We took the kids to see a movie yesterday at the Carnival theater, Toy Story 3. It was kind of a big deal for the family, we never go to the movie theater, mainly for the reason that we're leery of how Ryder will act. But a few months ago, Ardan was invited to a friend's bday party at the Silver Lake Cinema to see Shrek 4, and siblings were invited as well. And Ryder did really well during that movie, stayed in his seat the entire time, eyes glued to the screen as he happily munched on popcorn. So I was pretty sure he'd do well at this movie. And other than a few seat-switching moments and one super-annoying frantic trip to the potty where nothing came out, he was fine.
No, what this post is about, is ME.
So there we were, 3/4 of the way through the movie. Through a series of hair-raising events, the toys had ended up at the city dump, where they'd escaped the dump version of a wood-chipper, only to find themselves utterly hopeless as they neared the lava-like incinerator. Realizing that this was it, no way out or hope for escape, the toys all clasped hands and gazed meaningfully at each other. It was a super-emotional moment and the entire theater was silent.
Little Lena chose that moment to glance at me, and in her high-pitched, too-loud-for-the-situation voice, piped up, "Mom, why are you CRYING!??"
I could feel the parents around us swivelling in their seats to look at me. Talk about mortifying.
So needless to say, the toys are saved by a last-minute rescue ("The CLAW!"- and that's all I'll say about it), the movie ended happily, though tearfully, yet again, as Andy makes the momentous decision to pass along his 'best friend Woody' to another child. And there I was, again, trying to hide my tears and eye-wiping. Lena knew though, but at least she restrained herself and only shook her head at me.
'Just you wait', I thought as we left the theater, 'I'm going to find the most heart-wrenching, tear-jerking movie and make you kids watch it, then I'm going to examine your faces and the moment I spot a tear, "A-HA!" with the finger-pointing. "I'm not the only one!"'
Stupid movie!
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Ardan's "disease"
(I say "disease" because that is how it was referred to in the medical book we have, and Gunnar has been delighting in telling Ardan he "has a DISEASE!", and of course then Ardan wants to strangle his brother.)
It all started last Sunday night. Ardan complained of a sore throat, "Mom, I think I have strep throat!", which immediately freaked me out because we have such a history with that. But he wasn't coughing or sneezing, which is the usual sign. I said we'd just have to keep an eye on it. Monday night, his poor hands erupted in SPOTS! Tiny little red pin-pricks all over the palms. They were itchy as hell. We concluded that it must be an allergic reaction of some sort, what had he been in contact with that day? Well, he'd helped Gunnar clean the garage by sweeping the floor with our old garage-broom, and he'd moved a few boxes. Could some type of chemical been on the broom or boxes and he'd touched it? No, no chemicals, so what could it be? Gave the kid some benadryl, hoping that would do the trick.
No. In fact, the red spots spread, to only his feet, though. Itchy, red, swollen heels and soles with those damn red spots! Only now, it wasn't just his throat being sore, he said his tongue felt swollen! So I was just freaking out, convinced it was still some sort of allergic reaction. Out came the benadryl again, but as before, it didn't do a thing.
So by Wednesday night, it was a serious toss-up... take him in to the ER (possibly spending hours there just to be told to give more benadryl and wait it out) or wait til morning and try the walk-in clinic. I've had quite the experiences with the ER lately so that was ruled out. As long as Ardan wasn't having trouble breathing -- which he wasn't, just swallowing -- we'd go in the morning.
In an insane stroke of luck, the Associate walk-in clinic at the mall was practically empty and we were seen in less than ten minutes. The doctor came in, examined Ardan's hands and feet, hmmm-ing and nodding, then asked if there were any sores inside his mouth. "No, I don't think there's any sores, but he IS having problems swallowing." She looked in his mouth with a flashlight and said, "Yes, there is, his mouth is riddled with sores!" What? I felt like the worst mom ever.
She nodded her head in some type of silent agreement with herself and said, "Oh yeah, its obvious. He has Hand, Foot and Mouth Disease."
You could have heard a pin drop in that room. We all stared at her, mouths agape. "I have a DISEASE?!?" Ardan cried.
"Oh no, honey, its okay. Its just a virus, don't worry. This will pass in a few days, the spots and sores will go away. It is slightly contagious, but its one of the more milder viruses. Just keep washing your hands so your siblings don't get it." That was a relief to hear. Didn't require any medication or treatment, beyond tylenol for the mouth-pain and lots of fluids.
So we returned home and I immediately consulted my children's medical book, and sure enough, there it was. 'Hand, Foot and Mouth Disease' -- I'd never even heard of it before! The incubation period is 1-2 days, it usually starts with a sore throat and low fever (Ardan didn't have the fever), then the spots and sores come. In infants, its quite a serious illness but older children should be fine, providing they are being kept well-hydrated. (The sore throat tends to make children hesitant to drink liquids.)
But what really horrified both the kids and myself was the description of HOW the virus is transmitted: through mouth-to-mouth contact ("Ardan, did you kiss someone?", "NO!! GROSS!" haha) or by hand-to-mouth transfer of fecal matter or feces. Hence the hand-washing instruction. Gunnar and I looked at each other in complete horror, but the other kids were clueless, "What's feces?" Um, how do you tell your kid that they probably ingested poop particles? Poor Ardan. The look on his face as he listened to the explanation.
"I did NOT eat poop!" (Typical Gunnar, "You mean FECES. You ate FECES.")
So now poor Ardan is fanatical about hand-washing, and who can blame him? He must have somehow picked up the virus (from a convenience store he visited with his dad and brother on a fishing trip that Sunday, we're thinking), got it on his hands, then touched his mouth with his virus-and-feces-infected hand. He'll probably need therapy for this.
It all started last Sunday night. Ardan complained of a sore throat, "Mom, I think I have strep throat!", which immediately freaked me out because we have such a history with that. But he wasn't coughing or sneezing, which is the usual sign. I said we'd just have to keep an eye on it. Monday night, his poor hands erupted in SPOTS! Tiny little red pin-pricks all over the palms. They were itchy as hell. We concluded that it must be an allergic reaction of some sort, what had he been in contact with that day? Well, he'd helped Gunnar clean the garage by sweeping the floor with our old garage-broom, and he'd moved a few boxes. Could some type of chemical been on the broom or boxes and he'd touched it? No, no chemicals, so what could it be? Gave the kid some benadryl, hoping that would do the trick.
