My sister and I took our 3 boys to Upper Clements Park and Fort Ann in Annapolis last weekend. On the drive up the boys played their GameBoy’s while Deanna and I laughed so hard that we would have made a great commercial for bladder control products.

Our Grandparents lived in Clementsport just outside of Annapolis Royal until their death, and the drive up really took us back to our many travels to visit them.  We reminisced about all those crazy and outlandish things that our mother would tell us during our very impressionable childhood years.  Deanna brought up how, to this day, she cannot eat the end of a cucumber. According to my mother the ends were poisonous.  My Brother-In-Law will say, “Yeah you often hear on the news, ‘another death due to cucumber poisoning’. Dun-dun-daaaa.”  Now, saying it as adults, I realize how crazy it sounded, but coming from your mother you tend to believe it.  I mean, mothers know everything, or at least that’s what I tell my boys.

We talked about how Mom told us that eating raw cookie dough gives you worms and that eating too much Ketchup dries your blood.  She stays firm on that one.  David is convinced she made it up because Ketchup was too expensive and she wanted to ration it.

We laughed about how during a thunder and lightening storm Mom unplugs all electronics while screaming, “get off the phone!” and practically dives to take cover behind the sofa.  During the storm she’ll warn you within an inch of your life not to look out the window just like she did when those religious people would show up on our doorstep.   You’d have sworn she grew up in Baghdad and was having a flashback. She would tell us that if we slept in our cloths we’d get bedbugs and drinking warm soapy water was a good laxative.   Ohhhhh…but she did!

Deanna recalled her surprise to realize that the word ‘mayswell’ doesn’t actually exist. Mom would use it in sentences like, “Mayswell, nothing else to do.”

We laughed and we laughed and then got quiet as we realized that soon enough, our boys will be laughing and losing their bladder at us at some of the crazy things that we’ve told them. 

I could almost picture Evan saying to Colin, “Remember how,when we would see a raccoon killed on the road, Mom would say it was because they didn’t use a cross walk?  And remember how she’d tell us we had bugs on our teeth so we’d brush them?  That simple women.”

But who am I kidding, my boys won’t laugh nearly as hard as their future wives will.

*Note from author- I received permission from Nancy Rafuse to post this blog, so please do not e-mail me saying what an awful daughter I am.  Since she still believes some of these “wives tales”, she truely feels this is a public service announcement.

She says ‘you’re welcome and to get off the World Wide Web (as she calls the internet).   She just heard a crackle of thunder.

My sister and I took our 3 boys to Upper Clements Park and Fort Ann in Annapolis last weekend. On the drive up the boys played their GameBoy’s while Deanna and I laughed so hard that we would have made a great commercial for bladder control products.

Our Grandparents lived in Clementsport just outside of Annapolis Royal until their death, and the drive up really took us back to our many travels to visit them.  We reminisced about all those crazy and outlandish things that our mother would tell us during our very impressionable childhood years.  Deanna brought up how, to this day, she cannot eat the end of a cucumber. According to my mother the ends were poisonous.  My Brother-In-Law will say, “Yeah you often hear on the news, ‘another death due to cucumber poisoning’. Dun-dun-daaaa.”  Now, saying it as adults, I realize how crazy it sounded, but coming from your mother you tend to believe it.  I mean, mothers know everything, or at least that’s what I tell my boys.

We talked about how Mom told us that eating raw cookie dough gives you worms and that eating too much Ketchup dries your blood.  She stays firm on that one.  David is convinced she made it up because Ketchup was too expensive and she wanted to ration it.

We laughed about how during a thunder and lightening storm Mom unplugs all electronics while screaming, “get off the phone!” and practically dives to take cover behind the sofa.  During the storm she’ll warn you within an inch of your life not to look out the window just like she did when those religious people would show up on our doorstep.   You’d have sworn she grew up in Baghdad and was having a flashback. She would tell us that if we slept in our cloths we’d get bedbugs and drinking warm soapy water was a good laxative.   Ohhhhh…but she did!

Deanna recalled her surprise to realize that the word ‘mayswell’ doesn’t actually exist. Mom would use it in sentences like, “Mayswell, nothing else to do.”

We laughed and we laughed and then got quiet as we realized that soon enough, our boys will be laughing and losing their bladder at us at some of the crazy things that we’ve told them. 

