Pound Foolish No More

I have this huge piggy bank of my own which stands about three feet high. It's amazing how quickly it fills up. Every four months or so, I start to empty it out and spend hours separating change and rolling it. I generally concentrate on the loonies, twoonies and quarters since the pay-off is larger for the amount of backbreaking gross work it takes (one year, we paid our mortgage for several months with the change that had accumulated).

Sometimes I enlist my kids to help out, but since the task often takes hours to fully complete, they start losing interest within the first hour. What usually happens is that I dump out the contents of the piggy bank onto a newspaper, separate out the bigger change and roll that, and then deposit all the smaller change back into the piggy bank. This means that I've accumulated a ton of pennies. I know it's Hallowe'en today, but we never have that much of a demand for Unicef that I can rid myself of the thousands of pennies in my possession.

There are those Cashstop machines at the grocery stores that I've kept passing but have never used. Recently, I stopped and checked it out. The surcharge is almost ten cents per dollar counted (nine and eight-tenths to be exact). I was pretty astounded when I first saw that and thought "Forget it. I'll just do it myself. That's way too much money to lose".

But then I thought about it. I have A LOT of pennies and the bank will only accept them for deposit if they are rolled into those plastic sleeves. I usually only buy the sleeves for everything but pennies, because they cost a dollar (at the dollar store of course) for a package of ten. It's fine to pay that if you're going to roll loonies and twoonies because you spend a minimal amount to net out a fairly large chunk of cash, but in the case of pennies, I realised that one package of sleeves would only roll five dollars worth of change. I would therefore be losing one-fifth of my money, not to mention the amount of time it would take to carry out the gross and grimy task (I hate how mucky my hands get within minutes of touching all that change). How many hours would it take to roll the number of pennies that I had and couldn't I use that time in a way that might make me more money than I was trying to save?

Once I realised that it was more cost-effective to use the machine for the pennies, I shovelled all the pennies into a large strong canvas bag and humped it down to the store. It was a pretty staggering weight. I thought I was going to get a hernia trying to lift it into my car.

As it turned out after only ten minutes of depositing all my change into the machine, I ended up with a little over $440.00 worth of pennies. The surcharge was $40.00 (as compared to the $88.00 it would have cost me in plastic rolling sleeves) and it was worth every penny in my opinion. That and the experience of getting out to the grocery store where everyone gawked at me and my big bag of change made it all worth it.

P.S. I had some sexagenarian attempting to flirt with me while his elderly wife looked on ... I'm not sure if he was turned on by the fact that I was a babe who saved or if he wanted to hit me up for some cash. He stood there watching me and chatting me up for a good five minutes. It was really quite funny.

Sorry but my gang bang card is full

Once after a fun drunken evening, I fell into bed with a man only to wake up the next morning and find two totally different but really cute half-naked guys on either side of me. Sounds great, no? Talk about a woman's fabulous fantasy come to life!

Punch line is that the gorgeous dudes were my sons. Apparently, they'd missed me when I'd been out kicking up my heels, so after I'd come home and passed out, they crawled into bed next to me and kicked out their dad. Freud might have had a field day with that one, I'm sure.

This evening I got a phone call from some guy who has been hitting on me repeatedly. Nice guy who's actually pretty intelligent and interesting and we were friends of a sort until he decided to take it upon himself to try and move things up a notch. Sad really because I liked the idea of having a platonic relationship with him but for whatever reason, his current goal is to try and bed me. Dunno why ... I mean, who fantasizes about sex with older married mothers? I've tried all kinds of ways to cool his jets but he's pretty persistent. I guess it's all in the thrill of the chase maybe?

Anyway, tonight my eldest son is having his sleep-over party in celebration of his ninth birthday. Four of his closest friends arrived here several hours ago and will be staying until lunchtime tomorrow. It's not as bad as it sounds. Boys are pretty low-key -- just point them in the general direction of the Playstation and they don't emerge for hours, except for pizza and bathroom breaks. At least that's what happened last year.