No. In fact, the red spots spread, to only his feet, though. Itchy, red, swollen heels and soles with those damn red spots! Only now, it wasn't just his throat being sore, he said his tongue felt swollen! So I was just freaking out, convinced it was still some sort of allergic reaction. Out came the benadryl again, but as before, it didn't do a thing.
So by Wednesday night, it was a serious toss-up... take him in to the ER (possibly spending hours there just to be told to give more benadryl and wait it out) or wait til morning and try the walk-in clinic. I've had quite the experiences with the ER lately so that was ruled out. As long as Ardan wasn't having trouble breathing -- which he wasn't, just swallowing -- we'd go in the morning.
In an insane stroke of luck, the Associate walk-in clinic at the mall was practically empty and we were seen in less than ten minutes. The doctor came in, examined Ardan's hands and feet, hmmm-ing and nodding, then asked if there were any sores inside his mouth. "No, I don't think there's any sores, but he IS having problems swallowing." She looked in his mouth with a flashlight and said, "Yes, there is, his mouth is riddled with sores!" What? I felt like the worst mom ever.
She nodded her head in some type of silent agreement with herself and said, "Oh yeah, its obvious. He has Hand, Foot and Mouth Disease."
You could have heard a pin drop in that room. We all stared at her, mouths agape. "I have a DISEASE?!?" Ardan cried.
"Oh no, honey, its okay. Its just a virus, don't worry. This will pass in a few days, the spots and sores will go away. It is slightly contagious, but its one of the more milder viruses. Just keep washing your hands so your siblings don't get it." That was a relief to hear. Didn't require any medication or treatment, beyond tylenol for the mouth-pain and lots of fluids.
So we returned home and I immediately consulted my children's medical book, and sure enough, there it was. 'Hand, Foot and Mouth Disease' -- I'd never even heard of it before! The incubation period is 1-2 days, it usually starts with a sore throat and low fever (Ardan didn't have the fever), then the spots and sores come. In infants, its quite a serious illness but older children should be fine, providing they are being kept well-hydrated. (The sore throat tends to make children hesitant to drink liquids.)
But what really horrified both the kids and myself was the description of HOW the virus is transmitted: through mouth-to-mouth contact ("Ardan, did you kiss someone?", "NO!! GROSS!" haha) or by hand-to-mouth transfer of fecal matter or feces. Hence the hand-washing instruction. Gunnar and I looked at each other in complete horror, but the other kids were clueless, "What's feces?" Um, how do you tell your kid that they probably ingested poop particles? Poor Ardan. The look on his face as he listened to the explanation.
"I did NOT eat poop!" (Typical Gunnar, "You mean FECES. You ate FECES.")
So now poor Ardan is fanatical about hand-washing, and who can blame him? He must have somehow picked up the virus (from a convenience store he visited with his dad and brother on a fishing trip that Sunday, we're thinking), got it on his hands, then touched his mouth with his virus-and-feces-infected hand. He'll probably need therapy for this.
He's the Awesomest!
On Tuesday, the kids and I went in to Chapters so I could pick up the just-released Immortals After Dark book by Kresley Cole ('Demon From the Dark' -- sooo good!). After I found my book, I went to the kids section with the crew. Of all things, they had a huge Thomas the Train track set up, so of course Ryder just had to play and play and play with it. I sat down to start reading my book as the kids played and explored. A hugely-pregnant woman sat down beside me and struck up a conversation. (Of course, part of me -- the selfish, obsessed part -- just wanted to be left in peace to read my new book!) But I'm a decent person so I set down my book and we talked. And talked and talked. And during that convo, I learned that her little guy, who was playing alongside Ryder with the trains, had been potty-trained last year, when he was four-and-a-half. Hell no am I waiting another two years for Ryder to be potty-trained, I thought. She said she tried everything, then one day she told him that for every time he went #2 in the potty, he'd get a new Thomas train.
Flash-forward past the HUGE tantrum Ryder threw when I pried him away from the Thomas trains, past the punches and kicks and scratches he threw at me, past the horrible drive home with a screaming two-year-old...
So we get home, I give the bribe, and little Ryder is just ecstatic. "A new Thomas train? For going poop in the potty?" And it was like a light went off above his little head, right then and there he suddenly got it. Whipped off his pants and diaper, hauled himself up onto the toilet, and let a huge plopper go!
"WHOO-HOO!" we all danced around and made a huge production of it. Ryder was so proud. An hour later, he was back on the pot, going pee this time. I was dumbfounded. So then I thought I'd really put him to the test -- nap time. Laid him down in his new gonchies on a thick, folded towel, told him to wake up if he had to go pee, and then I began the waiting-game.
Three hours the little guy slept. Three hours in which I was tempted to wake him up to remind him about going pee, but restrained myself (somehow). Suddenly, I heard noises coming from the bathroom. Rushed in there and saw Ryder sitting on the toilet with a huge rush of pee coming out. It must've lasted for a whole minute! Looked at the bed - DRY. He passed the test! I was just completely astounded. NONE of the other children would've passed that test ON THE VERY FIRST DAY OF POTTY-TRAINING. None. That is something a potty-training child doesn't usually accomplish for months. And all that night, whenever he felt the urge, into the bathroom he'd run and do his thing. We were all completely amazed!
The next day was another test -- would he remember all he'd learned or revert back to his diaper ways? PASSED THE TEST, with flying colors. He woke up with a dry diaper (we're talking a 10-hour sleep here), immediately ran to the toilet and went #1 AND #2! He went all day without one single accident. I was just speechless. "Now why couldn't all you kids learn as quickly as Ryder, hmmm?"
So Day 3 of potty-training came and with it, another test -- a trip to Red Deer. I still had him in a diaper, just in case, but wouldn't you know it, the little bugger did it! He made it all through the drive into RD, all through our wait at the walk-in clinic (THAT story deserves its own post), and it wasn't until we went to Deanna's afterward that he finally broke the seal. Well, there's a funny story behind that. He came running up to Deanna and I, buck naked, and when I asked where his diaper was he said, "I took it off because I had mustard on my dink!" Wait, WHAT?! I found the diaper, DRY, out on her front lawn. What the heck? And there, sitting on the grass beside the diaper, were two giant TURDS. The little stinker had to go, obviously couldn't remember where Gramma's bathroom was (or else the urge was just too strong), whipped off his diaper and just let it rip, right there on the lawn. (Deanna and I agreed later that at least he knew enough not to do it on the floor in the house! lol) So picture me, gagging as I gingerly used wipes to pick up the turds.
