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This Blog has moved to a new domain

The Keswick Blog is no longer hosted on WordPress – we’re now privately hosted and the blog address is:

http://thekeswickblog.com – so pop over there to see what’s been up since our last WordPress post in 2012 ūüôā

Otherwise, like The Keswick Blog on Facebook (link in the sidebar to the left)

Follow The Keswick Blog on Twitter (probably another link in the sidebar to the left)

or Check out and follow The Keswick Blog on Instagram.

If you were following The Keswick Blog on WordPress, you may have noticed it’s been dark here for a while. I feel like a right idiot for not posting this update a LONG time ago, but better late than never! All the old and current¬†posts are over at the NEW place – thekeswickblog.com – come on over ūüôā

 

See you on the flip side!

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At this moment I am

… tired.¬† It’s a P.A. Day and because of this stupid cold and congestion, I am up before 6:30 a.m. again ūüė¶

… grateful for all of the ways that Mr. KB has made improvements to our house that help things (and me)¬†work and organize better.

… sad.¬† This has been a difficult week¬†and things just have not been going the way I want or need them to.

… determined to fix the things in my life that are not working and make them better.

… smiling at the sight of my youngest two offspring sitting at the island and having their morning bananas.

…¬†pleased with the outcome of Parent-Teacher night for my older two smalls.¬† There are some¬†things to work on, but nothing insurmountable.

…¬†nervous for Pax and Deacon who are each testing for a¬† new Tae Kwon Do belt tonight.

… happy that since we installed¬†our new pellet stove that we’ve been able to keep the house warm without using propane.

…¬†looking forward to having today with the smalls and trying to come up with a game plan so everyone has a good day.

…¬†grateful to have another day to fix my mistakes, change my ways and make headway in my dreams of personal transformation (not physical – that’s too lofty a goal for me today).

… digging deep to find some inner-calm to help carry me through the hard moments and help me not take my frustrations, anger and disappointments out on others (honestly stated, I suppose this would mean my kids, since we do not have a family dog).

… hopeful that I will be able to transfer my iPod music to this laptop and get iTunes syncing, up and running without losing all of my music.

… excited to play and help our kids learn how to play¬†our new (to us) piano that we adopted earlier this week.

… sore from this random hip/thigh joint¬†pain (that is NOT connected to getting old, thankyouverymuch!) and thinking that maybe it is time to consider losing some weight to see if that helps.¬† Only just thinking of considering at this point, people.

… almost in tears and cannot for love or money figure out what my¬†damage is.¬† So stupid.

So, that’s how I am at this exact moment in time.¬† How are you?

Manners, people. It is all about manners. And smiling. Manners and smiling. Together, they make a lot of the wrongs in our world, right.


The missing penis through time

Ever since the addition of our (proud mother moment: beautiful, clever, and strong) daughter into this, our house of testosterone (save then for me, of course), I have been a party to the following disturbing and strangely amusing conversations with Paxton, the youngest of my testosterone carriers.

When he was two-years-old:

Him:”Bay-bee bum?” accompanied by a very concerned and quizzical look on his sweet elf-like face.

Me: “Yes, honey.¬† That’s her bum.” While I finish putting a fresh diaper on her.

When he was three-years-old:

Him: “Mummy, where ‘Randa’s peanuts?”

Me: (Hoping I don’t screw this up – my kids are going to have big enough therapy bills as it is) “Um, well honey, she doesn’t have one.¬† Miranda is a girl and girl’s don’t have penises”
Him: (looking curious and little suspicious) “Did¬†her lose it?”

Me: (Now worrying about causing some kind of lost penis phobia) “No baby.¬† She’s a girl.¬† Girls have vaginas and boys have penises.”

Him: “But I want ‘Randa to have a PEA-NUS!”

Me: (knowing that we’re entering all kinds of uncomfortable now, and kind-of-sort-of-absolutely wishing for the Zombie Apocalypse to start NOW.¬† Take me first y’all.) “I know¬†honey, but, but¬†she’s a girl.¬† You know, same as Mama.”

Him: (visibly shaken and upset now) “YOU don’t have a penis?!?”

Me: (wishing that I had remembered the ‘distract them with a cookie or a puppy’¬†trick before this point) “No, baby.¬† Mama doesn’t have a penis either.”

Him: Mummy lose she penis?

************

And so we go full circle and in the mind of a three-year-old boy, it appears that the following hold true:

1.  Penises are lose-able
2. If you don’t have a penis, you must have lost it.
3. Everyone has a penis (duh!)

And now four-years-old, we revisit the topic:

Him: “Mummy.¬† Why doesn’t ‘Randa have a penis?” (Proud Mother moment: see, his speech and language are SO much better now!)

