Sacrifice

No, don’t worry, bloody, goriness isn’t the topic today.

I live in a town that borders not only a major city in Alberta (okay Calgary), its also snuggled up to the Rocky Mountains.  My view from my personal house isn’t great, but to drive around … well it’s quite breathtaking.  The grandeur and splendor of those majestic baby mountains is amazing to see everyday. My town is beautiful, my house is nice, but it’s not enough.

We’ve known for a while that we would eventually purchase land in the vicinity, but have to find the right place for the right price.  Unfortunately, my area hasn’t really been affected by the economy and the land I want is at $1.9 million.  I guess it is fortunate as well because my 1978 4-level split would probably sell for $350 000.

The paper comes each week and each week we scour the pages to see if anyone has a nice chunk of land in the range we can afford right now.  Since I haven’t come here shouting to the masses, you can all assume it hasn’t happened as of yet.  There have been some nice places of course, but too far from Calgary, where dh commutes to or too much out of our range, or too stinkin’ small.  I am so not paying close to a million for 2 acres buddy, no way.

We’ve be wracking our brains trying to come up with ideas about earning income with the land so we could afford more.  As I type, at this moment, a bank would probably give us a $300 000 mortgage easy, but can you imagine having that mortgage?  We wouldn’t need to scrimp horribly, but it would be hanging over our heads horribly because we’ve never had a mortgage so high.  To get land of any significant size in order to work the land, we’d probably have to have a $600 000 mortgage … yes, six.hundred.thousand.dollars.  I can barely type it out.

Dh had the idea of horse boarding.  Of course any secondary income earned would be the product of my and the kids’ work because dh works full-time and hunts and flies his toy helicopter the rest of the time … *ahem*, sorry, side rant there.  Horse boarding is a bit of work, as it is a daily job, but it’s not an all day job that would take over homeschooling, or life in itself.

In my area are the rich people who have land, and the rich people who don’t want land, but want the horsey benefits, which means they need a place to store their animals and possibly ride.  ‘Store’, it sounds like MTAE’s christmas ornaments stuffed in the attic and the hall (*snort*).  I mean board, or kennel, really.  But for that we’d have to have a fairly large piece of land if exercise of the horses is needed on site.

Here’s the problem.  I have never owned a horse in my life, hell I’ve never even ridden one.  The closest I’ve come to taking care of one is nuzzling the nose of one while my daughter climbed on her back.  Although I’m a library fanatic and could probably find copious amounts of information on them, I haven’t the slightest clue as to how to put that into reality.  And with all that in mind, I’d have to have a business plan in mind and hand before we head to the bank to beg, as well as the know how to really do what I’m telling them I can do.

The ROI on that would be so minimal really, but in the end, we’d have our land.  We’d have that lifestyle that we’ve been dreaming about for years.  We’d have such silence when I walked out my door, and the stars, oh the stars at night.

Of course, me being the flighty, quick decider, I’m all for it, not even knowing the work that goes into them on a daily basis.  And even though it was technically dh’s idea, I could see him humming and hawing for weeks about the idea.

But what else can we do?  Do we give-in and just buy a 2 acre parcel that we can afford in a community much like we live in now?  Or do we sacrifice a few things for the life we’ve always dreamed of?

The answer is easy for me.

Reincarnation

I’m starting to truly wonder if I was a man in a previous life.  I don’t like shopping, loathe the phone, and have constant desires to want to pee standing up into fresh snow.

Ahh, what a life I would’ve had.  I can picture it all now, but the only thing that seems to stand in the forefront is myself sitting by watching my wife cook because I have a seriously deep hatred of cooking.  Oh dear God above I hate to cook, yet He made me a stay-at-home-mom.  Ok, ‘made’ is a strong word, but that’s the way my life has been heading, so I’ll use the term if I want to.

I’ve never enjoyed cooking, ever.  I don’t ever recall wanting to help my mom bake, I just wanted to lick the spoon.  And supper?  I was 17 before I gave in to a couple of nights cooking in a month and detested every step of it.  We never ate out when I was a kid, so it wasn’t as if I had a taste for restaurant food.  My mom is an awesome cook, but that gene just slipped right on by me.