And each day brings another test of some kind, and the boy wonder continues to pass them. I can now say that little Ryder is COMPLETELY potty-trained, and all in less than a week! Five days, to be exact.
I am the proudest mother ever. I just want to shout it from the rooftops, "My two-year-old is smarter than YOUR two-year-old, take that suckas!"
Who would've thunk that my fourth child would completely blow his siblings outta the water when it came to potty-training?
(Each child has their own "potty-training story" that during the past week, they've been proudly -- why? -- telling and retelling: Gunnar's bribe was M&Ms, Ardan's motivation was aiming his pee at Cheerios in the toilet, and Lena "only wanted to poop in the bath". Kids, eh?)
Of course, now I owe the little guy a TON of Thomas trains, doh!
Flash-forward past the HUGE tantrum Ryder threw when I pried him away from the Thomas trains, past the punches and kicks and scratches he threw at me, past the horrible drive home with a screaming two-year-old...
So we get home, I give the bribe, and little Ryder is just ecstatic. "A new Thomas train? For going poop in the potty?" And it was like a light went off above his little head, right then and there he suddenly got it. Whipped off his pants and diaper, hauled himself up onto the toilet, and let a huge plopper go!
"WHOO-HOO!" we all danced around and made a huge production of it. Ryder was so proud. An hour later, he was back on the pot, going pee this time. I was dumbfounded. So then I thought I'd really put him to the test -- nap time. Laid him down in his new gonchies on a thick, folded towel, told him to wake up if he had to go pee, and then I began the waiting-game.
Three hours the little guy slept. Three hours in which I was tempted to wake him up to remind him about going pee, but restrained myself (somehow). Suddenly, I heard noises coming from the bathroom. Rushed in there and saw Ryder sitting on the toilet with a huge rush of pee coming out. It must've lasted for a whole minute! Looked at the bed - DRY. He passed the test! I was just completely astounded. NONE of the other children would've passed that test ON THE VERY FIRST DAY OF POTTY-TRAINING. None. That is something a potty-training child doesn't usually accomplish for months. And all that night, whenever he felt the urge, into the bathroom he'd run and do his thing. We were all completely amazed!
The next day was another test -- would he remember all he'd learned or revert back to his diaper ways? PASSED THE TEST, with flying colors. He woke up with a dry diaper (we're talking a 10-hour sleep here), immediately ran to the toilet and went #1 AND #2! He went all day without one single accident. I was just speechless. "Now why couldn't all you kids learn as quickly as Ryder, hmmm?"
So Day 3 of potty-training came and with it, another test -- a trip to Red Deer. I still had him in a diaper, just in case, but wouldn't you know it, the little bugger did it! He made it all through the drive into RD, all through our wait at the walk-in clinic (THAT story deserves its own post), and it wasn't until we went to Deanna's afterward that he finally broke the seal. Well, there's a funny story behind that. He came running up to Deanna and I, buck naked, and when I asked where his diaper was he said, "I took it off because I had mustard on my dink!" Wait, WHAT?! I found the diaper, DRY, out on her front lawn. What the heck? And there, sitting on the grass beside the diaper, were two giant TURDS. The little stinker had to go, obviously couldn't remember where Gramma's bathroom was (or else the urge was just too strong), whipped off his diaper and just let it rip, right there on the lawn. (Deanna and I agreed later that at least he knew enough not to do it on the floor in the house! lol) So picture me, gagging as I gingerly used wipes to pick up the turds.
And each day brings another test of some kind, and the boy wonder continues to pass them. I can now say that little Ryder is COMPLETELY potty-trained, and all in less than a week! Five days, to be exact.
I am the proudest mother ever. I just want to shout it from the rooftops, "My two-year-old is smarter than YOUR two-year-old, take that suckas!"
Who would've thunk that my fourth child would completely blow his siblings outta the water when it came to potty-training?
(Each child has their own "potty-training story" that during the past week, they've been proudly -- why? -- telling and retelling: Gunnar's bribe was M&Ms, Ardan's motivation was aiming his pee at Cheerios in the toilet, and Lena "only wanted to poop in the bath". Kids, eh?)
Of course, now I owe the little guy a TON of Thomas trains, doh!
Peeve of the Week: Dough-Heads
That's what I call people who have "Derp" moments (click on the link to see what I mean). And today, it was either Tyler or Gunnar who earned the nickname 'Dough-Head'.
They were up at the butt-crack of dawn to go fishing. I woke up a few hours later, wandered into the kitchen and, still in that just-woke-up-daze, started cleaning up. For some reason, there was a box of salt on the counter. I picked it up to put back in the cupboard and woosh, out pours all the salt. Some dough-head left the spout half-open, AND the box was upside-down (which, in my daze, I didn't notice). When I picked up the box, the salt inside shifted towards the spout.
So picture me, dazed and confused, standing there with salt covering the entire counter, the floor, some even made its way into the fresh cup of coffee I'd just made.
DOUGH-HEADS!!
They were up at the butt-crack of dawn to go fishing. I woke up a few hours later, wandered into the kitchen and, still in that just-woke-up-daze, started cleaning up. For some reason, there was a box of salt on the counter. I picked it up to put back in the cupboard and woosh, out pours all the salt. Some dough-head left the spout half-open, AND the box was upside-down (which, in my daze, I didn't notice). When I picked up the box, the salt inside shifted towards the spout.
So picture me, dazed and confused, standing there with salt covering the entire counter, the floor, some even made its way into the fresh cup of coffee I'd just made.
DOUGH-HEADS!!
Thursday, August 26, 2010
Um, so I guess I learned something today??
So I guess all those times I told people that I have an addiction to DP (diet pepsi, right?), I REEAALLLYYY should have made sure that was the only thing those initials stand for.
What does DP stand for?
(Link is NSFW)
What does DP stand for?
(Link is NSFW)
Saturday, August 21, 2010
Five Question Friday
1. Do you have any nicknames and if so how did it come about?
Well, I'm sure everyone knows the 'Saxy' story; if not -- one time in Superstore when I was a young teen, Mom yelled at me across the store "Saxy!", I was mortified because it sounded like 'sexy' so I pretended I didn't know her, haha. Mom also calls me 'Booey', don't know the story behind that one. Mom, you wanna tell us in the comments? Aunt Stephanie calls me Sadie, from my middle name Mercedes. Dad briefly called me Moose ('briefly' because it made me so upset) because I would clomp around the house. Oh, and a few times he called me Chester (for obvious reasons, at least back then) but he made the mistake of calling me that one time when his biker buddies were over and of course, all their eyes went to my boobs and then I think he realized that was a HORRIBLE nickname for a young woman. When my brothers were little they called me BoBo, which I absolutely despised. So I put an end to that right chicken-louie. And I think that's it for nicknames. Unless you guys can think of any??
