he drives me when he's drunk, tries to be a handyman, tries to avoid being a handyman, when he's drunk again. As a testament to his nature, he has many friends who find him indispensable, and sharing him with the world has been one of my many trials.

He appreciates me, I know he does: we'd be swimming in socks and underwear in the living room if it weren't for me. All kidding aside, today of all days, I at least get an honest-to-goodness I Love You.

"The best seven years of my life" he told me today.

Aww, shucks...who would've known that a "why not" would have led to something so good.

Happy Anniversary, Honey!

Fireproofing

I watched a movie a couple of days ago called Fireproof, starring Kirk Cameron. As you may or may not know, Kirk Cameron, TV teen of yesteryear, has now taken a turn through the Christian circuit, starring and producing in wholesome family entertainment, spreading the good words of Jesus Christ. I'm not one to judge, and seeing that I love watching dramas, and, well, it's Kirk Cameron after all, I figured I'd sit down and watch it while everyone was asleep in the house.

Without spending so much time explaining this movie, here's a widget to fiddle around with:



It's not in theatres now, but on DVD. Some of the acting is a bit hokey, but only because some of the characters weren't played by real actors, but...

putting aside the fact I am Christian, I think this movie really leaves the movie-goer with a lot to ponder on and gives a good solid message to those who are married, or even thinking about getting married. Regardless of your faith or spirituality, it does provide round-table discussion with girlfriends, other couples, and especially your own spouse. What is love? What does it mean? How do I love? Who hasn't thought about why we're with the person we're currently with? Even the happiest and healthiest marriages have to struggle with this question, and it's the answer many couples face as they simply try to "survive" their marriage. It's definitely given this girl something to chew on!

I'm coming up on my own seven years of marriage, and although some days are struggles, there are days of bliss, but even I could take a lesson on making my marriage "fireproof". I made a date with my husband this weekend so that we could watch this movie together. Maybe we will even go so far as talk about it openly...well, I can hope. I have many faults I wish to correct, and hope that this will be a way to start correcting them and provide for open, honest discussion. I love my husband way more than I tell him, and I hope I can change that.

Funny how movies can change your life.

Cappuccinos

Nothing like finding something you knew you had but haven't enjoyed yet...

Enter my espresso machine.

When you get married, you get a barrage of useful and not-so-useful gifts. Gifts you thought you wanted and when you got them, not so much anymore. Gifts you thought would be great to have because it's pretty, but pretty isn't pretty when it's in a cupboard. And gifts you get that you didn't ask for, but got, and be gracious you got anything in the first place.

I got married 6 years ago, and have TONS of kitchen-stuff I have never used.

Again, enter my espresso machine.

My husband, who gets in these moods, decides to be Mr. Gourmet (with all the baking he does, albeit, always cookies), and he whips out the espresso machine. I did that once eons ago, "whip it out", and although I'm a Starbucks freak and love my coffee, I couldn't figure the thing out. So back in the cupboard you go!

My husband, of all people, figured it out last night. After almost 7 years in the cupboard, I figured the thing was destined for Sally Ann. Well, I must say, I had a pretty darn good cup of espresso last night, and that made me feel, well, darn good! (Given the day I had yesterday, even some tea would have sufficed...but bring on the caffeine!)

So I tried out the thing myself this morning...not bad! I managed to froth myself up some steamed milk too and enjoyed a cappuccino. In fact, I made another one and am enjoying the fruits of my labour. :)

The screaming baby sure sounds a little more distant right now...I'm in heaven, if only for a while.

Drunk Husbands...part 2

Here we go again.

Talking to a drunk husband is worse than talking to a 3-year-old. Three-year-olds respond to the best of their ability, no matter what the question. Are you hungry, are you sad, are you sleepy, and they'd answer to are you drunk, if they understood the concept.

Apparently, drunk husbands don't understand the concept either...or any concepts, for that matter.

Wake up, it's 6:15, when's your tee time time?

It's 6:15, your cell phone is ringing. Are you missing golf?

Wake up, and answer your phone!

Waking up a naked blob of flesh on your livingroom sofa isn't what I call a great start to a Holiday.

To everyone BUT my husband, Happy Canada Day! I hope his Canada Day is just plain awful, if he still heads into work at noon (I doubt THAT will happen!), since he probably had a spankin' Canada Day Eve!

Hmm...really? Can't be...

...pregnant....yes, it's true...at least, I think.