I could almost picture Evan saying to Colin, “Remember how,when we would see a raccoon killed on the road, Mom would say it was because they didn’t use a cross walk?  And remember how she’d tell us we had bugs on our teeth so we’d brush them?  That simple women.”

But who am I kidding, my boys won’t laugh nearly as hard as their future wives will.

*Note from author- I received permission from Nancy Rafuse to post this blog, so please do not e-mail me saying what an awful daughter I am.  Since she still believes some of these “wives tales”, she truely feels this is a public service announcement.

She says ‘you’re welcome and to get off the World Wide Web (as she calls the internet).   She just heard a crackle of thunder.

My sister and I took our 3 boys to Upper Clements Park and Fort Ann in Annapolis last weekend. On the drive up the boys played their GameBoy’s while Deanna and I laughed so hard that we would have made a great commercial for bladder control products.

Our Grandparents lived in Clementsport just outside of Annapolis Royal until their death, and the drive up really took us back to our many travels to visit them.  We reminisced about all those crazy and outlandish things that our mother would tell us during our very impressionable childhood years.  Deanna brought up how, to this day, she cannot eat the end of a cucumber. According to my mother the ends were poisonous.  My Brother-In-Law will say, “Yeah you often hear on the news, ‘another death due to cucumber poisoning’. Dun-dun-daaaa.”  Now, saying it as adults, I realize how crazy it sounded, but coming from your mother you tend to believe it.  I mean, mothers know everything, or at least that’s what I tell my boys.

We talked about how Mom told us that eating raw cookie dough gives you worms and that eating too much Ketchup dries your blood.  She stays firm on that one.  David is convinced she made it up because Ketchup was too expensive and she wanted to ration it.

We laughed about how during a thunder and lightening storm Mom unplugs all electronics while screaming, “get off the phone!” and practically dives to take cover behind the sofa.  During the storm she’ll warn you within an inch of your life not to look out the window just like she did when those religious people would show up on our doorstep.   You’d have sworn she grew up in Baghdad and was having a flashback. She would tell us that if we slept in our cloths we’d get bedbugs and drinking warm soapy water was a good laxative.   Ohhhhh…but she did!

Deanna recalled her surprise to realize that the word ‘mayswell’ doesn’t actually exist. Mom would use it in sentences like, “Mayswell, nothing else to do.”

We laughed and we laughed and then got quiet as we realized that soon enough, our boys will be laughing and losing their bladder at us at some of the crazy things that we’ve told them. 

I could almost picture Evan saying to Colin, “Remember how,when we would see a raccoon killed on the road, Mom would say it was because they didn’t use a cross walk?  And remember how she’d tell us we had bugs on our teeth so we’d brush them?  That simple women.”

But who am I kidding, my boys won’t laugh nearly as hard as their future wives will.

*Note from author- I received permission from Nancy Rafuse to post this blog, so please do not e-mail me saying what an awful daughter I am.  Since she still believes some of these “wives tales”, she truely feels this is a public service announcement.

She says ‘you’re welcome and to get off the World Wide Web (as she calls the internet).   She just heard a crackle of thunder.

I am a “recovering” smoker.  I use the term “recovering” loosely.  At the beginning of the summer I buy a pack of ‘summer smokes’.  I know, I know, it’s awful!  It’s disgusting! But I buy one pack of cigarettes to last me the summer and will have one (or two) when we go out to a party and I have a glass of wine (or two).  Then, I’m the hero of the party when, someone in their drunken stupper will say, “God I wish someone had smokes,” and I can say, “Dun-dun-na-na, I have some.” 

“HAR-RAY” -everyone cheers.

But I have a very addictive personality and I really really and one more really don’t want to take up smoking again.  Particularly because when I smoked they were $5.35 a pack, and now they are almost a mortgage payment.

Mostly I want to stop because of the boys.  I think I’d die if they ever saw me with a cigarette in my hand (or read this post).  I remember a few years ago, Evan caught David smoking a cigar and the next thing I knew, Evan came running around the corner crying and yelling, “Daddies smoking dwugs!” 

Here it is, not even the end of July and I only have one left in my pack of summer smokes.  What’s a closet smoker to do?  I might as well smoke it. 

So after the kids went to bed I went to my secret hiding spot to dig them out and I actually felt excited.  That’s a bad sign.  I made a pact with myself that this is the last of the summer smokes.  I won’t buy anymore.  I went to the back deck to smoke it, but I felt weird because I didn’t have a drink, so I opened the fridge to pour myself some wine, but then realized that all the wine was on the boat.  I poured water into a wine glass and felt that was a good compromise. 