2. What is your birth order amongst your siblings?
Oldest, and wisest. Hah. Four years older than Trapper, six years older than Levi.
3. In a movie of your life, who would play your significant other?
Well, if I got to choose it would obviously be Adam Lambert because then I could play myself and we could have all those wonderful love scenes, he he. But I'm sure Ty would FER-EEK. I think he would want someone like Johnny Depp, or Brad Pitt, or The Rock. Oh, who am I kidding, those are all still my choices (coincidentally, all on my List).
4. What is currently your favorite song?
'Somebody to Love' by Justin Bieber; also, I'm loving 'Fever' by Adam Lambert.
5. Are you saving your money for anything right now? Big or small purchase?
YES!!! We are saving up for a family trip to Disneyland in the spring!!!
Well, I'm sure everyone knows the 'Saxy' story; if not -- one time in Superstore when I was a young teen, Mom yelled at me across the store "Saxy!", I was mortified because it sounded like 'sexy' so I pretended I didn't know her, haha. Mom also calls me 'Booey', don't know the story behind that one. Mom, you wanna tell us in the comments? Aunt Stephanie calls me Sadie, from my middle name Mercedes. Dad briefly called me Moose ('briefly' because it made me so upset) because I would clomp around the house. Oh, and a few times he called me Chester (for obvious reasons, at least back then) but he made the mistake of calling me that one time when his biker buddies were over and of course, all their eyes went to my boobs and then I think he realized that was a HORRIBLE nickname for a young woman. When my brothers were little they called me BoBo, which I absolutely despised. So I put an end to that right chicken-louie. And I think that's it for nicknames. Unless you guys can think of any??
2. What is your birth order amongst your siblings?
Oldest, and wisest. Hah. Four years older than Trapper, six years older than Levi.
3. In a movie of your life, who would play your significant other?
Well, if I got to choose it would obviously be Adam Lambert because then I could play myself and we could have all those wonderful love scenes, he he. But I'm sure Ty would FER-EEK. I think he would want someone like Johnny Depp, or Brad Pitt, or The Rock. Oh, who am I kidding, those are all still my choices (coincidentally, all on my List).
4. What is currently your favorite song?
'Somebody to Love' by Justin Bieber; also, I'm loving 'Fever' by Adam Lambert.
5. Are you saving your money for anything right now? Big or small purchase?
YES!!! We are saving up for a family trip to Disneyland in the spring!!!
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
Dreams that resonate
Its weird, my dreams are either totally forgettable or else so strange and intense and emotional that I always remember every detail. I can recall three or four specific nightmare-type dreams from my childhood; one about skeletons, one where I was kidnapped, another where I had to choose which brother would be saved. Each one was traumatizing in its own way.
You never remember the really great dreams, do you? At least, I don't. Good dreams are common -- you win the lottery, make out with a man from your List, a vacation paradise. But bad dreams, really bad dreams, stay with a person, deep in your psyche. And its kind of funny, as an adult remembering childhood nightmares you think to yourself, 'Why was I so afraid of that?' I mean, skeletons, really? But to my four-year-old-self, running frantically through a winding path in a deep, dark, dense forest that had grinning skeletons dangling from nooses in the trees, those skeletons were the most terrifying thing ever. I remember the sheer terror I felt. I guess that is what really sticks with me, the terror. Feeling helpless and in mortal danger.
In the kidnapping nightmare, I was in the backseat of a car. My mom ran into the store to get something and a stranger jumped in and just started driving away, with me still in there. I remember I turned to look out the back window and saw my mom pressed to the glass inside the store, screaming and banging her fists.
The nightmare about my brothers was probably the first one I ever had where I was crying in real life as well as in the dream, and the sound of my own cries was what woke me. For hours afterward, I could only lie in bed shivering and shuddering, reliving the nightmare over and over, agonizing over every dream-decision made, if I could have changed the outcome by making another choice. Even though the dream was over. Even though it wasn't even real! I prayed and prayed that the dream wasn't some kind of portent for the future, like a warning of some sort to be vigilant and aware.
I always do that with dreams, over-analyze and pick it apart. Is it some hidden fear or repressed memory; maybe it IS some sort of sign and if so, what does it mean (I'm feeling some Double Rainbow there, lol); is it a warning of some sort or a glimpse of the future. And then I think I'm probably assigning it too much importance, its most likely just some mental thought bubble that worked its way to the surface, ha.
The memorable nightmares I've had as an adult have mostly revolved around a death in my family, usually one of my children but once where I lost Tyler. There was another one, the most recent from just last month, where I was the victim of a brutal rape and beating and I lost my memory and experienced bizarre and cruel personality changes. THAT one was freaky. It was like I was two people, the sane normal me I am now, and this other crazy mean person, and the sane me was conscious throughout and just couldn't understand how I could be like that.
Of course, there's the incredibly emotional and meaningful dreams I've had that have stayed with me for very different reasons. These ones leave me feeling mentally, emotionally and spiritually refreshed, if that's the right word. As if the depths of emotions, the utter lows and dizzying highs, sadness and joy, grief and peace, have affected to cleanse me of all those harbored feelings.
Which points to the reason behind my analyzing, I guess. How could something that affects me so intensely, whether its through terror or elation, be something so simple as a random brain impulse? Dreams MUST mean something.
What are your thoughts on the matter?
You never remember the really great dreams, do you? At least, I don't. Good dreams are common -- you win the lottery, make out with a man from your List, a vacation paradise. But bad dreams, really bad dreams, stay with a person, deep in your psyche. And its kind of funny, as an adult remembering childhood nightmares you think to yourself, 'Why was I so afraid of that?' I mean, skeletons, really? But to my four-year-old-self, running frantically through a winding path in a deep, dark, dense forest that had grinning skeletons dangling from nooses in the trees, those skeletons were the most terrifying thing ever. I remember the sheer terror I felt. I guess that is what really sticks with me, the terror. Feeling helpless and in mortal danger.