My life now revolves entirely around the lives of 4 other people.  My husband is a slightly picky eater, but I don’t care – I love him, but I don’t care.  I’ve never wanted to be a short order cook, and I don’t get paid enough to be one now.  My eldest daughter will try anything, and try enough of it to get a good taste.  Canned peas suck to her and we all know it because she took a big whopping mouthful and mashed it in while we all sniggered at the face she made.  My youngest daughter is more picky, but more along the lines of meat.  I could see her being a vegetarian in her next life after us except that she loves bacon too much.  Then there’s the boy, the 2 y/o, the guy who is the pickiest eater I’ve ever met.  Texture is huge with him, yet he likes brown beans, strong flavours make him gag, yet he loves black olives.  He cannot chew lettuce without gagging to the point of almost throwing up.

With all this comes one heaping pile of shit for supper really.  I only resist making the things everyone absolutely hates and then the rest is up to them, I’m done with it I guess.

It’s a nice place to be … for me anyway.  I don’t imagine the family appreciates my non effort of having some kind of hamburger dish for the third day in a row, but meh, whatever.

I don’t mean to be so blasé about my role, I know it’s my role to cook as dh doesn’t always have a consistent home time, nor enough planning time in the morning to do much of anything.  I just don’t feel the need to bend over backward doing something I hate so much.

This point has been a long time in the making.  Not that I previously ever really enjoyed cooking, of course not.  When someone is forced to do something, something they don’t enjoy, 3 times a day, 7 days a week for many, many years, it gets to ya a bit.  I imagine I could’ve enjoyed cooking if it wasn’t a chore, if it wasn’t all up to me.  I think it, I plan it, I cook it, they clean it (my one reprieve that I begged for), and the whole friggin’ cycle starts again the very next day.

I know many women who make wonderful meals and I can’t even pronounce half of the ingredient let alone find them in my neck of the woods.  I have no desires anymore to try anything new – ahem, tofu, you still suck – nor to try and figure out why people think couscous is so great.  Oh, here’s a good one, turks turban squash. I’ll admit, I gave in once because the look of it was awesome.  But the effort put into a squash (45 minutes of sweat and strain to just chop and peel) that tastes terrible is so not worth it.

If I could just have one wish, one wish in the whole world, it wouldn’t be to magically change into a man, although peeing in the snow would be fun.  No, it’s to never have to cook for another person again.

Stolen trust

Being robbed has created paranoia abound.  I lock my doors, triple-checking them, and often keep lights on even when we aren’t home.

Our robbery was simply avoidable really.  Both dh and I were working on the rigs away from home with little time off.  When we did get time off, we’d drive the 2½ hours to pack up more items and check on the house we had rented and were in the process of moving out of.  The house was situated on a half-acre parcel that bordered a mill, which held the title for the property we were on.  It was an enormous, historical house, far from the street with no street lights close by.  Gone for too many days at a time became too much of a temptation for 2 thiefs in the night.  Lucky for us they were too stupid for words and were only looking for quick cash as they could’ve cleaned us out of the ready-packed boxes of cds, stereo and computer equipment.  This robbery is now 12 years old, but I still feel the ramifications of it.

After I discovered the theft, I was relieved that our local police force didn’t write us off and were quick to respond.  You see it is illegal to steal from someone, so they dusted for finger prints and did make an attempt to right the wrong.

Today, a different theft occurs in our house, it’s a silent one, more invasive than even an intruder in my home.  A bad investment lost us $40 000 of our retirement money to greed.  I say bad investment not in the sense that the markets falling lost us the money, that’s not it.  We gave our $40 000 to a company that invested our money in a con, a scam, and the owner of the investment company is a partner in on said scam.  Our money, combined with a lot more money from other people, made these people millionaires.

Why I say it is more invasive isn’t because of the quantity as compared to my previous robbery.  No, it’s because in my previous thefts, the police were wonderful, extremely willing to catch said culprit(s) and I felt like the judicial system was working for me.  This time, there is no crime.  Yes ladies and gentlemen, in our country if you shift money around enough, pay people 10X what they are worth, inflate building prices and then use investor money to garner a mortgage on said buildings while lining your pockets, there is no crime.  The investors have to take more money out of their own pockets to find the crime and sue for their money back.  No police involvement, no charges will be laid, and we will likely never see our money again.

Our first robbery losses = $200 cash and the cost of replacing a safe, with full police involvement.

Our second robbery = $40 000 cash, plus $1 500 per share in lawyer’s fees to attempt to recover a small portion of initial losses, with zero police involvement.

My money was not only stolen, but any sort of trust in the system that is supposed to protect us is gone.