My period hasn't come in about two weeks, and I thought this was getting ridiculous! Then I got to thinking, maybe, just maybe, I'm pregnant. Hmm, when would that have happened? I can't even, honestly, think that far back! LOL

So the first day of my last period was Feb 28. I went to Vegas between Mar 21 to Mar 25, which was when I expected to ovulate. I think (!) I did the deed before then, but I do know I did it once after then too. But I have long cycles (about 33-35 days long), so I'm trying to convince myself I got pregnant after the Vegas trip (if I'm pregnant at all!)

Let's back track as to why I need to determine when I got pregnant: I drank a lot in Vegas. Not once, but several times. Got drunk that first night, but not so much the other night but I think it's mainly because I didn't drink fast. But either way, I still drank a tall vodka cranberry on April 4, so I'm not completely in the clear.

So, yeah, I think I'm pregnant. I went out on Tuesday to buy a pregnancy test at the drugstore, and, in all honesty, I only bought it because it was the cheapest one on the shelf, at almost half price at $12. Considering I was hoping it wouldn't be positive, I wasn't worried about the quality of the sticks!

I didn't take the test right away, but should have because I went out to dinner and was feeling really, really guilty about taking some sips of red wine. I must have had about 6-10 sips before I passed it over to my cousin and told her (and the rest of the table) that I bought pregnancy tests and probably shouldn't drink anymore.

So I finally took it that night. Instructions are to pee for 5 seconds, no more, no less, and wait 2 minutes before reading the window. If you see a "+" then it's positive.

I saw a + right away, as I was counting the 5 seconds, and while I placed the cap back on, and while I laid it flat on the bathroom counter. I walked to the livingroom to sit down for the 2 minutes, then came back to the bathroom to read the instructions on how to interpret the results.

The kicker was the sentence "it doesn't matter if the lines of the + sign are different intensities", with the graphic showing the different appearances of the + sign. Mine matches the first example they showed for a positive result: dark vertical line, fainter horizontal line.



Shit.

My husband came out of my son's bedroom after putting him to sleep and I called him in the bathroom to interpret the result. He'd never make it as a woman: he couldn't even understand the instructions!

We gingerly high-fived each other, as our faces remained twisted with fear, mine more so than his (actually, mine a lot more!). I've been drinking here and there, I haven't been taking my prenatal pills religiously, I can't fly out to my cousin's wedding in November before the start of my third trimester, I've been eating either horribly, too much, or starving myself, and to top it all off, I'm terribly dehydrated because I drink more coffee than water.

What a great start, Kid!

I have an appointment with my family doctor today at 3:45 to confirm my results, and if it's true, how far along I am, if she can do an ultrasound.

And today is my birthday too. How's that for a surprise?

Drunk Husbands

You probably don't have to have a husband to know what I'm talking about. Be it boyfriend, common-law or not, significant other, etc, it all boils down to the same thing: husbands and drinking don't mix, or at least shouldn't.

My husband, being of Irish/Scottish descent, can naturally drink. I'm not implying here that those of Irish descent are alcoholics, but simply they can handle their liquor....but to a point, as I can only assume everyone has a threshold.

Well, apparently last night was one of the nights my husband reached his threshold. He gets very belligerent, a word he likes to use to describe a friend of his when that guy gets drunk. He usually says that with disgust, which is terribly ironic since he's exactly the same way, but probably only worse. Last night was not an exception....oh no! Scene: add my family as an audience, you've got a conconction for raw embarrassment and extreme regret.

As much as I would just love to embarrass him in front of the world as payback for his idiotness time and time again, I won't indulge in the sordid details of his splendid drunken glory last night, specifically what happened when we arrived home. Perhaps in another post when my emotions aren't as high. Given I'm in PMS mode right now, he sure is extremely lucky I'm not blogging for vengeance but for some sort of therapy, marriage-counselling, if you will. Sympathy? Yes, please....lots of it.

Note to self: must invent pull-out bed in bathroom one day.

Movies

I'm a busy mom and wife trying to run a household, working full-time hours (and then some). I don't have time to do movies, in theatre or on DVD. I tried on Friday to watch go to the movies, no babysitter; I tried today, still no babysitter. No matter, since it's been a year or so, what's another weekend? I finally settled down and watched a movie on the small screen. By force, rather.

I was busy filing through old bills, working on some financial housekeeping (a future post, I promise), and my husband keeps passing by the room, pausing, and giving me this burning stare as if to say, "You busy?" He did this a few times within a 5- minute span, always shrugging, "oh, nothing", to my impatient "What?!?"