Back out I go to enjoy my last smoke, and I realized that I didn’t have a lighter or a match or flint or even two dry sticks.  Panic starts to set in.   I peruse the house trying to find something, anything.  I even checked the car but I threw out the car lighter after seeing an Oprah episode about a kid who…I won’t get into it- too painful.  I eye the toaster.  Oh no… I couldn’t possibly.  The idea of someone lighting their cigarette from a toaster takes me back to my childhood when my sister and I would leave brochures around the house that we stole from the doctors office titled, “YOU’RE KILLING YOUR KIDS”.  Plus, I recall once searing my mall bangs that way.

I remembered that David might have some form of lighting device in the basement for the furnace.  HALLILUAH!!

Finally I sit down at the outdoor dining table with my wine glass of water, I lit the outdoor candles and draped a winter white Pashmina shawl around my shoulders.  I lit my last cig and quickly realized that I lit the filter. F@%#.  I put it out and then had to scour the house again for scissors to cut the burned tip off the filter.  It would have been funny if I didn’t feel such desperation. 

I carefully lit the correct end.  I sat back and reflected on this evening antics and thought how embarrassed I’d have been if someone was spying on me through the window.  Then I caught a glimpse of myself in the glass of the patio door.   Smoking certainly doesn’t appear to have the same sex appeal as it does on Carnation Street.

And now I’m in recovery.

I went to the liquor on a beautiful Saturday afternoon to stock up.  Who am I kidding? Lately my idea of stocking up is 2 bottles of Arbor Mist instead of 1.  I can’t seem to drink like I could when it was illegal.  There was a group of young kids waiting conspicuously around the corner from the entrance of the store.  You could tell they were arguing about who was going to “ask”.  Oh- to be thirteen again.

If you’re the parent of a thirteen-year old who acts like they’re in they’re in their early thirties, who talks back to you and gives you attitude and who thinks she knows it all, I can assure you, I was that kid and I promise, the day will come when you get an apology.  Your kids may even lose sleep remembering how they treated you.  Your daughter might spoil you in a desperate attempt to ease the feeling of guilt.  I tried that one.  It became clear to me that therapy would be cheaper and is covered by my health care plan.

Seeing those teens on the beg for booze inspired me.  I have compiled a list of “if I knew then what I know now’s.”  You may wish to share my list with your thirteen-year olds.  You may not.  But read it at least, and know that she, like me, will survive unscathed.  Or at least only slightly bruised.

If I knew then what I know now…

I would still have premarital sex, but I would have been far choosier.

I would never have had my belly button pierced.  It was cute at 18, when you’re 8 months pregnant, and your scare stretches, not so much.

I would NEVER have had a party at my parent’s house. 

I would have stayed in University longer than a year.  3 years really isn’t all that long, and true love could probably have waited.

I would have been nicer to my parents.  They didn’t do too badly.

I would have never closed my personal bank account.

That night in Buffalo, New York, I would have called a cab.  I can almost picture my friends and my face on a milk carton.

I would have still tried pot, but would have still been glad that I didn’t like it.

I would NEVER do intravenous drugs (I never have and never will.  Just watch Intervention on A&E.  I’ve recorded every episode to show my kids at the first sign of trouble).

I wouldn’t have resented growing up without money.  It builds character.  My cup overfloweth with character!

I would have still got the tattoo on my back, but not the one on my belly, for the same reason as the belly button ring.  But I’ll admit, I do have very fond memories of that dingy tattoo parlor with my friend in Ottawa, and then later, partying in Hull, Quebec and feeling like total bad-asses.

I would have spent my monthly RRSP contribution on clothes and invested my monthly clothes allowance in RRSP’s.  Nothing looks as good as financial security feels (or so I’ve been told).

I would have slowed down and paid attention.

I would still have married David but I would have traveled to Italy first, and had a tantalizing affair with a tall-dark Italian who spoke not a word of English. 

I would have learned earlier that if you let people take advantage of you, they will.

I would never have taken up smoking.  I quit 8 years ago and still crave…everyday.

I would have never stopped painting watercolor.

I would still have kids young because I’m 32 and completely exhausted.

When sun tanning, I‘d have warn sunscreen instead of baby oil.

I would not have taken my sister for granted.  Siblings are the only witness of your childhood and can verify why you’re so messed up.

I would have never picked at my zits. 

