GROSS

Today was the second last day of school for us teachers. Tomorrow we have to be here for half the day and then we are free for summer, yipeeeeeee! I was cleaning up my classroom and my desk today and there is no way for me to deny it anymore, I am gross. I used to be a lot more "Type A," very organized and anal about things being neat, being put away in their specific place, but it seems, that as I age, I become less and less type A and more and more...gross! It's not just my classroom either. This morning as I washed my face, I noticed how disgusting my bathroom sink has become. There was a time when I would take a lysol wipe and wipe out the sink after every use, now, however, I seem to leave the sink until the water physically will not go down the drain anymore before scrubbing it, ewwwwwww! The bathroom floor is covered in my own hair, hair, I used to faithfully sweep up after each blow dry, but the task has grown tedious and I can't seem to remember to haul the broom up the stairs each time. The kitchen floor is covered with puppy paw prints. Piles of dog hair collect on an hourly basis in every corner of the main floor and rather than try to keep up with all this mess, I have just given up! My mom warned me about this everytime I would complain that the dog hair and paw prints in her house were gross. She warned me that when I got a dog or had a child, I would lose this anal retentiveness. I didn't believe her, but she was right! My car, is hands down, the most disgusting place I am responsible for. The bottom of the cup holders are carpeted with grimy spilled coffe and the crumbs of snacks that have stuck to it. The seats, all of them, are plastered with dog hair, the floors are caked with gravel, mud, hay and several road snacks that have missed my mouth and the windows are smeared with dog saliva. I actually laughed outloud at my grossness when I lifted a box of school stuff onto my backseat and shoved it right next to the horse hoof trimming and some other strange animal bone (bribes to get Scout back in the car after a day visiting Uncle Dirt), occupying prime real estate on the back seat! But the grossest of all, something I have been doing all year, but did not realize exactly how gross it was until today, was...the mug. I kept this giant coffee mug on the table behind my desk. I didn't drink coffee out of it, but rather used it as more of a spitoon. See, I have been trying to cut back on my gum chewing habit (another gross thing I do, when you consider that at it's worst, this habit involved me chewing 14 pieces of gum a day,) in order to curb this habit, I started swishing mouthwash. I kept a bottle of minty fresh mouth wash in my desk drawer. Every now and then I'd swish some around in my mouth and spit it into "the mug!" Today, I had to empty that mug, ewwwwwwwwwwww! Dont even try to imagine what a years worth of mouthwash spit looks like pooled in a giant coffe mug, it will only make you gag....GROSSSSSSS!

A DAY WITH UNCLE DIRT FACE

Scout loves her "Uncle Dirt Face." She is constantly licking his legs, eating treats as they drop out of his mouth and trying to engage him in play by running her crazy puppy circles round and round him! I like to think Dirt loves her too, how can he not? Everyone who meets her, eventually loves, Scout! Today I took my camera with me as Scout, Dirt and I ventured into the quarter section behind the Farm. Just a day with Uncle Dirt Face!

STUPID!!

Hind sight is 20/20. You know what I am talkin' about. I wouldn't even have to write another word, and you would know that I, or someone I know, had done something stupid. You'd be right too, except the story I am about to tell is not about me or anyone I know personally. It's about a friend of a friend and the stupid thing she did that horrified me!

This lady went riding one day on her little grey arabian. She decided to take her dog along on the trail with her, only instead of letting her dog trot along the trail beside her, off leash, she made, what turned out to be, a stupid decision....she put her dog on a long leash, then tied the leash to the saddle horn! I know, I know, you are starting to imagine all the ways this story could turn ugly. As I write these words, "tied the leash to the saddle horn," it makes my skin crawl with anticipation of horrifying events, and I wonder how these same forethoughts could not have been running through this lady's head as she was tying the rope. That, though, is where "hindsight is 20/20" comes in...
Anyway, she tied the leash to the saddle horn. The sun came out and the lady decided to dismount from her horse in order to "safely" take off her jacket. She left the dog tied to the horn and began pulling her coat over her head. The dog, a curious type, chased a squirrel under the horse's belly, then around behind the horse's legs. About the time the dog ran out of rope, the horse felt the leash tighten around his hind legs. The horse, not expecting to find his legs pulled tight together, fought the rope, by bolting and kicking off into the bush. By the time the horse came to a stop and the lady caught up to him, there was nothing left on the end of the rope, but a limp, lifeless body. The dog died and the lady has spent the last 10 years wishing she hadn't tied the leash to the saddle horn! If only she could do it all over....hindsight being 20/20, she wouldn't make the same mistake twice!