In the kidnapping nightmare, I was in the backseat of a car. My mom ran into the store to get something and a stranger jumped in and just started driving away, with me still in there. I remember I turned to look out the back window and saw my mom pressed to the glass inside the store, screaming and banging her fists.
The nightmare about my brothers was probably the first one I ever had where I was crying in real life as well as in the dream, and the sound of my own cries was what woke me. For hours afterward, I could only lie in bed shivering and shuddering, reliving the nightmare over and over, agonizing over every dream-decision made, if I could have changed the outcome by making another choice. Even though the dream was over. Even though it wasn't even real! I prayed and prayed that the dream wasn't some kind of portent for the future, like a warning of some sort to be vigilant and aware.
I always do that with dreams, over-analyze and pick it apart. Is it some hidden fear or repressed memory; maybe it IS some sort of sign and if so, what does it mean (I'm feeling some Double Rainbow there, lol); is it a warning of some sort or a glimpse of the future. And then I think I'm probably assigning it too much importance, its most likely just some mental thought bubble that worked its way to the surface, ha.
The memorable nightmares I've had as an adult have mostly revolved around a death in my family, usually one of my children but once where I lost Tyler. There was another one, the most recent from just last month, where I was the victim of a brutal rape and beating and I lost my memory and experienced bizarre and cruel personality changes. THAT one was freaky. It was like I was two people, the sane normal me I am now, and this other crazy mean person, and the sane me was conscious throughout and just couldn't understand how I could be like that.
Of course, there's the incredibly emotional and meaningful dreams I've had that have stayed with me for very different reasons. These ones leave me feeling mentally, emotionally and spiritually refreshed, if that's the right word. As if the depths of emotions, the utter lows and dizzying highs, sadness and joy, grief and peace, have affected to cleanse me of all those harbored feelings.
Which points to the reason behind my analyzing, I guess. How could something that affects me so intensely, whether its through terror or elation, be something so simple as a random brain impulse? Dreams MUST mean something.
What are your thoughts on the matter?
Crazy Foods in the Calorie Counter
Not the ones on this list, however. So I was browsing through my Calorie Counter book and started to come across the weirdest, most vile foods (IMO) in existence. I didn't realize some people actually eat this stuff, I thought it was just in movies or for dares on reality shows. Felt like I was in the Ozark mountains or something, reading a menu from the Clampett's version of a restaurant. But hey, I guess even hillbillys need to eat...
ALLIGATOR, cooked, 3oz: 126 cal
ANTELOPE, roasted, 4oz: 215 cal
BEAR, simmered, 3oz: 220 cal
BEAVER, roasted, 4oz: 240 cal
BRAINS, beef pan-fried, 3oz: 167 cal; beef simmered, 3oz: 123 cal; lamb braised, 3oz: 123 cal; lamb fried, 3oz: 232 cal, pork braised, 3oz: 117 cal; veal braised, 3oz: 116 cal; veal fried, 3 oz: 181 cal
CACTUS, fresh cooked w/fat, 1 pad: 11 cal; fresh cooked w/o fat, 1 cup: 22 cal; pricklypear, 1: 42 cal, pricklypear fresh, 1 cup: 61 cal
CARIBOU, roasted, 3oz: 142 cal
CROCODILE, cooked, 3oz: 78 cal
DANDELION GREENS, fresh cooked, 1/2 cup: 17 cal; raw chopped, 1/2 cup: 13 cal
EEL, fresh cooked, 1 fillet: 375 cal; raw, 3oz: 156 cal; smoked, 3.5oz: 330 cal
FIDDLEHEAD FERNS, fresh, 3.5oz: 34 cal
FIREWEED, leaves chopped, 1 cup: 24 cal
FOOD COLORING, all colors, 1 tsp, 0 cal
FROG LEGS, 3oz: 175 cal; Take-Out as prep w/seasoned flour & fried, 1: 70 cal
GOAT, roasted, 3oz: 122 cal
HIBISCUS FLOWERS, dried sweetened, 1/3 cup: 100 cal
HORSE, roasted, 3oz: 122 cal
MUSKRAT, roasted, 3oz: 199 cal
OPOSSUM, roasted, 3oz: 188 cal
PANCREAS (SWEETBREAD), beef braised, 3oz: 230 cal; lamb braised, 3oz: 199 cal; pork braised, 3oz: 186 cal; veal braised, 3oz: 218 cal
PIG'S FEET, cooked, 1: 201 cal; pickled, 1: 177 cal
PUFFERFISH, raw, 3oz: 72 cal
RABBIT, domestic w/o bone, roasted, 3oz: 167 cal; wild w/o bone, stewed, 3oz: 147 cal
RACCOON, roasted, 3oz: 217 cal
SEA CUCUMBER, dried, 1oz: 74 cal; fresh, 1oz: 20 cal
SEA URCHIN, canned, 1oz: 39 cal; fresh, 1oz: 36 cal; roe paste, 1 tbsp: 19 cal
SNAKE, fresh, 3oz: 78 cal
SPOT, baked, 3oz: 134 cal
SQUIRREL, roasted, 3oz: 147 cal
SUCKER, white, baked, 3oz: 101 cal
SWAMP CABBAGE, chopped cooked w/o salt, 1 cup: 20 cal
TESTICLES (PRAIRIE OYSTERS), cooked, 1 pair (tee hee): 241 cal
TREE FERN, chopped cooked, 1/2 cup: 28 cal
TRIPE, beef simmered, 3oz: 80 cal
TURTLE, raw, 3.5oz: 85 cal
TUSK FISH, raw, 3.5oz: 79 cal
WHALE, beluga, 3.5oz: 97 cal; beluga dried, 1oz: 92 cal
YACON, Navitas Naturals (brand), slices dried, 1oz: 90 cal
I don't even know what some of this stuff IS! What is Spot? And Yacon? People eat ferns?? SUCKER FISH?!?! But hey, it could be worse. There's probably an Asian Calorie Counter out there somewhere with chihuahua, rat, spiders and crickets on it. EWW!
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
My dream about Dad
I had such a strange dream last night and yet when it was over and I woke up, I felt so peaceful and happy. But like I said, it was strange so bare with me and understand that in dreamland, ALL things are possible...
My mom took me aside and reminded me that the summer solstice was coming up [yes, I know its already passed). The summer and winter solstices were the only two times a year when the barriers between the worlds of the dead and the living came down, and all persons with extra-sensory, psychic, perception or telepathic talents could interact with them. In fact, for that one day the dead became living and the telepathic person could actually SEE and hear and touch them. So, she said to me, seeing that I was half-psychic this would be our chance to finally see and talk to Dad.