And police wonder why vigilantes are so highly respected by the average person.

Tag I’m it

Rachel from Once Upon a Miracle randomly tagged everyone of her readers.  Steal it or not is up to you, but sure, if you want to consider yourself tagged, be my guest!

ABC’S OF ME SURVEY

A – Age: 34

B – Bed size: Bed size wanted? King of all kings so I can have my own side to the bed. Bed size owned? Measly queener.

C – Chore you hate: Cleaning bathrooms, there’s just something about the moisture/hair combination that makes me throw up a little in my mouth.

D – Dog’s name: As a child it was Kudu, we can’t own one now – allergies.

E – Essential start-your-day item: Kicking horse coffee.  I even have local organic-roaster-people but I can’t yield from Kicking horse yet.

F – Favorite color: Hmmm, rainbow – hey, it’s my blog, my rules.

G – Gold or Silver: Silvah, love da silvah.

H – Height: 5’8″  yep, I’m tall.

I – I am: oblivious to guilt.

J – Job: Kids, home, husband, life.

K – Kids: 3 babes and one dh.

Cute school pictures huh! God I love homeschooling.

L – Living arrangements: A 4-level split house, yet dreaming of land.

M – Mom’s name: Ahhh mom, aka Mrs. Killer.

N – Nicknames: Shmode, Jode, Bum (don’t ask).

O – Overnight hospital stay other than birth: Never, and I’m hoping this is a trend that continues.

P – Pet Peeve: Late comers to anything scheduled, especially if it’s a common habit for them.

Q – Quote from a movie: “There’s no place like home.” Miss Dorothy, although I still dream of seeing ‘Wicked’ to get the witches POV.

R – Right or left handed: Righty-tighty … whoa, that sounds sick.

S – Siblings: One very dorky big brother.

T – Time you wake up: This morning was the big 6:30am.

U- Underwear: Yes thankyouverymuch.

V – Vegetable you dislike: Turks Turban squash, can you people stop buying the shit, it’s really crappy food!

W – Ways you run late: Not possible, I loathe being late, but if it happens it’d be a flat tire, car accident, etc.

X – X-rays you’ve had: Teeth and head (had headaches).

Y – Yummy food you make: Lasagna … mmmm, craving lasagna.

Z – Zoo favorite: Tigers in winter because they actually play in the snow instead of pace the pen.

Cancer revisted

This is a topic everyone is familiar with and I sure as hell ain’t gonna beat a dead horse about how awful it is, blah, blah, blah. We know that, Cod darnit it sucks.

I’ve written about it before, how it has hit close to home.  Not within my actual home, but in the family.  A year ago my cousin was battling a cancer that was very mysterious and only the secondary cancer was detectable by the normal tests.  I don’t know much about the testing itself, like how they know it is a secondary cancer as opposed to a primary.  I don’t imagine the affected cells stand in line according to their status, so I can’t tell, but the doctors can I guess.

So she beat it that first time and was actually studied at the Mayo in Scottsdale because she also has another anomaly where her body doesn’t allow any sort of bacteria to reside.  An interesting phenomena really that even her eye lashes are bare from those weird looking dinosaur bacteria naturally found on anyone’s lashes. You, me, anybody, but hers.

This cousin of mine isn’t super close, we aren’t bosom buddies, and not by my own choosing, she just leads her own life.  She makes choices that hinder any relationship really.  She chooses to fabricate many happenings in her life, and often for the affection and attention of others.  She’s remarkably beautiful, smart, and extremely funny, yet she feels she needs to create white lies in order to impress.  Not my bag and I loathe being lied to.

Today she walked into my mom’s work to pass on some info, not related to herself, and proceeded to tell my mom in the middle of her workplace that she has stopped all medication.  She could possibly go to Germany to have all of her blood replaced (wtf that is, I don’t know) with a slim success rate, but she’s not likely to choose this.  So, what she is saying is this has now turned into a terminal illness and she’s removing any stumbling block to her quality of life with what time she has left.

With that being said, is it true?  I initially just thought of the horrors of losing her and had a little moment of tears.  Then a small glimmer sparked through my mind of her habit of embellishing things and it made me wonder if she had finally stooped to a level beyond all of our wildest dreams.  We are off to a funeral tomorrow for a man who lost his battle with cancer.  If she is lying, or even embellishing this ever so slightly, I am going to lose it on her.