COLTON

Marty is an only child. I find this very curious. I am constantly asking him about what it was like not having siblings. I once asked him what it was like when he went camping with his mom and dad and not brothers or sisters. I couldn't imagine a long road trip with no sisters crowding my half of the backseat. I couldn't fathom putting up a tent, unrolling foamies and crating gear from the van to the tent without the help of my sisters. I especially couldnt' imagine hanging out in a campground without "built in" playmates. Marty, a man of few words, summed up his experience by sharing this with me: "you know that kid that shows up at your family campfire and doesn't leave until your mom says, 'son, i think you better go back to your own campsite now'? Well, that was me, I was that kid!" My heart felt kind of heavy after hearing that story, but Marty doesn't think it's sad or weird, it's just how it was. He was good at making new friends and meeting people.
Marty and I spent the weekend camping at Waterton National Park with some friends of ours. We brought Scout (our only child) and slept in a tent at the foot of the beautiful Canadian Rockies! Saturday night, after a long day of hiking, we were all gathered around the wood burning stove in the little hut in the campground, enjoying some beverages when, a small, strange face appeared out of no-where. The face spoke, saying "hey guys, mind if I warm up by your fire?" Before we could answer, he wiggled his way into one of the empty lawn chairs. He settled in, announcing that his name was Colton and that we should all be ware of the cougar that lives in the mountains. The cougar, he informed us, comes out at midnight and if he bites you on the neck, your dead!!! He talked non-stop, sharing with us that he was here with his Dad, he had 4 siblings, none of them were with him. He wasn't wearing shoes, he explained without taking any breaths, as his were wet since he had slipped on a rock while trying to retrieve his rogue soccer ball from the river. He left his lawn chair at one point, to check for the cougar, but came back asking, very politely, if he could "please have a drink." This young man, kind of had us all speechless. He had just walked into a group of strange adults and took over the conversation! I kept wondering if this was what Marty was like as a kid....Eventually he left, chasing after the cougar, he swore he could hear, but, he was back in the morning. This time we were all sitting at the picnic table enjoying a Father's Day breakfast of fruit salad, pancakes, and waffles. We had blueberry jam, Maple Syrup and Orange Juice. Colton showed up, commenting on how great our breakfast smelled. He kept "hinting" at how much he loved pnacakes and how he was sooo hungry. We suggested he wake up his dad, give him a Father's Day hug and help him make breakfast. He informed us, while wedging his butt onto the bench of the picnic table between 2 of us, that his Dad did not like to be woken up. He was smacking his lips and basically drooling. He really, really wanted some breakfast, and we could have shared with him, but that would not be teaching him a good lesson. As a teacher, I worried about allergies and, well, being sued or something. I explained to Colton, that we would love to share with him, but we were scared about allergies and really, he shouldn't be taking food from strangers anyway. Colton seemed to accept my explanation. He excused himself and that was the last we saw of him. I wonder if Marty was like Colton....
I posted a couple of pics of our camping trip, just for fun!

