Guns hurt people...

Last week, the Mogrunt and I hit the road without Mr. Happy aka Daddy, for the first time. We went to New Brunswick to visit my family. Why so soon after our previous visit? Well, rumour had it that my cousins would all be around for the weekend, all of them except my cousin who lives in China. It would be the first time in many years that we were all together. And the real attraction was that my grandmother's seven great-grandchildren would all be together for the first time ever.

I broke up the 5 hour drive by staying at Becca's house on the way there and at my cousin's house on the way home. They both live in the same city which sits at the approximate halfway point of the drive.

We had a lovely visit, spending some time at the lake, lunching with friends at the new restaurant in town (yummy), and hitting the local thrift store for tiny boy clothes.

At the thrift store we made out like bandits: three pairs of overalls, a shirt that matches a pair of the overalls, a pair of brand new Car*ter's pj's AND a bag to put them in for $10. I guess that goes with my "theme" of a $10 bit of happy. The next time, we're looking for stuff for Becca's wee girl too.

On Sunday, we headed to my aunt's house for my cousin's little boy's 1st birthday party. We arrived at 3pm. The party was in full swing only moments later with around 40 people, young and old, running around inside and outside. The birthday boy was passed around, when he wasn't scooting along the floor and playing with his friends, both big and small.

At one point I was outside on the back lawn with my cousins and their children. The kids were alternately playing "Robot" (dressing in boxes decorated by the birthday boy's dad, a brilliant man and a brilliant idea) and running around with water pistols.

This is when things got a bit dicey. Let me give you some background.

There is a tradition in our family, one that is probably more common than families will let on. It's a tradition of cousin abuse. It's not nearly as bad as it sounds, or maybe it is.

It all started when I was just an infant. My dear cousin, Jennifer was carrying me when I was just wee and it seems she got tired of carrying me.

So she dropped me.

Fast forward 6 years or so. My cousin Leah was just wee. I was holding her. My arms got tired. I went to put her down. The next part of the story is up for debate.

The "adults" in the family say that I dropped her. I distinctly recall lowering her to the ground and then Leah squirming a bit so that she fell out of my arms.

Regardless, there was a short distance between my arms and the ground and she fell that distance.

Hence, I carried on the tradition.

I had hoped the "tradition" had come to an end with Leah and I, but alas, the torch was picked up by my elder cousin's youngest boy, we'll call him Nate.

Nate is only 2. Nate had a water gun. I was sitting on a blanket with The Mogrunt and my cousins when Nate went running by. As he ran, he threw his water gun.

Guess who it hit?

Of course, the tiny, sleeping Mogrunt... right on the head.

He started to wail and I quickly checked him to see that he was ok. Once I determined that he would live, and would only require me to wipe the water off his head and the tears from his eyes, I started to laugh. I know, I'm a horrible mother. It may have been relief that made me laugh.

My cousin's wife caught Nate by the hand and made him apologize. He did, after crying a little himself.

Nate, I understand your tears, little man. I've been there.


And just b/c no post is finished without a photo...

I call this one, "Grammy Rides Again"


(Grammy said to me as we were walking back to the house after this photo was taken, "Gee, that was harder than I thought. My leg doesn't bend nearly as well as it used to." Ahem. She'll be 91 in December.)

Thanks for all the help, Noel

Since the first of August we have been eyeing the yard that once was the pride of the neighbourhood - Once upon a time, a family owned that house. They cared for the lawn and the flower beds and the property. They grew up in that house, they grew old in that house and then they moved away. Now we have every home owner's dread - messy renters living next door. (If they were tidy renters, I wouldn't mind. I'd even bake them bread and learn the name of their kids and their dog.)

I thought that we would have to wait for snow before the neighbour's yard was returned to its pristine state. Today, however, the threat of Noel (Tropical Storm) had the neighbours outside - cleaning up bicycles, totes, and the "Pimpes" wardrobe

I will forever be grateful to Noel, and to the neighbour who carefully put away all the stuff in the back yard today.

Even if we lose some shingles.

Somewhat Good Fences Make Great Neighbours Too!