So in the middle of all the festivities, this guy calls and starts sniffing around for a get-together. Now, it usually starts as a suggestion that we have coffee ... which we used to do until he tried to cop a feel over a latte, so I'm now somewhat wary about going for Round 2. But it seems the more I just tell him that "really, I'm only interested in being non-sexual friends", the harder he tries. I'm reluctant to tell him to fuck off because I'm just never comfortable with being that way with anyone. (Something about bad karma maybe, I don't know, or maybe because I'm somewhat wussy). So tonight after we'd exchanged greetings, I interrupted him with a breathy "I can't really talk right now. As you can hear, I've got a bunch of people here. They're all guys and I'm really pretty busy servicing their needs. Gotta run! Later dude!" before I hung up.

Think I'll hear back from him?

It's Good For You

I recently read a Forbes article citing scientific findings with regards to the hazards of female sexual abstinence. So I'm curious about whether or not proponents for the saving-yourself-for-marriage theory might be swayed by the study's conclusions. Apparently, "women who abstain from sex run some risks ... these include vaginal atrophy". The article goes on to cite a case in which a physician, whose patient hadn't had sexual intercourse in three years, advised said patient to "buy a vibrator" as she was well on her way to "los(ing) function there". My goodness, I'm trying to imagine any of my doctors suggesting the purchase of a dildo or vibrator ...

According to the study's findings, there appears to be a bit of a problem going on because apparently, men can sustain permanent damage from having too much sex while women just can't get enough. So while we women have to protect ourselves against the perils of celibacy, you men have to try and abstain a little bit more. Does anyone detect a wee problem going on there? It's almost as if the article is advocating that women have a coterie of lovers.

It seems to me that where sex is concerned, the rules of society don't seem to jive with nature's ways. This is one such example. Another prime one is the fact that boys reach their sexual peak at the age of seventeen, while women don't attain that milestone until their late thirties. And yet society often seems to think that women should partner up with men who are more or less their own age. Oh sure, we've heard all the little consoling remarks that a man's experience is supposed to kick in some kind of contributing factor post-seventeen, but really if he can only do it once or twice in an evening without imperiling the health of his genitalia and we thirty-something sexually insatiable women can do it all night long ... I mean it practically guarantees that we have to assume the role of Mrs. Robinson at some point in our lives, doesn't it?

P.S. As an aside, the article cited a doctor from England who said that there is "little or no risk of a woman's overdosing on sex. In fact ... regular sessions will not only firm a woman's tummy and buttocks but also improve her posture". So forget the aerobics classes, ladies and have a great time!

In the Blink of an Eye

Last Friday marked my ten year wedding anniversary. This Sunday is my eldest's son's ninth birthday. Hard to believe that so much time has passed in what seemed like a nano second.

I'm not sure which milestone freaks me out more, my anniversary or my son's birthday. I suspect it is probably the latter. It's hard to believe that my first-born is only a couple of years away from adolescence. I can still remember the moment he was born; the doctor placed him on my stomach and I looked down into his face and felt as though I was seeing someone I'd known all my life. It was a really weird experience; electrifying and comforting all at once. Afterwards, I spent hours holding him and rubbing my cheek against the soft downy fuzz of his head.

Two days ago, my son came home from his hockey practice complaining of a stomach ache. The first thing he did was head upstairs to see me. I ended up holding him much like I did when he was a baby, stroking his head and back and whispering "ssh" into his hair. It's funny how even though kids can get bigger, they still revert back to that infantile stage in moments of stress. Although I felt badly that he was suffering so much, I have to confess that it was so nice to cuddle him like I used to when he was a newborn.

Reflecting back upon the last ten years of my life, I wondered if I've gotten any more mature than when I was in my twenties. I have this horrible suspicion that, if anything, I might have regressed. I suppose I could point to the fact that I'm in a long-term relationship as proof of my maturity, since prior to our fourteen years together (ack!), I'd always made sure to end relationships at the one-year mark, but really the truth of the matter is that it's more a credit to his patience than anything else. We're like some perverse twist on A Portrait of Dorian Gray; as he gets older and more mature, I get more childish and silly. Wonder what I'll be doing on our twentieth anniversary?

The Art of Conversation or How to Say Nothing in As Many Words as Possible

I'm still feeling uninspired to write anything, but Snooze has given me a big kick to post an entry after my long sojourn of laziness, so I've decided to just engage in general cocktail talk. (Don't you just love that word? It conjures up such lurid sexual images).