FATHER'S DAY

Father’s Day is the day we dedicate to Dads. The day for celebrating all the memories and lessons our Dad’s have given us. Today, I am choosing to savor the memories of some of the little, simpler things Dad brought to us. He taught us to tear apart beaver damns, get out slivers, spit on things, make crackers disappear, give wedgies, pin pairs of socks together, drive a five speed, walk on stilts, give “turnovers,” suck ice cream out of the bottom of an ice cream cone, cuss, drive a lawnmower, cut hair with the use of a bowl, to make the best paper bag popcorn, to make paper mache volcanoes that could really explode and to enjoy burgers, fries, apple pie and ice cream! Here are a couple of other simple memories that I love:
My Dad could make our computer talk. It’s 2009 now, so this may not seem like a big deal, but way back when we first got our Apple IIE computer it was! He could make the computer take our names (mine, Aim’s and Nic’s,) swirl them around and spit them out telling us which chores we had to do. Following the magical act of designating bathroom clean upper, dishwasherer and vacuumer, he would make the computer say, in a very 1980’s robotic voice “It’s not my fault!” He could also make the computer say, in the same robotic voice “pooh balls!” Not sure why “pooh balls,” maybe because he was trying to keep his humour “PG” and pooh balls, was definitely more PG than “shit balls, “ anyways, it always made us laugh!
It used to be a huge treat when Dad would come horse back riding with us. He had this big, fat mare he called, Cinnamon. She had this long, wild, tangled mane and she was mean to every other horse on the farm, but she was Dad’s horse, and somehow that kind of made her cool. Dad didn’t come riding with us often, but when he did it was always fun! I remember once, when I was old enough to ride my own pony, just Dad and I went for a ride in the pasture. We got far enough away from the house that the safety patrol couldn’t see us (not that mom was a mean safety patrol, every parent should be cautious when their favorite child, me, goes out riding,) but we were far enough away, that she couldn’t tell us not too, so, Dad leaned over and said to me: “Wanna race??” Before I could consider the danger of the gopher holes, the fact that my pony could run right home or get out of control, Dad and Cinnamon were off! I snugged down my helmet, put the heels to good old Missy and chased after them! We ran and ran until I was sure Cinnamon was gonna have a heart attack. I had never galloped, completely uninhibited, on my pony before and I have never forgotten that day.
Sometimes our whole family would go for a ride. Mom and Aim would double on Jake with Aimee riding behind the saddle hanging on to mom. I would ride the pony by myself and Dad would double on Cinnamon with Nic. What is memorable to me now, was how Nic used to have to ride up on the pommel of the saddle, straddling the saddle horn! Dad didn’t want to share the seat and Nic didn’t seem to mind. One time, Cinnamon tried to lay down and roll over while Nic and Dad were sitting on her back! Dad bailed off, hollering at Nic to unwrap her legs from the saddle horn.
Though it was usually Nic who would ride with Dad on the horse, we all got to ride with him on his Honda street bike, usually all three of us at once! I would ride behind Dad with my feet on the passenger pegs, Aim and Nic would squish up in front of him, fighting over who had to sit on the gas tank. We would ride through the yard singing and screaming “Yaba daba doo time in Bedrock city!!!” We’d just yell that the whole time we’d ride. When the ride was over, Dad would let us each spit on the muffler because it was so fun to listen to our saliva sizzle!!!
I have a million great memories of Dad, but today I am cuddling up to the simple, little, insignificant, but not forgotten ones!
Miss ya Dad!!!

WE ARE THE CHAMPIONS!

I can't help it if I continue to have stories that revolve around the bathroom. My classroom is right across the hall from the primary grades' bathroom, a very busy place. Usually students using this washroom run to it. For some reason kindergarten, grade 1,2 and 3 students are always in a hurry to get to the bathroom, but are notoriously slow at leaving it. Funny, how distracted they get while they are in there. What is comical is that it isn't even the mirror that distracts these students, like it does me. I mean, a lot of people, me included can easily spend hours distracted by the reflection in the mirror in our bathrooms. There are zits to squeeze, eyebrows to pluck, eyeliner to apply, hair to style, blemishes to cover and boogers to pick. But when you are in the primary grades, there are rarely zits to squeeze, eyebrows are something you don't notice, eyeliner is a no no, hair is styled for ya, blemishes all hang out and boogers get picked just fine without mirrors. Nah, these kids don't care about mirrors, I doubt if most of them can even see in it.
The sink, for one, is very distracting. The water comes out automatically, if you hold your hand in just the right place. I've seen girls standing there, with blobs of soap in their palms, holding their hand just so under the water, waiting forever to see how long it takes for the soap to disappear. They just stand there, mezmorized, like they are in some kind of trance. Just watching and waiting. Weird!