Me: (internal sigh, knowing this will go nowhere good, but without an escape plan, I’m fucked so I solider on) ” Because she’s a girl, honey.¬† Girls have vaginas.”

Him: Without missing a beat: “Someone stole her penis!”

Me: “No baby, she never had one.¬† She has a vagina.”

Him: Very matter of fact and almost resigned: “Someone took it.”

************

So, at this point in the game, we’ve gone from quizzical and concerned, to angry and distraught to the quiet certainty of knowledge that¬†one possesses when he is much older and wiser than I.¬† And he’s only FOUR.

The way I see it: Either he’s going to develop a phobia about having his penis stolen or he’s going to give his sister a complex for having lost hers.¬† Either way, this is NOT looking good for our hero (Um, ya, that’s me).

Come on, you didn’t really expect me to post a picture of a penis or vagina, did you? Nope, not happening (unless, of course, I can find my Human Sexuality textbook from university and find the female-to-male post-op picture. That I would totally post.) So I offer you instead a glimpse of Lucy Liu: Ninja Cat, Extraordinaire. Here’s a shot of her obsessively cleaning her paws.¬† She’s starting to pack on the pounds now, fatter now than when she was pregnant with the triplets just six months ago now. But, she’s just like me in that regard, so I love her now.

P.S.¬† The host of this blog,¬†Wordpress, provides a¬†spell-checker in its post editor¬†and said Spell-Check¬†doesn’t like the word¬†“vaginas.”¬† Not sure if it is the word or the spelling or the actual part.¬† I’m not sure of¬†the bias being held here.¬† It could be a bit of all three.¬† Isn’t the plural of “vagina”, “vaginas”?¬† Vagini¬†just doesn’t sound right at all.¬† Funny though, the aforementioned Spell-Check let penises right on through.¬† It reeks of the dark ages in here.¬† Sexist spell-checker bastard. I think I may have just stumbled upon my Women’s Studies undergrad paper topic.¬† Now to re-enroll in my program.¬† Baby steps, people, baby steps.


Math class made relevant

First, let me say that drugs are stupid.¬† Second, let me advocate for Hugs Not Drugs.¬† and, let me date myself by spewing forth the 80’s battle cry (no, no, not ‘Cowabunga!’)¬†“Just Say NO!” and finally, fourth, let me attempt to¬†defend myself and my obvious flaws (mental and physical)¬†by saying that I have never actually been a recreational drug user, despite so, so, so much evidence to the contrary.¬† Case in point:

I couldn’t make this shit up if I tried. I’m just a mis-shapen-and-mis-sized-bread¬†making goddess. Your move, Juney C.

Yup, just another day in the ‘wick.¬† Keswick Blogger-style (similar to Gangnam style but with a bit less imaginary-horse ass smacking).

Fight the power!


My surprising contribution to the blog-a-sphere

People, I am making an impact.¬† Don’t believe me?

Well, WordPress stats lets you see what search terms people use to find your blog.  It is probably meant to help you target your audience, but I use it solely for my own edification, amusement and sometimes genuine delight.

Since it’s been almost a year since I started really making the effort to post regularly, some people have¬†found The Keswick Blog using the following search terms:

“how to fuck a person up”

“show me yours blog pictures xxx”

“pickupfuckers”

“granny asshole”

Now, I could be mortified.¬† I could be ashamed.¬† But I’m just going to be furiously happy, shameless proud, and that sum up my elation in as few (relevant) words as possible:

Listen here pickupfuckers, you all really know how to fuck a person up.  Show me your xxx blog pictures and stop being such a granny asshole.

I can’t wait to see the next years’ worth of search terms and which ones will bring a tear to this proud blogger’s eye.¬† Bring it!


Yes, yes, I really am THAT fancy. And we have playdoh – do you?

I don’t like to brag or anything, but this morning I made our own PLAYDOH.¬† And it was amazing, so by extension, I am amazing.¬† And I made it smell pretty by adding some peppermint extract (my house, sadly, was devoid of glitter this morning, but next time we’re adding some for sure!).¬† And that makes me brilliant and¬†amazing.¬† Yes actually, I do think that this achievement¬†is on par with (wo)man inventing fire.¬† It feels fiercely impressive to make a batch of playdoh that actually turns out.¬† But I can only take partial credit, because I think that this recipe is idiot (read KB) proof ūüėČ

But because I’m the sharing type, I’m going to let you all in on the recipe for the Best Ever, Super-dee-duper’dist, Play-Doh in the history of me saying ‘super-dee-duper’ like some 90’s Barney reject.

