How to grow old gracefully...

Sadly, I suspect it involves limiting your fast food intake and anything else that’s good. Let me do you a favour and give you a brief overview of some facts and fiction in regards to growing old gracefully. Be forewarned: my credentials regarding anything associated with the word gracefully are dubious at best.

Fiction: Aging won’t bother you at all because you’re not that superficial.
Fact: You’ll wish you could turn back time and tell that twenty-year old self of yours that she was magnificent, and urge her to shamelessly apply moisturizer and sunscreen like a raging lunatic. Your entire body should be greased daily, to the point where you have a hard time holding cutlery.

Fiction: Your closet is brimming with cute, little outfits, silently screaming to be called upon to decorate your body.
Fact: When it comes time to leave the house, you’ll inevitably find yourself uttering, “I have nothing to wear.” (Translation: why do all my shirts make me look pregnant? Clue: It's not the shirts.)

Fiction: You can get away with anything when you’re young.
Fact: Years of hard living will take their toll. Sadly, the bell will bang on your face.

Fiction: When you notice your first deep wrinkle, and it dawns on you that it's not a crease from the pillow, you’ll feel like crying.
Fact: You’ll unabashedly bawl like a baby and leak snot to your chin.

What to do? Well, there’s not much you can do about the growing old part. As for the gracefully part, I don’t have much to say in that respect either, other than it’s over-rated. I do though have some useful words of wisdom to share with you regarding habits that may end up having an impact on the amount of years you spend on this planet, and how well your body responds to each passing day. I think you know by now that I’m no Doctor, but I do read enough books to know that the same messages keep coming up over and over. To keep it simple, I’ve broken this down into the big three, well four actually, if you want to count exercising. But that’s a whole other fairy-tale so we’ll save that story for the next blog post. The top three? Ready or not, here I come.

Number one: Limit your intake of alcohol. Until quite recently, I suffered from the delusion that I could still drink as much as I did in university. I must work on developing into a mature adult who possesses the intelligence and clever ability to stop after having just one. (Perhaps this should have been a mandatory course in university.) A helpful tip to speed your learning? Have children. Both the pregnancies and the lack of sleep for the rest of your life is bound to smack some sense into you.

Number two: Quit smoking. Stare at horrible, diseased lung photos all day if you have to, chew on discarded butts you find in the park, make yourself lick a dirty ashtray whenever you feel like lighting up, smoke Export A Green Death until you spew…I don’t care what it takes, or how much dignity you lose in the process, just quit.

Number three: Break your addiction to fast food. It can’t be much better than drinking diesel fuel. And in my case, this means breaking up with my lover, McDonald’s. Now this one is tough. This one bites the big one and gets me a little choked up. I mean, the first two are hard enough, and now I’m supposed to give up my French fries? Are fries really even that bad for you? I recently read that according to the school nutrition guidelines in the United States, French fries are classified as vegetables. Hmmmm...Michelle Obama must have swallowed a vending machine when she heard that.

A few years ago, a lot of people got really worked up about the movie Super Size Me. After watching the movie, many of my friends swore they’d never eat fast food again. (Incidentally, they've all lied about other things before...) So of course I watched it, hoping for the same miraculous result. Sadly, it had quite the opposite effect on me. As soon as I picked up the DVD in the movie store, and saw the picture on the movie cover of that guy with his mouth shoved full of delectable fries, I dropped my next errand to make a drive-through run. I’m starting to think that the marketing geniuses employed by McDonald’s funded the movie to send out subliminal messages to everyone who saw the cover. It’s brilliant, really. And whenever someone moans, “How can you still eat fast food? My God, haven’t you seen the movie Super Size Me? You should watch it, and I swear you won’t eat that crap food ever again!” I tell them yes, I’ve watched it. And yes, I’m still a frequent flyer through the drive-through window. And yes, my one-year old child’s first word sounded alarmingly similar to McDick’s (or something close to that…after all, their father is Scottish.) Most importantly, I think most of these fast food naysayers are still firing up their BBQ in the summer, enjoying their juicy feast of crispy hot dogs. May they continue to indulge in their delicious concoction of lips, hooves and other unmentionables. I sure will.

Really, if all that goodness ends up knocking a few years off my life, then, oh well. As the saying goes, eat, drink and be merry, for today may be your last. Having said that, I guess the saying has never been gorge senselessly, drink until you lose consciousness and smoke like a chimney. This may be where the gracefully part comes in. Yawn.