The hand dryer is another thing the kids seem to love, not necessarily as a hand drying tool, but more as a voice changing mechanism. Almost all of them try yelling into it to hear their voices vibrate and take on a Darth Vadar sound.

Judging from the TP I see all over the floor, unrolling toilet paper from the dispenser seems to be just as tempting to small children as it is to the puppies and kittens on toilet paper commercials.

But the most distracting and fun thing about the bathroom are the acoustics! The kids seem to love the sounds of their voices as they bounce off the walls of the washroom. I can hear them all day long from my classroom and more than once I have laughed out loud at some of the sounds that have traveled across the hall into my room. I think I have even blogged about it before, but the other day topped them all, in terms of a laugh outloud moment....first I'll preface this by saying, yes, I know it is immature to laugh at bathroom humour, but 3 or 33 something about it IS funny!
There were two boys in the bathroom, I could tell by the voices that one was in the stall and the other was standing at the hand dryer. The one on the "throne" was singing, "We are the champions" and as if on cue, the hand drying boy shouted "...of the poo!!!" Get it? We are the champions of the poo?? I know, I know, immature, but clever and funny!

SHOULDA HAD A CHEESEBURGER!

Should have had a cheeseburger for lunch, damn it! We were sitting there, at the pub in Banff after biking "Rundle Trail" from Canmore, checking out the menu. It had been a pretty fun ride, lots of roots, a few difficult spots, and mostly downhill. Marty and I were feeling pretty proud of ourselves that it had taken us less time than we had anticipated to make it into Banff and we were ready to celebrate with some lunch! Marty ordered a pint, a BLT and some fries. I agonized over the menu. Normally, after vigorous exercise, we like to share a giant plate of nachos. We have convinced ourselves that one healthy act (vigorous exercise) deserves one unhealthy act (nacho eating), you know, to keep things balanced. However, I knew that we still had to bike back to Canmore, so I decided to have something "lighter." I didn't want to feel all bloated and gross all the way back up the trail.
When I say back UP the trail, that is exactly what I mean! (Keep in mind, this is all relative, for Aim and Shane, biking maniacs this "up" would be nothing...) Anyway, we had decided to take the easier, less technical trail back to the Nordic Center in Canmore, where the van was parked. By easier, I mean that it was more like a dirt wagon road, than a single track, root covered trail, like the one we had taken to get to Banff. On this "Goat Creek Trail," there were no roots and no loose gravel. There were only hills! One hill after another. I couldn't even get excited about the few "donwhills" as I knew they only meant another uphill was on the horizon! I tried to keep a smile on my face. I tried to yell Nic and Troy's mantra "Is that all you got hills???" But, the balance on my love/hate relationship with biking had swung towards the "hate" end and all I could think about was how stupid biking was! Why had I chosen this stupid sport? What the hell made me think it would be a good idea to bike UPHILL for 19km after biking 19km downhill, the day after a half marathon? Why? Oh because Marty wanted to. Marty thought it would be fun! Stupid Marty! Fun? This, this whole "let's bike uphills" thing, was not fun! It was hard work! The lactic acid was burning my quads and tearing at my knees. I was sweating profusely, my heart was pounding and exhaustion was creeping over me. My camel back seemed to weigh 50 pounds and so did my helmet. My back and shoulders ached. I felt....alive! Oh yeah, that's what I love about biking, same thing I love about running, how hard it is! I love that it is a t-shirt drenching workout! I love it...and I love Marty. He was right, this was a good idea!!
Love biking though or hate it, the fact remains that, had I known I was gonna be biking up hill so damn much, doing so much healthy exercise, I would have ordered a cheeseburger at lunch, hell, I would have ordered two...with fries!!!