I come from a family that believes in every moment, action, gesture, thought, etc. being a deeply significant one. We weren't permitted the luxury of waste at any level. So to sit around and chatter about topics lacking real substance was really considered insipid and generally useless. My dad used to hate going to faculty parties and the like because it meant that he might find himself trapped in some trivial conversation, and what was the point of that when he could be doing something truly important? We weren't really a family well-versed in communication of any kind (unless you counted yelling at each other in which case we were brilliant conversationalists).

I often tell my kids that if they can't say something nice to someone, to refrain from commenting at all. Growing up, the golden unspoken rule was "If you haven't anything intelligent to say, don't say anything at all". So I spent much of my younger years rehearsing the words in my head before uttering them, or in more instances than not, choking them back after judging them "too silly to say". I was a pretty silent child, who spent most of my time watching and listening to others, and while this sullen retentive attitude might have passed for good behaviour, I had the unfortunate occasional habit of blurting out attempted witticisms in the heat of the moment (a compulsion to which I still give in). My parents chastised me for my "slick tongue" and these outbursts effectively cancelled out my otherwise clean record of verbal abstinence.

As a teenager, I stuck out like a sore thumb in many social situations because I continued to adhere to the rule of refraining from the so-called mindless chitter chatter that most adolescent girls were prone to indulge in. I did remarkably well at my parents' dinner parties in which middle-aged academics were present, but quite honestly, when you're thirteen, you really don't consider it a compliment if a forty-something professor tells you how poised and mature you are; what you really want is for his cute teenage son to tumble at your feet in adoration and worship, and if you couldn't behave like any other normal pre-pubescent girl, how on earth were you going to accomplish this lofty goal??!!

I remember once how the love of my early teenage life was the unfortunate recipient of me phoning him up to treat him to endless silence, all because I would run through what I might say to him (eg. nice weather we're having) and then think to myself "No, no, I can't say that. That's not a deep and profound topic. Think, think of something else to say". Poor boy tried to keep up a running patter, but then inevitably would get so turned off that he'd finally find an excuse to hang up in a hurry. I realised many years later, that he would have been happy to listen to pretty much anything I'd said and would have volleyed back with comments of his own until we'd built ourselves up to a comfortable conversational level. The irony is that in my attempts to be brilliant, profound and interesting, I ended up instead being billed as stupid and boring.

Unfortunately, these kind of uncomfortable silences punctuated much of my adolescent and early post-adolescent years. I was just not well-versed in the art of cocktail talk, and I suffered from the mistaken belief that the world at large wanted to be treated to a constant deeply intellectual patter. What never occurred to me was that my intelligence might still shine through during the parentally-deemed inoccuous chit chat. I failed to realise that in the absence of having anything intelligent to say (which is nearly all the time), I can at least inquire after people's health and comment on the weather. There is a certain art, I think, in successfully pulling off cocktail chatter; if done correctly, it tends to put people at ease (unless you're my dad in which case the inanity of it all is simply enervating and irritating).

Many years later, I've become fairly well-versed in talking about seemingly nothing. After all, I've created an entire blog about pretty much nothing. But since some people have been clamouring for more, I guess the vacuity has provided them with some sort of amusement. Smoke and mirror, my friends, smoke and mirrors.

Lazy Ass Syndrome

I am feeling so incredibly unmotivated today. I've done hardly anything and yet I'm exhausted already. In fact, by the time I got dressed this morning, I was pooped. Is this a sign of old age?

Warm Fuzzy Feelings

Urp ... sitting here feeling somewhat like a beached whale after the big Thanksgiving smorgasbord. I'm somewhat exhausted after the all-day cooking and cleaning fest, followed by the shameless gorging. Just sitting here waiting for the effects of the turkey's L-tryptophan to kick in ...

In the meantime, figured I should spend some time thinking about all the good things in my life. As we sat down to dinner tonight, I asked my kids what they were most thankful for, and my seven-year-old daughter replied without missing a beat, "I'm thankful for my family". I thought that was a particularly amazing comment for someone so young, but maybe that's just my mom biased pride colouring my judgement.

So top of the list for me, is of course, my family. I'm surrounded by a bevy of wonderful people within my household, and that's wonderfully reassuring and comforting, even though it can be downright exhausting at times.

