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Archive for the ‘Parenting’ Category

Cream Cheese and Other Breaking News

Posted in Blogging, Creative Writing, Inspiration, Life, Non-Fiction, Our Moments, Parenting, Thoughts, Uncategorized, Writers, Writing, tagged , on October 1, 2013| 19 Comments »

I know what you’re thinking. This blog is nebulous no more. It’s hastily becoming crystal clear that Hazy is hog-tied by the harrows of her habitat. She seems to be engulfed in the epic endeavors that go along with, well, existing.

You’re only half right. Yes, it’s true. I have found comfort in crafting cunning (at least I think so) tales of ballsy baristas, bereaved bowsers and bursting brains, but I’ve also been writing. Not dysentery dribble, but writing, making things up out of thin air, fabricating fairy tales, staging stories…working my Wonder Woman.

And, I have proof. The other day, after reading through a bunch my past blogs and realizing that most things I write are…for lack of a softer adjective…shite, I received an email telling me that I’ve made it through the first round of judging in another writing contest.

Sometimes I do believe in that higher power. The one that looks out to the turbulent waters, sees you’re drowning and tosses you a floatie in the form of a new follower, a generous comment or sometimes, a glimmer of those very specific affirmations we writers inadvertently crave ~ conspicuous creds.

While I’d love to share the black and white of it all, certain contests forbid submission of works that have been published in any way, including via personal blogs. Makes a blogger feel important, doesn’t it?

So, in the meantime, let’s talk about how much cream cheese I found when cleaning out my far-too-long forgotten fridge.

Cream Cheese

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The Things We Do For Love

Posted in Blogging, Cooking, Creative Writing, Inspiration, Life, Non-Fiction, Our Moments, Parenting, Uncategorized, Writers, Writing, tagged , , on September 19, 2013| 11 Comments »

As I navigated the aisles “The Things We Do For Love” played in my head; a screechy record I’d have given anything to snap in half.

You see I had an intense headache all day yesterday. Wait, that’s a lie. It wasn’t all day. It did presto into a massive migraine for several hours or so just to mix things up a little.

But, as us mum’s do, I trudged on, driving the boys to school, continuing the laundry I’d started the day before, cleaning one of the bathrooms that just couldn’t wait another second, sorting and tidying a pile of wayward clothes that were, admittedly, mostly mine, cleaning the fish-y bowl and running up and down the stairs five hundred times or so fetching this and that for my daughter who was, to top it all off, home sick with the flu.

So yes, I hopped around like a good little bunny mummy until it finally took me out. Around four o’clock I had no choice but to surrender.

With one last swoop of my sponge, the pain grabbed hold and dragged me to my room, roughly shoving me onto the bed. “Lie down,” it jeered. “And stay down, or you’ll be sorry.”

Its grip tightened.

It was showing me who was boss and I knew better than to cross it. It pressed with all its might. It squeezed until I thought my skull would open and seep onto the pillow. I lay in frozen fear with no intention of disobeying its very clear command.

That is, until I realized with horror, that I’d forgotten about dinner.

“Who’s going to make dinner?” My panicked whisper pierced through the delirium and my throbbing brain.

“Not you,” hissed the pain. “I told you you’re not going anywhere.”

There was a moment I’d felt defeated. A moment where I thought I had to listen. A moment when I believed I couldn’t win.

And then there was the moment where I (gingerly) sat up, (stiffly) stood up and (somewhat sheepishly) spoke up; “Screw you,” I exclaimed. “My family needs to eat!”

That folks, is how I found myself staggering through the Safeway aisles, and I can literally use the word painfully here, picking out the ingredients to create a robust Spaghetti.

I almost made it too.

Standing in line, waiting to pay, reality kicked in. Still in front of me, was getting this stuff home, organizing it, cooking it, serving it and cleaning it all up and I have to say, it all just seemed a tad undoable.

As I leaned on the cart and discreetly dialed the number to our favourite restaurant, the record played on, only a little louder and little less screechy and it made me realize that when you do things for love, you never lose.

TONIGHT'S DINNER - made with love

TONIGHT’S DINNER – made with love and only slightly less agony

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How Does Your Garden Grow?

Posted in Blogging, Creative Writing, Inspiration, Life, Non-Fiction, Our Moments, Parenting, Relationships, Thoughts, Uncategorized, Writers, Writing, tagged , on September 16, 2013| 7 Comments »

Well, we’ve finally become those people. We’re increasing my life insurance payout, but rather than freaking, I’m stoked. Why? Because I’m pretty sure it’s my husband’s Hallmark way of saying; “Hey babe, I realize that although no amount of money could possibly replace you, I’m willing to bet you’re worth at least half a mil dead.”  Aww, shucks honey.