So I follow him to the livingroom and ask, "Do you really want me to watch Mr. & Mrs Smith with you?". Yes, was his reply, you'd enjoy it.

So I sat and watched, by force, like I said. We've owned the movie for a while, but I never got around to watching it. Entertaining piece of Hollywood. I won't reveal more about the movie in case you haven't seen it, but I probably was the last person in North America to bear witness to the Jolie-Pitt love affair unfolding on the screen. I must admit, that's one sexy couple!

We finished the movie, and my husband thought he would pop in another DVD for us to watch, since I seemed to be in the mood and not distracted like I normally am.

We've been test-driving a DVD service for the past couple of months, where we create a list of movies we want to watch and we get them sent in the mail and return them back via mail too. No late fees, no walking to Blockbuster. It's a little bit like Christmas when we find out what movies we get sent. We've had a couple of DVDs lying around just waiting to get watched; my husband popped in one of these movies: Blood Diamonds.

My husband had seen most of it already, unable to wait until we watched it together. Naturally, he fell asleep halfway through. I, myself, was entralled! As a pacifist, and a parent, I watched wistfully at the characters' plights. Starring Leonardo DiCaprio, Djimon Hounsou, and Jennifer Connelly, it tells of Sierra Leone in the 1990s, ravaged by revolutionaries and rampant genocide, cursed with the taste for wealth due to trafficked conflict diamonds. A moving story of a diamond smuggler, a journalist and a man whose family means more to him than all the diamonds in the world. An amazing, gut-wrenching movie which is stll keeping me awake at 2am.

I used to watch movies and not be affected like this. It's one of the reasons why I don't mind watching horror movies; I never carry any of it away with me. But, somehow, a responsibility has grown within me, and I have this inane compassion that just spills out when I watch dramas now. Case in point: Pursuit of Happyness, starring Will Smith. Never revealed before, I had an emotional breakdown during that movie. I commiserated so well with the main character, the dams broke and I just cracked, cried and cried and cried like I never had before. To this day, I believe that was a turning point in my life; funny how a silly, ol' movie does that to you.

So, just like after Pursuit of Happyness, pondering on my own financial destiny and my meaning of happiness, I ponder yet again, tonight on the genocide and emotional scars of Sierra Leone's youth. The movie, despite its Hollywood sensationalism, reminds me of how frivolous and petty my own problems are and how there are many, many issues in this world that are just so much greater than ourselves. I survive to go to work to pay off a mortgage, spend whatever time possible with family, keep the house clean; others just survive. Period. For me, movies have become a lesson to learn from, a window, of sorts, of what life is like on the other side for others. Being born in Canada, I don't have a history of walking through barren fields, heavy jungle or even urban disaster zones of gunfire. I'm blessed to own a home, my parents still talk to me, I have a car, a job, my health, even some friends. Clearly, I have many things in life to be thankful for; a couple of them lie peacefully asleep in beds under warm blankets, breathing gently amidst the still of the night. I should join them, and dream with them, because I can.

Towel Bar

Yes, friends, we have a towel bar!

In previous posts I may have alluded to my disappointment in unsuccessfully persuading my husband to install another towel bar in our bathroom, after my toddler decided to swing on our previous one for fun. After almost a couple of months of hanging my wet towels on the handle of our closet door in the hallway, we finally have a place to hang our towels again!

It's a rather stunning towel bar, as far as towel bars go. We got it in chrome, since most of our fixtures match, and it's a double-bar, which will bode well for the survival of our marriage.

We have a really tiny bathroom, with really only enough space for one attached towel bar. I had always taken the bar while my husband always resorted to hanging his towels behind the bathroom door, on a plastic, accordion-like hook system (installed when we bought the house, and we didn't bother taking it down). Call me anal, fussy, whatever, but I like to hang wet items up and get really teed off when I find a wet towel over my side of the bed. By the time I find this used towel, it's been few hours and it's dried, somewhat, taking on a stiffened shape of a ball. If you've ever had the pleasure of hanging up a stiff towel over a plastic knob such like we have behind our bathroom door, you too would enjoy the endless joviality of bending over again and again to pick up the towel off the floor; they refuse to stay on the hook unless wet. Many a violent time had I had with that towel and hook!

It's a tough call, actually, which I hate more, the wet towel on my bed or it falling off that plastic rack. By having a dedicated place to hang our towels once again, I'll be able to direct my husband to bring his towel to its righteous place, be it wet or dry. All order is finally restored....for now!