I was all for it and we made plans to spend that day, which was tomorrow, at the acreage. That night we mentally prepared ourselves with all the questions we wanted to ask and the things we needed to say. The next day arrived and we packed our supplies, food, sleeping bags, and candles, and headed out there. Immediately upon walking into the house, we noticed a charge in the air, almost like an invisible electric current. There was power here. We shivered with anticipation.
Set out our candles in a circle around us, lit them, then sat in the middle and held hands. We started the chant to bring our beloved back to us. The air shimmered and turned thick, then a form condensed and appeared in front of me. I blinked rapidly, tears forming, then looked to Mom. But she was staring blindly ahead, unable to see him, and then I remembered that without any psychic ability she would be unable to experience what I was. My heart clenched with sorrow for her, but when I looked back at the solid, smiling, form of my Dad I was joyous.
Tears poured down my face as I rushed toward him, wrapped my arms around his middle and just hugged for all I was worth. As his arms slowly wrapped around me in return, I was suddenly overwhelmed with all the emotions I'd held tightly inside for so long. Tragic, heaving sobs wracked my body and all I could do was just cling and cry as the storm of emotion inside me raged.
Time became hazy, hours passed, maybe minutes, but all I knew was that I needed to stop wasting precious time with the waterworks and get on with our mission. I wiped my face with Dad's shirt -- he laughed -- and sat back. Slowly I brought his hands forward until they were wrapped around my mother's, watching their faces closely. Mom was confused as to what I was doing, until she seemed to feel my dad's fingers interlaced with her own; maybe she could feel the hum of power he seemed to emit or maybe it was just that their connection was so strong. Her breath hitched and then a wave of love and peace suffused her face, she even lifted her head and seemed to look directly into his eyes.
We asked our questions, about the afterlife, was he happy and finally at peace, where did he go after this day, would he be back, does he ever watch over us and if so, are we aware of it. I can't remember what his answers were but I know that they gave us comfort, insight, hope, and finally, peace.
The day passed in a blur of laughter, tears, affection... simple touches of hands to shoulders, comforting strokes of fingers down arms, lingering hugs where we just couldn't seem to let go, strong bear hugs that squeezed the breathy laughter out of our aching chests.
Through it all I acted as the go-between, for Dad rather, as Mom was still unable to hear or see him. But I knew she could feel him, and when the two were together, cuddled on her sleeping bag or sitting side-by-side or her in his lap, the bond of energy and connection they had was tangible, one could feel its power.
Suddenly it occurred to me that as he became a physical being on this day, he could manipulate and use that second-most common tool of communication -- pen and paper. I frantically rummaged through my backpack until I found what I was looking for. Handed it to Dad as Mom looked on in confusion, then realization flashed in her eyes. I smiled indulgently, maybe even a bit wickedly, at the two and took my leave.
Wandered around the property for a bit, determined not to return until they'd had their say and done their thing. After all, she could still feel him and I wasn't going anywhere near that house (hey, I still remember those embarrassingly vocal nights as a kid where I just wanted to cut out my ears, haha). Hours went by and I'd walked every inch of that property, the fields beyond, even the ditches, and it was getting late and cold outside.
When I walked back into the house I could tell immediately that this had been a life-changing experience for my mother. She was radiant, seeming to shine with love, and the aura of peace and happiness surrounding her was palpable. Dad was more handsome than I'd ever seen him, his strong face so tender as he stared at her, hands gently clasped around her waist. Thankfully, their clothes were back on! Haha.
As the sun set, we stood outside and watched its crimson rays sink lower and lower. The mood turned somber, our gazes returned to each other again and again. This was it. At least until next solstice, though I had a feeling we wouldn't be back. We'd gotten our closure and knowing that Dad was at happy and at peace was a huge burden of guilt and regret lifted off our shoulders.
As darkness fell Dad's physical form became fainter, until finally he was a mere transparent outline. Mom must have felt the fading energy and power because a wave of sadness emitted from her.
Dad turned to her and lifted her into his arms, holding her tightly for one last time. Tears shimmered in both their eyes and they locked gazes, and suddenly her face was one of shock and awe. Her trembling fingers reached up and swept across his forehead, down his cheek, along his strong jaw.
"I SEE you, Mark! My love, I can SEE you!" I heard her say in her mind, though her lips never moved. She must have been too shocked.
As he spoke, I knew she was finally able to hear him as well.
"Sadness, my darling? Not us. We don't DO sad. We are joy. We are love. TRUE love. Forever love. The memories of us and our time together will sustain me until we can be together again. Be happy, my love, and know that every time you find one of my signs, I am thinking of you and sending you strength and hope."
And with that he disappeared entirely, and we were left in silence. Mom and I shared a look of so much unspoken thoughts, yet we completely understood each other. With clasped hands we returned to the house to pack our things and leave.
My mom took me aside and reminded me that the summer solstice was coming up [yes, I know its already passed). The summer and winter solstices were the only two times a year when the barriers between the worlds of the dead and the living came down, and all persons with extra-sensory, psychic, perception or telepathic talents could interact with them. In fact, for that one day the dead became living and the telepathic person could actually SEE and hear and touch them. So, she said to me, seeing that I was half-psychic this would be our chance to finally see and talk to Dad.
I was all for it and we made plans to spend that day, which was tomorrow, at the acreage. That night we mentally prepared ourselves with all the questions we wanted to ask and the things we needed to say. The next day arrived and we packed our supplies, food, sleeping bags, and candles, and headed out there. Immediately upon walking into the house, we noticed a charge in the air, almost like an invisible electric current. There was power here. We shivered with anticipation.
Set out our candles in a circle around us, lit them, then sat in the middle and held hands. We started the chant to bring our beloved back to us. The air shimmered and turned thick, then a form condensed and appeared in front of me. I blinked rapidly, tears forming, then looked to Mom. But she was staring blindly ahead, unable to see him, and then I remembered that without any psychic ability she would be unable to experience what I was. My heart clenched with sorrow for her, but when I looked back at the solid, smiling, form of my Dad I was joyous.
Tears poured down my face as I rushed toward him, wrapped my arms around his middle and just hugged for all I was worth. As his arms slowly wrapped around me in return, I was suddenly overwhelmed with all the emotions I'd held tightly inside for so long. Tragic, heaving sobs wracked my body and all I could do was just cling and cry as the storm of emotion inside me raged.