But when all else fails, this I swear is the ultimate secret - hang around children. For as much as you feel they may suck the air right out of you, they'll breathe it all back in, times ten.

Early in the morning, one of the kids will usually sneak up to our

room and hop in the shower with us. Here's Isla, post-shower, having a cuddle

with Daddy to warm up. She's pretending to be fast asleep so she can stay put.

Honey, that cheeky smile is a dead give-away.

 

 

I'll take Lloyd Christmas for Halloween...

I trust my family to do anything for me. If I’m hungry, they feed me. If I’m dirty, they clean me. If I’m sad, they hug me. It doesn’t get much better than that, does it? However, I can now - with blinding certainty - drop one request from the trust tree.

The day in question started like almost any other – innocuous and virginal in the blank slate that it offered. Let it be said that I had been toying with the idea of giving my one-year old daughter a haircut for some time. The poor thing was born a hairy creature and she didn’t lose it like most babies. Rather, it continued to grow at an exponential rate. Lacking the ability (or desire) to push her hair out of her eyes, it was time I did something about it.

Now I can do most things myself if I put my mind to it, however after a dozen or so wrestling matches with my son in an attempt to give him a haircut (cue images of steer wrestling, mixed martial art holds, Twister mats drenched in canola oil…all these images would work), I decided to enlist the help of an expert. In hindsight, the expert was a rather vociferous, self-proclaimed one – let it be said my sister holds no certification whatsoever in the arena of hairstyling. At any rate, she offered to help and that was good enough for me.

So I packed up my daughter and we headed over to my sister’s place.

I asked her to take off a few inches.

In the flurry of hacking and snipping that followed, one would assume what she heard was: “Make her look like Lloyd Christmas.” I guess it sort of rhymes. One can see how these mistakes are made.

My job was admittedly easy - I was to hold the video camera to capture the inaugural first haircut. The first order of business was to introduce the concept of bangs so as to eliminate stray hairs from getting into her eyes. I must admit, the first cut looked darling. My sister occupied my daughter with a cupcake and snipped just above her eyebrows, revealing the perfect arches on her adorable face. At this point, I remember being momentarily distracted by my nephew and I turned to film him for a bit. Mere seconds later, I turned the camera back to the stylist and her prey, and damn near dropped the camera.

Me: What the @#$% are you doing?
Sister: I’m layering the bangs a little to thin them out.
Me: What? You can’t do that to a girl! She looks like the victim of accidental electrocution.
Sister: This is what I did for his. (waving scissors, rather maniacally, in general direction of her son)
Me: Yeah, but she’s not a boy. You can’t layer the top of the head to make it spike out. That only looks cute on a boy.
Sister: Good point. @#$%. What do I do now?
Me: Well, it looks ridiculous. I guess you’ll have to cut it all down to the shortest layer so at least there’s a chance of it lying in a straight line.
Evil One: Hmmm…I’ll see what I can do.

Now I’ve been told a picture paints a thousand words…here, in blinding detail, is the result of my sister’s “I’ll see what I can do.” I believe it’s called witchcraft.

That avocado Peanut's holding?

I believe she was intending to smash it over Auntie’s head,

however she lacked the requisite fine motor skills

 to complete said task.

My sister was quick to point out that the wrap-around fringe was completely unintentional, as was the upward skewing to the left. We thought maybe it would look better if we wet it down; this resulted in the complete and utter destruction of two grown women, as we lay rolling on the bathroom floor, our collective bladders releasing a little urine as they can no longer cope with this level of amusement.

So if your friend asks you to go as Dumb and Dumber for Halloween this year, don’t bother fretting over who’s Dumb and who’s Dumber…that’ll work itself out in the wash. Just insist they go as Lloyd and you stick with Harry.

p.s. For the record, I'm now a firm believer that a good cut at age one will lead to thick, healthy, shiny hair. Don't believe me? See photo below. Tell me this...does this mane belong on a three year old? Even the cat looks scared, attempting to camouflage itself against the towel, limp with fear at the jungle cat rising from the tub. I rest my case.

38 years old. Never kissed a girl...