I spent all week feeling really awful and ill, so now that I'm feeling almost back to my old self, I guess I'd have to say my good health is also a boon. Touch wood that I remain moderately healthy for a long time. I'm don't make a very good patient. (By the way, thank you to all who read my post and took the time to wish me well).

One thing that amazed me during this past week, was the amount of support I had from people. Some of the moms saw me at school during the drop-off and pick-ups earlier in the week, and commented on my worn-out and pale appearance. Before I knew it, I suddenly had a number of the parents volunteering to drive my kids to and from school. Now, I'm not one who ever asks to be on the receiving end of favours, although I'm very willing to help out most people whenever required, but I actually did take up some of the mothers on their offers after one in particular phoned me several times and insisted that I let her help out because she could see how poorly I was feeling. It was so touching to know that people noticed and cared enough about me to extend themselves. I really do have such extraordinary friends.

One of the greatest things I am most thankful for, is the fact that I'm at a point in my life where I can recognise, appreciate and embrace the good parts of life itself. It sounds fairly trite and trivial, but a decade ago, I don't think I ever really did stop to smell the roses, much less notice them, so I'm glad that I'm able now to see all the small wonderful moments and things that make my day.

Happy Thanksgiving everyone!

Letters from the Sickbed

Ick. I've been felled by some nasty virus and can't even wrap my mind around blogging. Unfortunately have nothing amusing or interesting to share with anybody other than my germs.

Will post when I am feeling human again and can string together a coherent thought.

Thanks for stopping in.

Thank God for Judaism

It's Monday ... and not to plagiarise the Boomtown Rats, but I just don't like Mondays. Unless it's a holiday Monday. Then I can cavort around the house in my pyjamas until noon if I like, instead of yelling at my kids every two minutes to hurry up and get ready for school.

This past month, Monday afternoons have been particularly hellish as my kids have swimming lessons immediately after school (rush for the afternoon pick up), followed by my eldest son's soccer game at 6:00 (rush to get to the game). This means that I've had to make and pack dinner at 2:30 p.m. so that we can eat it either in the car en route to said soccer game, or have a quick picnic on the soccer field. It's been somewhat difficult if I've had an afternoon meeting that day because I've had to rush home to make dinner quickly before racing out to pick up the kids.

Today however, Rosh Hashana (the Jewish New Year) begins at sundown. Since my son's soccer team is almost entirely comprised of Jewish kids (we are one of three Gentile families on the team), I've gotten a reprieve. Gotta love them Jewish high holidays!

Shana Tovah to one and all!

Passing the Torch

I had this long-standing tradition with two of my university girlfriends; all three of us have birthdays within weeks of each other, so we've celebrated them together year after year, by going for high tea at the Four Seasons Hotel.

A couple of years ago on my daughter's fourth birthday, one of my girlfriends presented her with a card entitling her to tea with the "girls", as part of her initiation into big girl status. Naturally, my daughter loved the whole idea of sipping sweet milky tea from grown up china cups and munching on delectable pastries and tea biscuits (gotta love that clotted cream).

Lately, my girlfriends and I haven't been able to get it together and have our annual birthday tea. Not wanting such a lovely tradition to die, I decided to revive it with my daughter.

I promised her last week that we would go for tea this weekend. In honour of the event, she made us tea crowns. They were lovely colourful creations with the words "Tea Queen" emblazoned across the front, and our names at the back. She'd also made me these fabulous dangly earrings, one purple and the other apple green (she didn't have enough beads of each colour to make a pair), which I'd promised her I would wear only on special occasions. I figured the initation of a mother-daughter tea tradition counted as such.

We had a blast-and-a-half. As soon as we were seated, we placed our tea crowns solemnly upon our heads and proceeded to order the afternoon full tea. We drew a few envious looks from those seated nearby. My daughter got a big kick out of the server's constant references to her as "the beautiful Tea Queen". I was complimented many times on my gorgeous earrings, which caused my daughter to beam and glow.

And for the first time ever ... the Lobby Bar, which never validates parking, did so gladly and willingly. I'm sure this wouldn't happen for any normal plebians, but since we were Tea Queens after all, they were more than happy to oblige.

And so a new tradition is born ...