more email?

I'm sure most of you don't want more email coming into your inbox, but this is very cool. It was written about in my latest REAL SIMPLE magazine:

Sign up at daily lit and browse through hundreds of classic book titles. Choose one that interests you, and they will deliver it to your mailbox, in short installments, daily, just weekdays, or three times a week at your designated time.

Isn't this a cool way to tackle a book in a non-conventional way? I'll let you know how my attempt goes. I've started Hawthorne's "The Scarlet Letter." I've always meant to read this one. And why not, when it's delivered into highly anticipated little nuggets every day for me?

joyeux anniversaire à moi

Yesterday, that is. The big 3-5. Half done my thirties. Closing in on 40. Boy. That sure happened fast.

We had a fairly low-key day yesterday, on the whole. Went out as a family for a brunch at ye olde Smitty's. (I know better than to push my luck over the supper hour with my dinner companions.) No major melt-downs by anyone, so that's a bonus. Previous to lunch we walked around in the toiley store (a.k.a. Home Depot) playing with the toilets, sinks, and door displays. Doesn't get much better than that for a birthday celebration. ; )

The real fun started when we got home just after lunch and realized that our garage had been broken into and many of Dan's tools were stolen and carted away in our double Chariot stroller. Frickers. This marks the fourth time in our marriage that we have be violated in such a way. Why can't those low-lives leave other people's things alone? Why do they think they have any right to be rooting around someone's garage and personal belongings in broad daylight? (Well, in any light, for that matter.) It absolutely infuriates me and leaves me with an equal helping fear. I refuse to be made a prisoner in my own home, for fear of leaving and letting the thieves have at her, but yet, I am terrified to drive away, worry about it while I'm gone, then obsessively re-check things when I'm back. Our home is very easy to break in to and so I also worry about an intruder while I'm here with the boys. One of life's shitty experiences to be sure. Bonne fete.

I had a reprieve in my afternoon, between discovering the crime, and having the police over to our house (which Natty thought was super cool): Angie and Kassidy picked me up for a walk around the mall. Probably saved the day for me. Cleared the ol' noggin, if just for a while. And scored some awesome deals at the Children's Place. : )

Aaaaaaand, the most fun news of all (though it isn't related to my birthday) is that Dan and I are planning a little vacation for ourselves in March (cross my fingers!!) in a sunny, warm destination!! We are looking to do an all-inclusive sun-spot like Cuba or something. I am so excited I can hardly breathe at times. We have yet to reserve, but I'm pretty stoked about the whole deal. I am a bit anxious about leaving the boys for a whole week, but I know that they will survive just fine without us. I know they will be a frequent topic of conversation for the trip. I'll have to keep you posted on the details of that one. So, so, so excited.

Only two more days of February. Phew. Almost to March.

C'mon Spring. 22 more official days.

out of my comfort zone.

"Do you need a hand out today?"
"Oh, no. I'm fine thank you."

Why is it that as good Canadians, we don't want to bother others? Even though others are offering their help, we are too polite to receive it? Or perhaps, I should hone the statement down from the generalization of Canadians (because if I think others do it too, it's easier to accept) to just myself?

Here it is. My confession: I am absolutely horrible at asking for help. With anything. Even at nine months pregnant, lugging around a toddler and whatever else, should the offer arrive at my feet, I would decline it. "No. Me do it. All bys mineself." Gee. Wait a minute. That sounds vaguely familiar.

Today, I accepted the offer for carry out for my groceries. (Actually, it was the third time the cashier asked.) Not in two pregnancies did I do that. But today, lugging around Isaac, and the cold... I just did. And it felt wonderful. As the fine young lad loaded up my trunk, I was able to strap Isaac into his seat, and then off we drove. Just like that. Easy-peasy.

Why do I think that by not accepting help I am "helping" the other person out? Don't want to put anyone out, or bother them. Yet they are offering. This doesn't just happen at the grocery store. It's all over in life. Earnest people offering a hand. I'm really not doing anyone any favours. Only cheating myself out of a more pleasant, fulfilling experience.

I promise to do my best; to accept help whenever and wherever it's offered.

Or at least once in a while.

anyone?

I laughed out loud, while scratching my head trying to figure this "fooler" shirt out. I asked Dan, and he, too, had no clue. Sure, I understand the one on the left. Anyone have any suggestions as to what the one on the right could possibly mean? I can only think of disturbing answers. None of which should have a silk-screened t-shirt made for a child to wear.

No word of a lie.

Angela and India gave us this plant this past weekend that is growing so fast that the container it is in actually vibrates at times. (And no, it's not where it's placed as other lighter things on the table don't shake.) Its buds were shooting up at about 1 cm. an hour! Seriously. It may seem slow but have you ever watched a plant grow before?

This little plant with its green and dirt and flowers has brought me immeasurable happiness with all the ice and snow and cold. There is hope.

Bloom little blooms, bloom.