We’re also upping our…shudder…RESP contributions. It turns out that fifteen years of socking it away is barely enough to cover one child’s university tenure, let alone three and that whoop it up, I’m here for anything but the books college lifestyle isn’t even in the equation. Every hard-squeezed dime has to go towards education. Those campus capers and naughty nights will have to be subsidized by the part-time job my poor kids won’t have an ounce of spare time for.

Sigh.

These are my children though. The little humans that I grew from teeny seeds. For years, I’ve watered, fed and fertilized them and despite my lack of talent for gardening, I’ve (miraculously) managed to keep this one lush and vibrant to date. I want to give these sprouts the sun, the rain and the shade they need and I don’t need to tell you I want nothing but optimum growing conditions to sustain their roots. But wanting the best for something puts you in the position of having to understand what that really means. What exactly is this elusive best?

Will the palatial gardens I’ve been tending turn desertous if they have to feed and water themselves? I, of course, realize an actual garden would eventually become dull and desperate if it had to rely on itself for nourishment, but we are talking about kids here, right? They have arms, legs and mouths after all, moving parts for heaven’s sake, that can be surprisingly helpful when it comes to wielding a hose, directing a nozzle and taking a sip.

I admit I’m not sure at exactly what point we’re supposed to know when it’s time to shut the tap, but in the meanwhile, I’ll keep providing and pruning. After all, they’re only just beginning to bloom.

Lunch 1

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Time Is On My Side…Isn’t It?

Posted in Blogging, Creative Writing, Inspiration, Life, Non-Fiction, Parenting, Thoughts, Writers, Writing, tagged , on September 6, 2013| 4 Comments »

No time to blog

A post in an hour? My God, unheard of, I tell myself. But it’s Friday, I argue. Yes, yes, you should definitely post while it’s still Friday…even though you’ve only had an hour to yourself all day…all week…it’s still totally possible.

Oh, wo-ez me, right? I mean, first world problems or what?!

 

It’s been back-to-school week here in the Hazy household. The same for many, I’m sure and in between cutting hair, tweezing eyebrows, cleaning rooms, buying supplies organizing finances (take that with a grain of salt) and spending a fortune on a selection of clothing items I can count on one hand, I have come to realize that no kids, no dog and less (astonishingly vast amounts of) shedded, a creatively engineered word, hair do not in fact equal more time.

So, I literally have one hour here. Okay, I’ll admit to pinning something a while back that alluded to the fact that I hate when people misuse the word literally. Thus, I must eat that particular word and restock it with…loosely. I have to pick my daughter up in 49 minutes and I only have 37 percent battery left on my laptop (heaven forbid I’d have to run upstairs and get the charger) so really, there’s nothing literal about me having one full hour to write this post. It is literally a loose hour at the very most.

This weekend will involve spending, driving, eating, playing, watching, cheering and finally, celebrating the ability and opportunity we have to do all of these things. Something that shouldn’t be overlooked.

What will you do this weekend?

 

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No Pain, No Gain

Posted in Blogging, Creative Writing, Fiction, Inspiration, Life, Non-Fiction, Our Moments, Parenting, Thoughts, Uncategorized, Writers, Writing, tagged , on August 30, 2013| 9 Comments »

Sometimes I can’t help but feel I’ve missed the boat. Or maybe a better analogy would be that I got a ride when I really should’ve hopped on the bus…years ago.

I’m forty-three now, (yes, my birthday sadly fell amongst last week’s horrors) my oldest boy is seventeen, my middle dude, a big one-four and the titch at the end is somehow soon to be twenty-two thirteen.

I’ve been through the baby years, times three, and some teen years and let’s just say if I wrote about them on a public forum I might wake up with my fingers Crazy Glued together. And that would only be a warning.

I read these mommy blogs and, I love them. I relish them. I devour them. In fact, I unfold in them and, honestly,…I’m jealous of them. These women have so much material! And, their kids are far too short to reach the Crazy Glue.

As for me, well, I’ve done my moving countries, my getting married, my precarious pregnancies, my preemies, my “gee, that birth nearly killed me”, my “damn, I swear this demon baby has not slept in eight months”, my “whoa, this postpartum depression is killing me”, my money meltdowns, my midlife misadventures, my doggy demises and my “good god, I’m woefully not wonderful at anything whines.”

I mean, all those things have passed. What’s left to write about?

On second thought, I’ve toiled so long over my laptop that this *blister has formed on the outside of my arm and having revisited all of the aforementioned ominous and opiate-encouraging topics just to write this post, maybe, subconsciously, I’m hoping there really isn’t anything left…

Blister

*Note: this (extremely painful) blister was actually caused by a rogue, lava hot spattering of the stew I made for dinner last night, but as a writer, I reserve the right to change and over-dramatize the facts to benefit the tales I tell. The good news is, this must mean my subconscious’ search for writing material will be extensive and eternal.