Time became hazy, hours passed, maybe minutes, but all I knew was that I needed to stop wasting precious time with the waterworks and get on with our mission. I wiped my face with Dad's shirt -- he laughed -- and sat back. Slowly I brought his hands forward until they were wrapped around my mother's, watching their faces closely. Mom was confused as to what I was doing, until she seemed to feel my dad's fingers interlaced with her own; maybe she could feel the hum of power he seemed to emit or maybe it was just that their connection was so strong. Her breath hitched and then a wave of love and peace suffused her face, she even lifted her head and seemed to look directly into his eyes.
We asked our questions, about the afterlife, was he happy and finally at peace, where did he go after this day, would he be back, does he ever watch over us and if so, are we aware of it. I can't remember what his answers were but I know that they gave us comfort, insight, hope, and finally, peace.
The day passed in a blur of laughter, tears, affection... simple touches of hands to shoulders, comforting strokes of fingers down arms, lingering hugs where we just couldn't seem to let go, strong bear hugs that squeezed the breathy laughter out of our aching chests.
Through it all I acted as the go-between, for Dad rather, as Mom was still unable to hear or see him. But I knew she could feel him, and when the two were together, cuddled on her sleeping bag or sitting side-by-side or her in his lap, the bond of energy and connection they had was tangible, one could feel its power.
Suddenly it occurred to me that as he became a physical being on this day, he could manipulate and use that second-most common tool of communication -- pen and paper. I frantically rummaged through my backpack until I found what I was looking for. Handed it to Dad as Mom looked on in confusion, then realization flashed in her eyes. I smiled indulgently, maybe even a bit wickedly, at the two and took my leave.
Wandered around the property for a bit, determined not to return until they'd had their say and done their thing. After all, she could still feel him and I wasn't going anywhere near that house (hey, I still remember those embarrassingly vocal nights as a kid where I just wanted to cut out my ears, haha). Hours went by and I'd walked every inch of that property, the fields beyond, even the ditches, and it was getting late and cold outside.
When I walked back into the house I could tell immediately that this had been a life-changing experience for my mother. She was radiant, seeming to shine with love, and the aura of peace and happiness surrounding her was palpable. Dad was more handsome than I'd ever seen him, his strong face so tender as he stared at her, hands gently clasped around her waist. Thankfully, their clothes were back on! Haha.
As the sun set, we stood outside and watched its crimson rays sink lower and lower. The mood turned somber, our gazes returned to each other again and again. This was it. At least until next solstice, though I had a feeling we wouldn't be back. We'd gotten our closure and knowing that Dad was at happy and at peace was a huge burden of guilt and regret lifted off our shoulders.
As darkness fell Dad's physical form became fainter, until finally he was a mere transparent outline. Mom must have felt the fading energy and power because a wave of sadness emitted from her.
Dad turned to her and lifted her into his arms, holding her tightly for one last time. Tears shimmered in both their eyes and they locked gazes, and suddenly her face was one of shock and awe. Her trembling fingers reached up and swept across his forehead, down his cheek, along his strong jaw.
"I SEE you, Mark! My love, I can SEE you!" I heard her say in her mind, though her lips never moved. She must have been too shocked.
As he spoke, I knew she was finally able to hear him as well.
"Sadness, my darling? Not us. We don't DO sad. We are joy. We are love. TRUE love. Forever love. The memories of us and our time together will sustain me until we can be together again. Be happy, my love, and know that every time you find one of my signs, I am thinking of you and sending you strength and hope."
And with that he disappeared entirely, and we were left in silence. Mom and I shared a look of so much unspoken thoughts, yet we completely understood each other. With clasped hands we returned to the house to pack our things and leave.
Friday, August 6, 2010
I Love my Husband (and Kayaking)
Tyler and I went out on the lake kayaking last night. It was my very first time on a kayak, I was very nervous about tipping but once I found my center of gravity, I was fine. Took me about five minutes of wobbling and gasping and frantic paddling, but I got it. Then another five minutes to figure out how to use the paddle efficiently (read: not dousing myself with water every stroke) so I could keep up with Tyler. But boy, did I ever wow that husband of mine when I zipped right past him and he couldn't keep up! Haha.
We had a truly wonderful time. Started out on the far east side of the lake, Petro Beach I think its called; paddled into the reedy area and saw a mama duck with her babies. Ty was of course looking for schools of perch, no luck. Then we cruised along the shore, looking at all the cool houses and cabins and mini-mansions. On a side note, how lovely would it be to own property down there, your own personal private beach with sand and all that water right at your backdoor. We chuckled with evil glee at all the bird poop on the boats docked in the water, especially to see the black protective coverings just covered with white streaks.
Interrupted a young couple's canoodling when we drifted by, they frantically put their clothes back on and hustled away, har har har. We had a little race, and by 'little' I mean a full-on frantic mad dash to the finish line. Which I won, of course. Ty attributed it to my "much faster" kayak, but come on, we all know it was due to my awesome arm muscles, haha.
My kayak kept having a tendency to crash into Tyler's, and honestly I wasn't even trying to do it. Every time we tried to paddle nicely beside each other I would somehow end up bumping into the side of him. In retaliation, he thought it would be downright hilarious to try to tip my kayak by pushing mine with his oar or grabbing the end rope handle and shaking me around. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't tip me. Revenge was sweet when I did the same to him and he almost DID tip, teetering back and forth, madly trying to regain his balance. Muahaha!
We floated side by side and watched the sun set, it was glorious and romantic and just simply heaven. The sun was a brilliant red and set in a matter of minutes, and just as the last rays reached us he grabbed my kayak, pulled me closer and kissed me. *sigh* What a man!
On our way back to shore, of all things a bagpipe started playing. And not from a radio or recording, someone was actually on the beach playing a bagpipe. It was cool for the first five minutes, listening to the haunting music as we paddled, but after ten minutes, then twenty, all we wanted to do was find that damn bagpiper and fill his instrument with sand! Finally we floated by the musician, only to see he was playing to an audience. A group of people were sitting around a fire listening, but it was hilarious, you could tell they were thinking, 'Ohmygod, when is it ever going to end??' It was truly painful. High-pitched squees and tribbles (that's what I call them, ha), going on forever and ever and ever. My eardrums almost exploded. We were never so happy as to reach shore and quickly pack up and get out of there.
