Leaving the preschooler alone in a room with two cats, a tub of margarine and a canister of cinnamon sugar.

Singing with these people is like dancing with a partner that I know very well.  We don’t actually NEED to discuss who does what where.  We just dive in and listen to each other and the harmonies just kind of happen.

We plowed through a relative buttload of new material today, and I’m high from it.  We love the songs on the upcoming cd, that’s why we picked them, but it was awesome to be stretching our wings again with some new material.  Singing with five voices is far more gratifying than singing with only one ever was, and there’s something incredible about this group that adds up to more than just the sum of what we would make as individuals.

I heart my band.

5:15 by the Who.

Singing it over and over and over….

It started REALLY early again too.  Like, ten after five.

I’m trying to give Sweet Hubby a break and let him sleep, so it’s been just me and Hurricane Owen for a few hours already. 

I’m on the third load of laundry, there’s already a giant corned beef brisket in the slow cooker, and a whole layer of crud has already been cleared.  I’ve had my second cup of coffee while chatting about current events with a three year old who just looks at me like I’ve grown another head no matter what I say, and all is right with the world.

As right as it can be with Hurricane Owen in the house.

Beelzebaby is back.  Two wasn’t so bad.  So far, I’m not crazy about three.

Preschoolers seem to be a lot like teenagers when it comes to contrariness.   So far the only difference seems to be that, for the moment, I’m still bigger than he is.  My little teenager has been sleeping in his sleeping bag on his bedroom floor for days.  No reason, he just likes to be difficult.  Now observe, as he tells the daycare staff that he sleeps on a bare floor every night, and chuckle when the social workers show up.  Same when he tells them he’s eaten nothing but marshmallows and goldfish crackers for days.  Not for lack of trying on our part, but I’m beginning to wonder just how long it is possible to sustain life on that kind of diet.

We won’t talk about getting dressed, brushing teeth, using the potty etc. 

We’ve had MANY battles this week about why Mommy isn’t ALLOWED to let him drive the car, even if I wanted to.  He retaliated by stripping naked while strapped into his car seat, so that I had a shivering, naked ape to deal with on Wed. when we got home from school.

Cue social workers.

Otherwise, things haven’t been too bad.  Company coming today.  (Ok, closer to family) We’ll see how Hurricane Owen decides to play things.

Stay tuned.

Today is Wednesday, so I’m home.  And for the first time in weeks, no one has died, there is no car to repair, no cd to drive almost four hours round trip to collect, and no particular demands on my time, beyond shovelling a layer of toys back into the toy cupboard so that my living room doesn’t look like I’m running a daycare.  

I spent a ridiculous amount of time in a very hot bath soaking away the last of the aches after spending Sunday careening around the Toronto Zoo in pursuit of Hurricane Owen.

I had “virtual coffee” with my favourite aunt for the first time in weeks, and even though it was far too short, it was lovely to sit down and chat for a moment without ten much more pressing things nagging at me.

Then I shopped with a friend and came home to muck about on the computer.  In all it was a nice, quiet day.  I need more nice, quiet days…

Has been cancelled for a funeral.

Check back another day.

I’ve taken today off.

Something called a “floating holiday”.  My company gives us each two of these a year.  A day off with pay to keep in your back pocket, that doesn’t cost you your vacation days, to help make up for being forced to work on holidays.  The visitation for my friend’s dad is this afternoon.  In the meantime, I’m resting.

Two back to back birthday parties, even though they went very well,  followed by a 10.5 hour shift working at 60% above plan (and staffing levels) has left me so tired I’m barely functional.  My hands feel like someone’s been hitting my fingers with a hammer.

Naturally, because I’m off today, Hurricane Owen got up at twenty to six.  It never fails.  Sweet Hubby is giving him a bath and getting him dressed for school.  Once they leave, I’m going back to bed until I have to get up to go to the funeral home.

So please don’t call me.

I won’t answer anyway.

Well, Hurricane Owen is officially three.  Saturday was his little party with MY family, today was the party with Sweet-Hubby’s family.  Both were a success, and it was actually lovely to see everyone, and all relatively healthy for a change.

He got a new bike, a helmet, a motorized James for his Thomas the Tank Engine collection, money for his RESP, a new spring jacket, big boy underwear and a new housecoat.

Both dinners were a success, and my culinary skills have been proven intact.

I should be writing something much happier here, but there have been two deaths in my sphere of influence in the last three days, and I’m not feeling very happy.  One the father of a friend of my husband’s.  The friend I’m quite fond of, in spite of distance, and am very sorry for his loss.  I don’t know if I ever met the father, but it’s a loss all the same.

The other was the father of my oldest friend. 

And I’ve just found out.

He died this morning.

I don’t know what happened.

This was a man who, with his family, took me in and kept me for a while when I was between plans for where to go, and needed both a safe place to sleep, and little normal family time with people who still kind of liked me.  My life has been very much shaped by the kindness of strangers along the way, and there are at least a dozen people I call “Mom” or “Dad” out there in the world.

Some of them, I’m quite sure, saved my life without knowing it.  I’ve never forgotten any of them, even though it may have been a while since I’ve seen them, and have always tried to pass on what they gave to me, since that sort of thing is only repaid by giving it away to other strangers in need.

This is a loss that hits closer to home.  The friend in question has been my defacto big brother for as long as I can remember.

His dad was a good person, with a quick smile and a laugh you could hear from a mile away.

My heart hurts for my friend and his family tonight.

Both of them.

I have no phone or Internet service at home at the moment.

Haven’t had since Thursday, after the snowstorm. 

I managed to connect to the Interweb briefly this morning on the laptop by placing it in the upstairs window with the USB key finding the unprotected wireless connection in the neighbourhood.

We’ve connected a phone directly to the demark point, and there is no service coming into our house at all.  We’ve paid our bills, it’s not that.  Something has gone awry in Bell’s cabling outside of the house.

Have you ever tried to call Bell with a service issue?

Don’t.

First off, you get a call centre in India.  With someone who insists the problem is your inside wiring, despite the evidence to the contrary.  Then they tell you that they aren’t going to send anyone ever, unless you sign up for their $7.00/month service plan.  Despite the contract for residential service that says if the problem is OUTSIDE your walls, it’s a BELL issue.

So if you’re trying to reach me, and wondering why you can’t, that’s why.

Well, after less than two months, and just one bloody head injury too many, the new coffee table has been banished to the basement, and replaced with a piece donated by my sister and her spousal euphemism.  The new table was an extra tall coffee table, with storage compartments inside it, and very sharp corners.  This morning’s direct intersection between toddler forehead and sharp corner was the last of maybe a couple of dozen.

I KNOW my in laws mean well, but I really DO wish they wouldn’t make decisions like replacing my living room furniture without discussing it with us first.  It would be lovely if just once in a while they would credit us with possibly having REASONS for leaving things the way they are.  Like the area rug they tried to buy for the playroom LAST year.  Nothing says “drop a yogourt here” like a nice thick pile area rug in the middle of the toddler’s play area.

Now I have three mismatched tables, considerably less table space, and a living room that looks even junkier than before, even though each individual piece is quite nice.

The new table will gather dust in the basement until Owen is old enough not to need a table he can colour at, eat at, stand on, use for doing play-doh and for head injuries to no longer be an issue.

Sigh.