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Colour Me A Camper

Posted in Blogging, Creative Writing, Inspiration, Life, Non-Fiction, Parenting, Relationships, Travel, Uncategorized, Writers, Writing, tagged , , on August 11, 2013| 9 Comments »

There’ll be hell to pay for this post. I will have all happy holidaying nature-lovers in a tizzy. Thor will rain down and strike me with his what are you thinking? club. I’ll be frowned upon by the Gods of all things multi-wheeled and RVQ’d and I hang my head in shame. I do.

But, as I watch my husband drip with sweat, nip his fingers, work harder than a pack mule and swear bloody murder over and over, my mind meanders across the fence to the other side where dark things grow.

Shaded tendrils of twisted tarnish creep and curl around my closing throat. Vicious vines slither through the naughty nooks and corroded crannies of my mind.

“Why?” They hiss.

We have a lovely backyard, a wonderful deck, running water and a conveniently located fridge and yet….sigh, and yet, we pack up everything including the kitchen sink and putt off into the wild blue yonder to snooze on gritty sheets and feast from swampy coolers. We cram our clothes into damp outside wardrobes and eat off paper and perfunctory plastic. It takes ten times longer to do things and the room service bell is long out of order.

Gearing up for a camping trip takes days and decamping, even longer and somehow, after six years of owning a tent trailer (we used to tent – shudder), we still don’t have it down pat. You’d think we’d be bursting from the Velcro seams at this point, but somehow there’s always a ten yard dash before every excursion which includes us whipping out the worn and weary Visa at least twenty times over.

So, back to the why. Well, like I said, it’s that blue yonder thing, the dream that we’re free as birds while living under an azure sky. I’m not a nature girl by any means, but there’s something to be said for cooking in the open air and sipping a cider while flipping the morning’s flapjacks. At what other time is booze before breakfast ok? Well, pretty much never.

And, as parents, we take solace in the knowledge that the teens we now drag along will one day look back and have memories they will probably distort, but at the very least, cherish. The swearing, sweating and screeching, the worrying, working and waiting, worthwhile. We’re learning what life’s all about and passing it on, but most importantly, we’re bonding. Our little family is growing into a well-oiled machine, albeit slow and somewhat painful.

I guess swampy and gritty bring out the rainbows.

Our home for the next ten days

Our home for the next ten days

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If You Knew

Posted in Blogging, Inspiration, Life, Non-Fiction, Parenting, Relationships, Thoughts, Uncategorized, Writers, Writing, tagged , , on June 26, 2013| 14 Comments »

They look so cute in the movies and are seriously irresistible when attached to someone else. They’re pretty and polished when on display, but it’s simply impossible to know how much work that takes until you have some of your own.

I’m talking about children in case you’re confused. I have nothing against them of course. In fact, I have three of my own and am really quite fond of each one of them. Alright, I love them to death, if you must know.

But let’s cut the to the crazy here – they are work and they wreck the house. No, no, they don’t mean to cause any bother. They’re just living their little lives, going about their important business, learning to function in this great big world. But man, nothing is left standing in their wake.

So, save your money, folks. Do not invest in wildly wonderful and exorbitantly expensive treasures. They will not go the distance unless they’re bubble wrapped, vacuum packed and under lock and key, stored nowhere near where you actually live.

 

You might feel I’m being a drama mama. I’m not. I swear.

They’ll work on ‘projects’ in your freshly cleaned kitchen and you will find melted wax and splattered paint in every corner for weeks on end. You’ll spend scrupulous hours decorating their rooms only to find your carefully chosen and expertly applied paint sabotaged with stickers, posters and pushpins. You’ll buy new pillows and discover them on the hair-infested floor, which reminds me, children will also use their magical powers to convince you that welcoming animals in to share your home, not to mention help them in their endeavor of destruction, is somehow a great idea.

You’ll wash and iron their clothes and uncover them back in the basket a (very) short while later with a pocket torn away. You’ll haul the couch covers off to give them a spin and find an ink stain ten minutes after you’ve put them all back on.

And, you’ll cherish all of it.

I’ve been married 20 years today and my kids are 17, 14 and 12 and a ½. I wouldn’t trade any of them it for a pristine house in the Cotswolds, even if they did carve “poop” into my dining room table.

Poop 2

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Weekend Wanders

Posted in Blogging, Inspiration, Life, Non-Fiction, Parenting, Thoughts, Uncategorized, Writers, Writing, tagged , on June 14, 2013| 10 Comments »

Well folks, it’s Friday. The weekend has arrived and it’s found my husband and I relaxing and reminiscing about our childhoods, our weekends and basically the things we used to think were the bee’s knees.

Although I admit I thought so at the time, my parents weren’t really over the top strict.