Yes, I'm 38. To those whom I have profusely lied to over the years, my utmost apologies. I seriously forgot how old I actually was, although this time, I pulled out the birth certificate to confirm. 1974. The year of the Tiger. Now I'm not big into astrology, nor was I aware of my actual sign until befriending a (magnificently frightening) woman on a train, whilst travelling through Peru.  She asked what my sign was, I told her I didn't know, so she asked me for my birth date so she could consult her guide(s). Did I mention her nose had a white, powder-like substance on it? Likely insignificant. Upon hearing my actual birth date, she inhaled sharply and squawked, "Oh my God! You're a CUSP!" I immediately thought she had shouted another "C" word, and our friendship, still in the infancy stages, was immediately put on the rocks.

So yes, I'm a cusp. And a Tiger. Recently, I received this link from an online Chinese horoscope guide. If it weren't so true, it would likely be funny.

Tigers do not find worth in power or money.They will be completely honest about how they feel and expect the same of you. On the other hand, they seek approval from peers and family. Generally, because of their charming personalities Tigers are well liked. Often, failing at a given task or being unproductive in his personal or professional life can cause a Tiger to experience a depression. Criticism from loved ones can also generate this type of Tiger reaction. Still, like all felines, Tigers always land on their feet, ready for their next act in life, pursuing it with unyielding energy and hunting it infallibly.Tigers are also incorrigibly competitive - they simply cannot pass up a challenge, especially when honor is at stake, or they are protecting those they love. Tigers are unpredictable and it would be unwise to underestimate their reactions. They may appear cool, but they have the Big Cat's instincts to pounce at a moment's warning. Natural leaders, they have a strong sense of their own dignity, and if they find themselves in the ranks, they can be stubborn and obstinate. In positions of power they can be difficult though stimulating bosses. Tigers are intelligent, alert, and farsighted. They have their fingers on the pulse.

A Tiger’s home will be filled with exotic treasures from trips past and will include items such as Tibetan prayer mats or African carvings, confirming their desire to travel to distant places.A quickness and an alert intelligence make Tigers fast learners. Tigers need a challenge. Add this to them being easily bored and it explains why Tigers tend to change careers more often than other Chinese Animals. Some Tigers don’t change their occupations frequently enough and thus tend to juggle jobs all at the same time. Most Tigers are natural born leaders who perform best knowing they are working towards positions of power and influence.

Tigers, born under the third Animal sign of the Chinese Zodiac, have the ability to lift the spirits of even the most depressed or lonesome individual they meet. Because of that attitude, Tigers have no problem making new friends. Actually, a Tiger person without a friend is quite miserable and sad.

Tiger parents are quite similar to the characters of their wildlife counterparts.They will walk through fire to protect their children or to defend them to others. As warm and affectionate as they are, they can become fierce and defensive when their kids are at stake. They lavish their offspring with treats and spoil them with generosity. Tiger parents can be fun as kittens, playing family games and getting great enjoyment from it. On the whole, they enjoy their children's company, having a good laugh and sharing a funny joke. Still, adult Tigers will become enraged if one of their children has gone too far, or is disrespectful. As open-minded and liberal as they are, they will not, under any circumstances, tolerate bad manners, or a lack of respect for other adults.They take their role as parents very seriously, and they believe in the value of a good education. When their kids are small, Tigers like to tell them tales and read them stories. They like to talk about their childhood experiences, and use their stories to instill moral lessons or any ethical feelings. Tigers are decidedly convinced to make themselves the very best role models for their children that they can be.

As friends, Tigers are exceptionally warm and incredibly generous with their time, attention and money. Friends are always welcome in a Tiger’s home and will most often be greeted with a cup of coffee, an ear, a tissue, an open mind and an open wallet. Few friends could be as caring and affectionate, as quirky and surprising, or as genuinely interested as the Tiger.

Tigers tackle everything in their lives in brief bursts of energy, collapsing afterwards in a heap of exhaustion. Normally they are soon back to full strength, but their approach can cause their long-term health to suffer. They should take it a little easier and learn to pace themselves to keep active longer and to prevent early burnout. They are blessed with flexibility and recover quickly from illness or pain. They owe it to themselves to relax a little. Along with the fitness of their long-term health, Tigers must be aware of how they react to and are affected by the consequences of their tempers. A Tiger’s meanest enemy is the damage he can inflict upon himself in the midst of a temper tantrum.