I am definitely in love with kayaking, though. We can't wait to get out again, next time maybe we'll go to Kuusamo Beach, now that I'm considered capable enough to handle the kayak without tipping myself. The water is much deeper there. So ya, that was our version of a wonderful romantic evening. We're the Kayaking Kashas!
We had a truly wonderful time. Started out on the far east side of the lake, Petro Beach I think its called; paddled into the reedy area and saw a mama duck with her babies. Ty was of course looking for schools of perch, no luck. Then we cruised along the shore, looking at all the cool houses and cabins and mini-mansions. On a side note, how lovely would it be to own property down there, your own personal private beach with sand and all that water right at your backdoor. We chuckled with evil glee at all the bird poop on the boats docked in the water, especially to see the black protective coverings just covered with white streaks.
Interrupted a young couple's canoodling when we drifted by, they frantically put their clothes back on and hustled away, har har har. We had a little race, and by 'little' I mean a full-on frantic mad dash to the finish line. Which I won, of course. Ty attributed it to my "much faster" kayak, but come on, we all know it was due to my awesome arm muscles, haha.
My kayak kept having a tendency to crash into Tyler's, and honestly I wasn't even trying to do it. Every time we tried to paddle nicely beside each other I would somehow end up bumping into the side of him. In retaliation, he thought it would be downright hilarious to try to tip my kayak by pushing mine with his oar or grabbing the end rope handle and shaking me around. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't tip me. Revenge was sweet when I did the same to him and he almost DID tip, teetering back and forth, madly trying to regain his balance. Muahaha!
We floated side by side and watched the sun set, it was glorious and romantic and just simply heaven. The sun was a brilliant red and set in a matter of minutes, and just as the last rays reached us he grabbed my kayak, pulled me closer and kissed me. *sigh* What a man!
On our way back to shore, of all things a bagpipe started playing. And not from a radio or recording, someone was actually on the beach playing a bagpipe. It was cool for the first five minutes, listening to the haunting music as we paddled, but after ten minutes, then twenty, all we wanted to do was find that damn bagpiper and fill his instrument with sand! Finally we floated by the musician, only to see he was playing to an audience. A group of people were sitting around a fire listening, but it was hilarious, you could tell they were thinking, 'Ohmygod, when is it ever going to end??' It was truly painful. High-pitched squees and tribbles (that's what I call them, ha), going on forever and ever and ever. My eardrums almost exploded. We were never so happy as to reach shore and quickly pack up and get out of there.
I am definitely in love with kayaking, though. We can't wait to get out again, next time maybe we'll go to Kuusamo Beach, now that I'm considered capable enough to handle the kayak without tipping myself. The water is much deeper there. So ya, that was our version of a wonderful romantic evening. We're the Kayaking Kashas!
10 Minute Trainer with Tony Horton
Have you heard about this? Its my new obsession: I need it, I want it, I simply MUST get it.
Recipe: Honey Garlic Chicken Wings
We had these last night, mmmmm so good. The trick is to bake the wings before you add the sauce, so they're nice and crispy.
Preheat oven to 425. On a baking sheet, drop two tbsp of margarine or butter. Put the sheet in the hot oven to melt the butter; remove before butter burns.
Then you take the wings (I always buy the pre-cut kind so I don't have to deal with removing the tips, etc), after you've rinsed them of course, and throw them in a resealable plastic bag filled with a flour-seasoning salt-onion salt-garlic powder mixture. Shake the bag around, remove wings and place on baking sheet.
Bake in oven for 15 minutes, then remove and flip the wings; put back in oven for another 10-15 minutes. Wings should be golden and crispy. While all that baking is happening, prepare the sauce. Oh, and at this point you need to reduce the oven heat to 350.
Honey Garlic Sauce
3/4 cup brown sugar
5 cloves garlic, minced
1 tsp ginger
2 1/2 cups water
5 tbsp honey
1/4 cup soya sauce
Mix these ingredients in a medium saucepan over medium-high heat; bring to boil. Reduce heat to medium.
Stir until mixed 3 tbsp cornstarch and 3/4 cup water in a separate bowl or container, then add to honey-garlic mixture. I usually do this in a tupperware container with a lid -- shake the crap out of it until the cornstarch is dissolved, then just dump it in. Continue to boil over medium heat until sauce is thick and bubbly; remove from heat and pour over chicken wings, turning to coat if needed. This makes a ton of sauce and you'll probably think its way too much for the amount of chicken, but trust me, you do need that much sauce. Half of it gets absorbed into the chicken and the other half turns very thick and sticky.
Bake wings for an addition 30-45 minutes (at the lower temp), then remove and enjoy!
Optional: sprinkle a handful of toasted sesame seeds on wings.
Five Question Friday
1. Are you a neat sleeper or a messy sleeper?
I am usually a messy sleeper. I toss and turn, flip the pillow a couple of times, get up to go pee, kick my feet out from under the covers so they can 'breathe', throw the covers off when I got hot then pull them back on when I get chilled. I can never decide if I prefer my left or right side to sleep on or if I like laying on my back better, so I'm always switching positions to get more comfortable. Also, my bed tends to get messy before I fall asleep every night, he he.
2. Fill in the blank. I wish I was more ________________.
...assertive (this is a work-in-progress), taller, thinner (duh), blonde, stronger-willed (in regard to will power), long-legged, athletic... I realize a lot of these are things I have no control over but a person can still wish.
3. What is something that you wish you had been warned about?
The importance of staying fit during pregnancy (making it easier to lose those pounds afterwards). The amount of time, money and participation involved when you sign your kids up for hockey. That you should always, always begin as you mean to go on when dealing with certain people, otherwise you can get trapped in a role or position you had no intention of taking; years later, its very hard to break free and say the things you've always wanted or been meaning to say. If you know who I'm talking about, you should understand what I just said.
4. What was the best thing you ever found at a garage sale/flea market?
When we were in the Yukon we went to this great artisan flea market, where all the locals were displaying their hand-made wares. I picked up this amazing bracelet for $10, it coils around your wrist three times and is made up of tiny little hand-carved polar bears in a pale green stone, amber-streaked beads, and tiny pieces of real Yukon gold. It was the only one like it in the collection and I snapped it up immediately so noone else would get it.
5. If you could have any meal brought to you right now, what would it be?
A Chicken Santa Fe Stromboli from Boston Pizza, my favorite thing on their menu by far. Its so delicious and greasy and huge, you feel like a pig for eating the whole thing but the bloated stomach afterward is soooo worth it.
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