WEDGIE

Went biking today, wore the appropriate attire from head to toe, but still had an uncomfortable experience. I just can't seem to get used to those padded bike shorts, the ones that feel like they have a diaper built into the seat of them. I appreciate the extra padding they provide, don't get me wrong, but I just can't seem to get used to them. I can't seem to figure out, how to avoid giving myself a wedgie. Wait, I'm not sure "wedgie" is exactly the right word, see this isn't the traditional kind of wedgie, the kind that results from undies or pants crawiling up your ass crack, nope. This is more of a, well, a front wedgie! Soooo uncomfortable! Maybe I get this front wedgie from the undies I am wearing under the shorts. Maybe you arn't supposed to wear undies under the shorts I dont' know! I never wear undies under my running tights or running shorts, but, I only have one pair of bike shorts and I guess I figure if I wear undies under them, (hopefully minimizing butt sweat stains on the shorts), I'll be able to wear the shorts a few times in a row before washing them. I am, however, reassessing this strategy. After the last two rides, I have retreated to the outhouse in the parking lot, to suck the crotch of my gaunch out of my "front!" The relief is instant, but the "rubbed raw" sensation, created by the friction the panties caused, lasts the rest of the night! Ouch!

PARKING LOTS

I hate parking lots! I hate all the people texting while they walk through the parking lots. I hate all the people who aren't texting, but are walking in slow motion down the middle of the alleys of the parking lots. I hate the people pushing carts, dragging kids and holding hands through the parking lots. I hate the cars that back up and pull forward three or four times before leaving their parking stalls in the parking lot and I hate the cars that sit in the middle of the road waiting for passengers to load or unload right in the middle of the parking lot. I hate the "cart corrals" that fill the best stalls of the parking lots and I hate the random, rogue carts that are abandoned in the second best stalls of the parking lots. But most of all, I hate leaving parking lots. I hate that the other people leaving the parking lots can't seem to figure out that we should all take turns, letting one car file into line at a time from each direction. I hate raging behind the wheel of my car, that is sitting in park, counting as one line of cars goes by, heading, without making eye contact to the ONE exit of the lot! I hate knowing that if I was in that line of cars, the moving line that is, I would let a car from another line, go in front of me. I hate it, I hate it, I hate it!

Just had to vent a little today! :)

EXHIBITIONIST

Lastnight, after my bike ride with the Calgary Spin Sisters, a few of us ladies were standing, sweating, in the parking lot discussing our ride. We had just completed our first "out of town" ride as a club this season. We had headed into Kananaskis Country to ride the Jumping Pound loop. This was a ride I had never done before. It was one of those rides that had just enough easy parts to make you think you were an okay rider and just enough hard parts to remind you that you actually suck! We were standing there sweating, shaking out our helmet hair, trying discretely to pick our diaper like bike shorts out of our butts, discussing our ride. In the middle of the conversation, my "sweats" turned to chills and I became uncomfortable. Mid discussion, I couldnt' take it anymore. I opened the car door retrieve to the long sleeved tee I had on the back seat. I planned to trade in the sweaty tank top for the dry shirt. We all kept giggling and sharing ride stories as I pulled the tank top over my head. It wasn't until I was standing, topless, in the middle of the group that I realized I wasn't wearing the black, Nike sports bra I thought I had put on under my tank top. The bra designed to be worn during sports activities. Nope, instead I was standing in the middle of a group of strangers, wearing a sexy, red, satin push up bra, boobs squished up as close to my chin as possible!
Honestly, push up bra, sports bra, wouldn't matter performance wise which one I was wearing, it's not like I have a lot of "fun fat" to strap down. The fact that during my bumy rooty, rocky ride, I hadn't even noticed any extra bouncing is proof of that. I was more horrified about being caught wearing inappropriate clothing than of anything else. I mean seriously, who wears a push up bra to an all girls biking club? No one, unless she's trying to impress another girl!!! Ahhhh, even as I write this I become anxious about the message I was sending. I certainly had not meant to be such an exhibitionist! Guess I should have obsessed less about the ski socks I was wearing, the ones I had accidently packed instead of my bike socks and paid more attention the putting ON the appropriate gear I actually had!!!!