And finally, I would have taken more joy out of making all of my mistakes.  They really do make for the best stories.

Throughout all my years at junior and senior high school, there was a constant young man in my life.  He was also a constant in the lives of my very good friends, Jen and Nad.  Sounds kinky I know but there was nothing scandalous about it.  He was our best guy friend.  His name is Steven Johnston, the youngest of four boys of Heather and Norman Johnston; probably the coolest parents in existence. 

Steve was the kind of friend who would tell us the truth about our boyfriends.  He’d always know that exact moment when we needed him to tell us how terrific we were.  We’d have sleepovers at his house and know that nothing sexual would happen.  Don’t get me wrong; my friend Steve is completely straight.  In fact he’s now married and has a beautiful daughter named Chloe, not to mention he’s not nearly neat enough to be gay.  No, we were all such good friends that we’d never want to go through that awkward weirdness of having had sex and risk losing the friendship, although Steve will tell you that he had often wanted to test that theory. 

Recently I went and had drinks with Steve at Jens house.  He had just arrived from Guelph, Ontario with his wife Michelle and daughter to visit his family and going to Jen’s has been kind of a tradition for the past number of years.  Whenever we see each other it’s really bizarre, it’s as if no time has passed us at all.  I really feel that I could rely on Steve if I ever needed him.  Whether my heart was broken or I was on the run for tax avasion, I know he’d help me.  We’ve never spoken about money, very little about work, just about life.  He really hasn’t changed a bit.

It got me thinking.  This friendship is odd.  Most friendships don’t often last 15 years after graduation- let alone opposite sex friendships.  So because so many friendships will be tested as new graduates go off to school and onto the next chapter of their lives, I thought this would be a fitting blog.

I asked Steve why he thinks our friendship has lasted this long. What makes us so different?  I got him on video.  Keep in mind that both the subjects and the cameraman were under the influence, and while it may not seem very profound, eighteen year olds everywhere should take note.  The secret to a long and healthy friendship is respect and an understanding spouse.

PS- you might want to ensure that minors are not in the room, especially if your kids are friends with my kids.

MyClips       Friendships according to Steve

And so…I started Salsa dance lessons.   I have been begging David to take dance lessons with me for years.  He’s never agreed to it.  David’s idea of men dancing is a man with perfect posture, wearing legwarmers and tap shoes with streaks in their hair- like in Fame.  I simply wanted to learn how to dance, and lets face it, Salsa dancing looks totally hot. 

Since he wouldn’t come with me, I decided that I’d go by myself.  This is the “year of me” after all.  He doesn’t need me to go golfing with him, so there.  Besides, I thought by me going he might get a bit jealous and change his mind.  Instead, he informed me that if at Salsa lessons I saw a woman that I was attracted to, I’d be welcome to bring her home with me. See, polar opposite from the legwarmer wearing man.

The lessons are held at Heat Studio and lead by instructor Danny Godfrey of Halifax Salseros and oh my God what fun!  And not a leg-warmer to be seen.  It was so exciting and energizing, just like Dirty Dancing, well kinda-sorta.  I went with a girl from work, Michelle Nickerson, and she was the teacher’s pet.  She gloated that she has the hips for Salsa dancing.  A dig at me I think.  I joked that I was dancing with the star.  I wore heals, jeans and a “boob shirt”, as David so affectionately calls them.

I can do anything in heals.  Anything? Anything!  That’s one thing my friends can always count on with me.  I almost never wear appropriate shoes, but they are usually fabulous.  Once a woman in the Lighthouse Publishing parking lot saw me run to my car and stopped me to ask me how I could run in my ultra skinny 3-inch pumps.  I told her that it was much easier since I got my baby toes amputated from lack of circulation.  I had to tell her that I was kidding.  But it’s true that I can no longer feel them.    I always said that if, in high school track and field, they held an event in heals; I’d have set the record.  Like 50-meter hurdles in heals, as a suggestion.

I’ll keep you posted on how I make out, or you could see for yourself and join in the fun (Friday nights, 8:30 pm, $90, Heat Studio).   Or who knows, maybe one day very soon you’ll see me doing the Salsa at the….ummmm, does anyone have any idea of where one might go salsa dancing on the South Shore? 

Maybe I’ll start an underground South Shore Salsa club, or better yet, we can plan a road trip to Cuba!  Yeah, I know right?  That one’s better!!!

Lets tripudio (lets dance in latin).