Side note: In the summer the other kids were usually playing outside as I watched from my bedroom window on tiptoes, clad in pale yellow baby-dolls. (Bedtime was a sharp 7:30!) And on two separate occasions, I was grounded for two weeks, once, because a friend was overheard swearing (logic says I must be swearing too) and the other, due to the fact that I was caught riding my bike with no hands.

 

Alas, I digress.

 

I wasn’t allowed to be a hooligan, I wasn’t allowed to swear, as mentioned above, and I had to be respectful, which is basically the first two points summed up into one. Easy, right?

I wasn’t allowed junk food, they would’ve liked me to get good grades and I had lots of chores.

Case and point: doing the dishes after dinner, no we didn’t have a dishwasher, included; rinsing, washing, rinsing again, drying, putting away, clearing up leftovers, wiping counters, wiping the table, cleaning the stovetop and sweeping the floor. That was every night and only counted as one chore.

 

I wasn’t allowed to have short hair or wear make-up. They didn’t want me to be common and I often got in trouble for always having my nose in a book. Go figure.

Much to their dismay, I did not turn out to be a ballerina, an award-winning Irish dancer or a gold league soccer star.

 

But…there were the weekends. Magic. An enticing British series would come on and we’d cozy up by the roaring fire, consuming several pieces of delectable, whiskey-infused chocolate.

We’d hike the forested five miles to the tantalizing tangerine filling station and I was granted two Icy Cups from the big jar on the counter as a reward.

We’d ride our bikes down to the local pool and swim for free in the misty summer rain.

I’d play Queen, The Police, Pat Benatar, The Beatles, Yazoo, Air Supply and anything else I could get my music-greedy little hands on, using my parent’s state of the art stereo system.

Company would land in and I’d be allowed to watch TV as late as I wanted in my room on my tiny, orange plastic, black and white portable, a bowl of chips, licorice and a Root Beer float at my side.

Now that I have kids of my own, I know my parents weren’t all that strict. They were simply trying to survive while keeping me alive and unscathed by the not so savory things life has to offer.

I never wanted for anything and it turns out that what I thought was the bee’s knees then, still is and, I am in fact, unscathed.

Icy Cups 1

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Senseless

Posted in Blogging, Creative Writing, Fiction, Life, Parenting, Relationships, Short Stories, Uncategorized, Writers, Writing, tagged , , on March 31, 2013| 4 Comments »

Sweat trickles right past his finger and I wonder if he can feel it. I doubt it, because he pushes harder, burying his nail into the soft of my spine.

It hurts. I don’t move.

“Whaddya think yer doin’?” His whisper is cruel, seething.

I sit silently, facing front. Inching so slightly. Hoping he won’t realize I’ve lessened the pressure of his poke.

“Think yer so smart, huh?” Push, push, push.

“Ya big suck…all goody two shoes.” Pffft…

 

His spit spray wets the back of my neck and I regret my ponytail instantly.

The kids are playing kickball on the gravel field. I sit on the grass, bagged lunch at my side. Left of the field, near the fence, there’s a dip. I position myself just right. I am almost invisible. I pick at my peanut butter covered crusts. Daydream about being anywhere else.

My eyes are closed.

When I open them, the red kickball is bouncing away, slowing to a roll at the edge of the grass. Stops at his feet.

For once, I have to take my glasses off so I can see. Takes me a few minutes to realize they’re cracked. My only pair.

The skin on my forehead is split open from hairline to nose bridge. We’ll mend it best we can, the Doctor tells me, but this is going to leave a scar.

Kickball

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Anybody Got A Pen?

Posted in Blogging, Creative Writing, Inspiration, Life, Parenting, Uncategorized, Writers, Writing, tagged , , on February 27, 2013| 11 Comments »

I’m trying to write today. Sound familiar to anyone? But…I’m having what I feel are typical writer ‘complications’. I am behind. On…pretty much everything in my life at the moment. Oooh, we say that, I know, but I’m for real.

My animals have no food. The people in my house have no real food. Those two sentences should probably be in reverse. No one has laundered clothes. Thank God the animals don’t wear any. Shame it’s not the other way ‘round.

 

My kids all need appointments of some sort. Some can’t see through their hair, some just plain can’t see and others will soon be gumming their food (food…they should be so lucky) if I don’t pick up the phone and commit to a sesh with that crazy tooth guy.

I know my list…much like Celine’s heart…will go on…and on, but I for one will try not to. I dislike negativity, I have a low tolerance for complaining and don’t even get me started on excuses.

But, but…but, I’m so very, well, distracted.

You know what I mean. At least I hope I’m not alone. I’ve left everything so long that there seems to be no rhyme or reason on where to begin. Everything is now a priority.

And yet, here I sit…shrouded by clothes of days gone by, threats of starving, shaggy, blind and toothless children not to mention animals that have resorted to fetching the keys and dropping credit cards at my feet, writing.

Tell me I”m not a bad person.

You don't find time to write

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