Google, My Car and I

I love Google! Really, it's the best invention ever!

Sure there are other search engines, but nothing beats Google. It's become synonymous with living in the 21st century. Everyone Googles, everyone but perhaps my mom. But everyone should.

I'm only singing my praises because my it helped me change my headlight bulb today. The bulb blew out on the weekend and if I left it to my husband's devices, it would not get fixed until I get a ticket (are there any cruisers out there giving tickets to broken volume controls on TVs?...)

I didn't want to be that guy on the road, the one you flash your lights out to code "hey, get your lights fixed, you moron; I can't see you!". I was ready to raise my hand in salute to the oncoming traffic, to signal my sheepish gratitude to all who flashed me. Yes, I know, I know, but my husband hasn't gotten around to it....

But neither was I going to be the wife who was going to wait for him to do so (there are sooo many things I'm still waiting on around the house!). I thought I could ask my dad to help me, since he's done it before, probably (mine's can't be the first bulb to burn out). Instead of rather help me, though, he'd probably do it himself while I stood idly by. But I couldn't get hold of him, so off to google I go.

I probably should correct myself here, but I found my answer through google but, really, at the wiki.answers.com website. Here, you can ask a question and the answer is written out in plain english, written by self-acknowledged experts around the world who thought they could shed some light (haha, pardon the pun) on something confusing.

So, after calling my local Honda Parts & Service to see if they were indeed open and they had a Civic '95 bulb for me to buy, at just under $11, out in the snow I went.

On my drive back, I psyched myself up to getting this job done. I read the instructions over and over in the car, memorizing each step, in case someone at the shop asked "you know what you're doing, little lady?" or something condescending like that. I parked the car in the garage, and rolled up my sleeve. Prepare to get your hands dirty, the instructions say. Hmm, I don't like that part. Here goes....

I fiddled around under the hood a bit, working without a light. Besides, the instructions say I can't see a thing anyways, and that I have to feel around. So much for staying as clean as possible.

First off, I have to say I don't know how big burly mechanic hands can get in between the steering fluid compartment and the headlight. My little hands could barely get in there to remove the plug. I then removed the rubber covering but had trouble visualizing the metal clip that's supposed to swing open when I press on it. My husband did come in the garage and provide me with an industrial light to see, which helped me see what the heck he did when he unclipped the metal pin for me. Thanks, I'll take it from here....

I'm sure if my husband tried to do this, he'd put his filthy hands all over the halogen bulb, which you're NOT supposed to do, as the oils will cause it to die prematurely and perhaps even explode violently. He'd probably just grease the whole bulb, thinking I was just being my plain old anal self. I gingerly placed my hands back in that little crevice to align the bulb properly, then reversed the procedures accordingly.

Another adjustment or two, the bulb was fixed! Perfectly aligned, shining brightly in the garage, my husband giving me the thumbs up. I was expecting him to call me a grease monkey or something like that, but he didn't. He's just probably shaking his head again, at my impatience of getting things done fast and doing them myself to spite him.

So, I'm damn proud of myself, and eventually called my dad to brag. Thanks, Google, for being there when we needed you. Now, I can flash my lights at the other morons on the road: Just Google it!

---------------------------------------------------

Here's the instructions I followed, if anyone needs it:

http://wiki.answers.com/Q/How_do_you_replace_the_headlight_bulb_located_on_a_1994_Honda_Civic

I just read that part about removing the steering fluid compartment out before working so it's easier. So that's how those big hands get in there!

Insomnia

I can't sleep. It's 4am and I can't sleep.

My husband isn't home, out to Whistler for an overnight trip to go boarding tomorrow. I'd be in bed by now if he were here (yeah, sorry, nothing salacious!), only because he hates the sound of the tap, tap, tap of me on my keyboard as I send off an email, write my blog, or, gasp, browsing on Facebook. I'm alone, the kid's asleep, and I'm awake.

I'll probably only get 2, maybe 3, hours of sleep before the parade breaks loose around here and Sunday morning gets heralded in by rice krispies and a yet another round of a favourite Pixar DVD.

My husband isn't gone for overnight often, at least not recently, so I feel like Kevin from the movie Home Alone. I laugh when I think of myself running around the house with my arms flailing in the air above my head. It would really be nice to not do anything maternal around the house, and just act like a kid.

Now I'm really dreaming...I guess I should lie down and at least dream in bed awake!