This is fantastically easy to make and very inexpensive.  The most expensive part is the cream of tartar, but it totally makes this recipe magical.  *Jazz fingers*  *Jazz fingers*

Yes, I do know that my mental illness runs deep.¬† I’m okay with it, so you should be too.

F.A.N.C.Y.

ANYWAY – now for the recipe:

Ingredients

1 cup of flour
1/2 cup of salt (dear Lord, please don’t eat this shit.¬† Your sodium levels will go through the roof.¬† Oh, and don’t let your pets eat it, this much salt could kill ’em and that would make your kids feel sad, and¬†NOT happy,¬†which is the purpose of playdoh – duh.)
2 Tbsp cream of tartar powder (this is NOT tartar sauce as I have heard of some people trying to use – yuck!)
1 Tbsp oil (because I’m fancy, I used and olive/canola mix, but any oil other than motor, will do)
1 cup boiling water
food colouring – your choice or the kids.¬† I’ll leave this up to ya’ll to figure out.
Peppermint extract to make it smell nice and help preserve it a bit longer.

Directions

Mix it all together (I used my Kitchenaid stand mixer) until it comes together.¬† I don’t recommend using your hands for the first while because that boiling water is not fooling around.¬† It is hot as a mo-fo.

Start playing, but play nice and share.  Then take a picture and email it to your friends and family.  Then sit back and wait for the intervention.

When the fun is over and the kids are a crying mess and you’re ready to start drinking (again)¬†in the morning, gather up all of your playdoh and store it in a Ziploc bag.¬† You know, so you can have all that fun again tomorrow ūüôā

Happy doh doh’ing!


Have you ever had an experience that was just so absurd that you had to laugh?

I have them.¬† Often.¬† Perhaps too often.¬† It’s beginning to make me think that maybe it is me.¬† Nah.

My most recent ‘what the hell¬†is life playing at?’ Here is my most recent one, what’s yours?

I went to the dentist last week (a twice-a-year occurence – just doing my part to keep costs down¬†and avoid preventable financial hits).¬† My regular¬†hygienist¬†was out sick.¬† Enter new hygienist (affectionately referred to here on in as ‘Killer.’

Killer bared her teeth, her lips pulled back into a smile that never quite reached her eyes.  That should have been my first clue to GET OUT NOW.

But, I didn’t.¬† I followed Killer into the room.¬† Like a lamb to the slaughter.¬† Second mistake.

I sat back, got comfy, adjusted my bib and waited for what I expected to be a mildly unpleasant but not painful time.  I was WRONG.

She wielded the waterjet¬†pick like a pro.¬† A professional butcher, that is.¬† My lips kept getting zinged/burned.¬† I could taste blood, the water was spraying all over my face, I could feel drops of water running down the sides of my face and down my neck.¬† Flinching is usually an excellent way to indicate that something is not quite right when you’re at the dentist.¬† Not so for Killer.¬† My flinching seemed to translate to her as “game on, fucker.¬† This is going to hurt now.”¬† And she was true to her word, and as I lay in that chair the absurdity of the situation superseded the pain and discomfort and I started to laugh.¬† Hard.¬† Choking and spluttering, Killer was forced to free me from the ineffectual vacuuming tube and let me sit up.¬† I was laughing to hard the water threatened to come out my nose.

It was SPECTACULAR.

Killer just looked at me, unimpressed and as though wondering why she got stuck with all the unstables who came into the office.  I was kind of wondering the same thing, honestly.

Anyway, from somewhere deep I pulled some resolve and calmed myself down.¬† Not to say that I didn’t snort a few more laughs after the cleaning resumed, ’cause that would be a lie, but I got through it, got my ‘free’ toothbrush, toothpaste and floss, and lived to tell the tale.¬† And as a special bonus parting gift, two massive,¬†raging canker sores where Killer stabbed me above the gum line.¬† Bitch.¬† Next time I should bite her finger.¬† ‘Cause that would totally make me puke and that would be way more inconvenient that a little bit of ill-timed laughing.

When I go back in six months, if my regular hygienist isn’t there, I’m cancelling on the spot.¬† And maybe pushing her¬†face in.¬† But probably just cancelling – she’s not called¬†‘Killer’ for nothing.¬† Of course,¬†I haven’t eaten anything comfortably in a week now and that increases my irritability exponentially.¬† So pushing someone in the¬†face¬†has real risk potential.¬† At this rate, I might actually lose a pound or two (nah, no real risk there – chocolate doesn’t require much work to eat ūüôā )

How do you handle these type of situations?  Nicely and politely eat shit and smile (like Canadians are prone to do) or aseertively and pro-actively, or do you just start throwing punches?