Well said, Chinese horoscope person. Currently, I'm in the heap of exhaustion stage. To give you an example, when I sit down to write late at night, here's what happens:

I stare at my fingers.
I wonder when exactly, my hands got so wrinkly.
I get up to go find lotion.
I lubricate generously.
I sit down to write again.
My fingers slip from keyboard as they're too greasy.
I wander into kitchen to wash my hands.
I decide to clean the kitchen.
I go back to write.
I notice a pile of unopened mail.
I open it.
I find some sort of pill lying under the pile.
Not sure what it is, but I take it cause I feel like shit.
Pray that it's not something that causes drowsiness.
Decide that it tastes like a Flintstones vitamin.
Notice my nails look horrid.
Go find nail polish.
Apply.
Sit down to write again.
Get really mad at myself for being a complete loser.
"Focus Loser", I say. FOCUS.
Ruin nail polish.
Go find nail polish remover.
Apply.
Get high as a kite.
Start to feel drowsy.
Wonder if there are chicken fingers in the freezer.
Forget what I was doing
Wander into kitchen.
Remember there's an email I need to reply to for work.
Find homework that Jack was supposed to do.
Lecture myself that I really need to get my shit together.
Eat obscene amounts of pistachios.
Giggle to self about scene from Naked Gun when Leslie Nielsen ate that mound of  pink pistachios, and couldn't open his car door.
Wonder why they don't make pink ones anymore
Wonder what the pink stuff was exactly....
Wonder if it fucked with my brain.
Go to bed.

I recently shared with a friend that I fear my brain has been ruined. I shamelessly admitted that I had become that person who usually has approximately 18 unchecked phone messages and 468 unopened emails sitting in my personal computer. I fretted that my life required some recalibration. I believe I used the phrase shit-show of epic proportion. This tiger could hardly lift her paws to wipe her face at night, never mind write. My friend responded to my lamentations of exhaustion and brain ruination with the following email:

"Yes, I was wondering why you had slipped off the web.
Three little kids and a job is impossible. Once things are impossible,
adding tasks like writing blogs or articles doesn't make things "more"
impossible. Impossible is an on or off thing. Sadly, impossibility
doesn't get you off the hook. Nor does a ruined brain. In fact, a
ruined brain may just make you a better parent and writer.
All that stuff is a blur to me now, not because I was so busy, but
because I was drinking heavily. That's not a recommendation. It doesn't
work for everyone. Still..."

Did I mention I love this man? He's one of the funniest human beings on the planet. And I adore funny human beings. Check out his blog here. He also writes for the Huffington Post. Yawn. His first article was right under Yoko Ono. Well, not actually under her. He's married. Check out his most recent article from the Huffington Post. He even uses the word "boner". You gotta love his sensibilities. Click here to read it.

To summarize, I am a Tiger. I will continue to be honest about how I feel. I will continue to be easily bored. I will continue to be fun as a kitten. I will continue to tell tales and read stories. I will continue to tackle everything with brief bursts of energy. I will continue to collapse in heaps of exhaustion. I will continue to inflict damage on myself in the midst of my internal temper tantrums. But most importantly, I will continue to love fiercely. That is, unless I find out one of those little pecker heads has eaten the last of the pistachios. Then my friends, fur is gonna fly.

Here forthwith, are photo highlights from this cat's actual birthday. Yeah, babe. They make me purr.

Isla's first day of ballet. She continued to "purse" her lips for six full minutes

following lip gloss application. Whatever works.



After ballet class, off on family trip to Moose Jaw!

James enjoying the stretch break...and likely also wondering why we went to Moose Jaw.



We simply CANNOT go to Moose Jaw without a visit to

Mack the Moose. Apparently Mack's been neutered. Too many kids

were spray painting his balls. True story.



 Peanut down...still in her ballet outfit no less.

 

 Peanut very angry that Jack has deemed this HIS rock.

Did I mention that mere minutes after our arrival, every other tourist vanished?

 

 Multiple attempts at family photo on the rock.

Peanut's only focus was on her big swirly sucker.

James went missing.

Jack was mad we were on HIS rock.

Even Mack the Moose had to look away.

 

 Attempted a few family self-portraits. Fail.

Too many kids. Too many big heads. Not enough rock.

 

 This guy here? Best decision I've ever made.

 

 Still working on it...

 

 And.....done.

Now to find some literature on Type 2 diabetes.

 

This one loves to sing and dance to the music! 

Recently I told Roddy that I think James has magic eyes, just like Peanut.

Roddy claims he's never seen it. He thinks I'm imagining things.

 

Well, imagine this...captured on camera.

Jacks finds this extremely amusing.

He says we have to get Dr. Kimery to check out James's loose eye.

Nice. Stay tuned for that visit.

 

 Regardless of the outcome, he's perfect.