There is an ugly fence that separates our yard from the neighbour's yard. It was erected by the original owners of the house as a means of hindering backyard shortcuts. The fence is constructed of rusted metal pipes and green plastic-coated wire mesh.

When we moved in, it became a necessary evil as both yards held dogs. It is still a necessary evil as Pippin likes to run around our back yard when he visits.

Despite the ugliness of the fence, many pleasant conversations have taken place between the neighbours who lean on it. Tools have been passed from hand to hand over it. Dogs have been patted through it. Plates of cookies and desserts have been shared. A feeling of "somewhat good fences make great neighbours" surrounds this fence.

Almost every summer since we moved into our house, my neighbour and I have planted various climbing flowers along the fence to disguise it a bit. It's a bit like putting a party dress on a lizard. It looks better, but it's still a lizard underneath.

My neighbour, busy with her son's wedding plans, didn't get her flowers in the ground as early this spring. I was anxious to experiment this year as last fall I saved all the seeds from my Morning Glories. As soon as the ground was a reasonable temperature (i.e. no frost in the soil), I scattered the seeds in the soil. Mr. Happy, the skeptic, didn't think they would grow.



They have indeed grown, better than they have ever grown before. They're so desperate to grow that they're climbing up a tree and twining together for strength.

I can hardly wait to gather seeds this fall. Next summer will be even better!

How to Scare Away the New Neighbours

Tonight, I talked to the daughter of the rhubarb patch neighbour. She informed me that the house sale is finalized tomorrow. The only things she knows about the new owners are:

1. They bought the house
2. The city has approved the lot being divided.

I am alternating between:
1. Fear.
2. Tears.
3. Outrage.

To think that someone might divide that beautiful lot into piddley lots and build a house on there is horrifying. Not only is it a beautiful garden, but well, we're scared for the big tree in the yard. We love that tree. I've already threatened to throw myself between the tree and the tree cutters. My only problem? I'm leaving for Newfoundland tomorrow night. By the time I come home, they may have toppled the shed already!

We've had it so good here at the Happy House. Despite our location, we have a fairly quiet back yard. I'm really worried about having neighbours who can see in my kitchen window.

Angie and I were discussing ways to make the new neighbours reconsider their decision:

Me: Ok, here's what we're going to do. Andrew and I are building a 9 foot fence and... and... we're going to be rude.

Ang: hee hee

Me: and we're going to walk around outside in outfits that would make a redneck proud. there's going to be a lot of arse scratching, farting and "adjusting".

Ang: so nothing new then HAHAHAHAHAHA

Me: No, not really

Ang: You should call andrew cletus and he should call you brandine and you should adopt 14 kids with different diseases for names gonerreha (i know I spelled it wrong) is a pretty name

Me: Little Gonner. That's a good boy's name!

Ang: gonerhea is a girls name, by the way

Me: "Gonner, you get your finger outta yer nose, unless you're sharin' with your sister, Rhea!"

Ang: hee hee you are perfect for the part. you need to get a mullet and/or a perm

Me: And stop dying my hair with expensive dye, just use Sun In

Ang: and cut of all your shirts at the navel and don't let andrew diet. He needs to start standing in the front yard with a beer
shouting at nothing

Me: Heh heh. I think we'll have twins, Gonner And Rhea.

Ang: nice


So, that's the plan. Operation Gonorrhea.

Wish us luck.

The Rhubarb Thief

As some of you know, the house next to us has sold. Since we moved into our house in 2001, we have enjoyed the generousity of our neighbour who has allowed us to pick rhubarb from their yard. Now that the SOLD sign is on the lawn, we are worried that our new neighbour's won't understand our addiction to their rhubarb patch. What if they aren't as generous as the last neighbours?

Tonight I figured out how we can get to the rhubarb after they move in:

Step 1: Scale the fence:

Step 2: Jump into the patch

Step 3: Pull the rhubarb quickly and efficiently

Step 4: Make a hasty getaway

Step 5: Enjoy the loot

That should be enough for a rhubarb crisp and a batch of jam.