My heart still says that she wouldn’t sink to this for attention.  Maybe it’s just my mind’s way of coping by grasping onto any glimmer of hope that this bloody fucking disease isn’t going to wipe out yet another family member.  One who only just recently hit 40 years old.

Another blog lost to privacy

My heart is heavy.  Not super heavy, just sad I guess.  It seems a little weird that I get a little connected to the people in my blogosphere, but nonetheless I do.

I’ve lost another one to privacy.  A fairly popular blog among the adoption circuit has gone the way of don’t-look-here.  “Full House, Full Hands, Full Hearts”, a lovely lady with 12 kids turned her blog into password only without warning.  Unfortunately, because I’m more of a lurker, someone who isn’t on the inside, I didn’t get the password and now, I’m cut off.

Man, I’m a sad case, I sound like a woman pinin’ for something she can’t have: Brad Pitt, a skinny ass.  But no, I’m pathetic enough to be wanting a place on the inside.

I think I’ll just have to let it go.  There’s no way to contact her even if I did know her real name (funny, I know her last name, but not her first).

Good bye FHFHFH.  I’ll reluctantly remove you from my links.

Shopping is not my forté

I have to tell you, sometimes I wonder if I’m a woman… okay, not truly wonder like look-at-my-chest-to-double-check wonder, but I just don’t follow the norm.  I hate cooking, I don’t magically see dirt and want to clean it, I don’t enjoy fashion, I hate talking on the phone and I don’t like to shop.

Guess what all I have to do today… yep.  All of the above.  I have to cook or my family doesn’t eat (oh the bliss of marriage), I have to clean because my social worker is coming tomorrow (and I can’t see him giving me a child with the state of my house), I have to make calls today and I have to shop for clothes.

Oh boy clothes.  As an overweight woman, I look at clothing as a means of covering up and highlighting nothing but the mood I feel that day, which just means I choose a brighter covered tent instead of dark.  Clothes of course wear out, so if you haven’t shopped in over 2 years it tends to catch up to you in one fell swoop.  I have to buy pants, and I hate buying pants for this size, but I must have clothing on my body.  Clothes that fit, don’t dig in and aren’t ripped in four places and which the colour is still recognizable.

I had hoped that the weight would start magically disappearing since I started exercising so that I wouldn’t have to buy more clothing to fit this expanded version of me.  I had truly thought that because I had exercised for 2 months that I’d lose a pound or two.  That didn’t happen, so I’m of course discouraged and haven’t exercised since before dead bird day.

I will get back to it, but in the meantime, I have to do the dreaded chore of clothes shopping.  Wish me luck that I don’t just lock my 3 children in the dressing room duct taped to the wall whilst I browse the aisles.

Good morning insomnia, nice to see you

Ok, not really ‘nice’ to see my computer screen at 4:30 am, but not much to do about it, so we move on to the babble session.

Oh boy thanksgiving is lovely isn’t it?  Nothing like surrounding yourself with friends, family and absolutely stuffing yourself.  There is nothing like it in the world.  No, there really isn’t, only in this Western society to we actually gorge ourselves twice a year and then instantly look forward to the same thing the next year over.

We still love it though don’t we?  My mom made enough food for three times the amount of guests and I still needed to make a salad to bring – from which I alone had removed a single bowl full from.  Then again, while everyone else is eating leftover turkey till their eye’s pop out, I’ve got salad … go me.

I have been dreaming of pumpkin pie, absolutely looking forward to savouring every single bite I had, as it’s my all-time favourite pie.  I took a bite of that creaminess and was almost instantly disappointed.  Oh don’t get me wrong, my mom’s pumpkin pie is yummy, but I just felt so let down.  It wasn’t near as good as I had imagined it to be, and I do feel it is the combination of crust and whipped cream on the side that gets me through it all.  I really tasted it, I mean really tasted every bite and was saddened by every mouthful.  Pumpkin pie isn’t my favourite pie, oh no, it’s crust and whipped cream pie with a sprinkling of pumpkin pie spice and goo.

Of course none of that revelation stopped me from taking an entire pie home from mom’s house.  Pathetic?  Oh yes, absolutely.  I’ll savour it along with my salad this week.

I’m still waiting for my Nobel prize.  I’ve been advocating peace in my home for years now, a lot longer than the latest recipient and I haven’t been notified of my nomination yet.  Strange … hmmm.

I find it quite hilarious for other people, people not within the know of our current adoption situation, to randomly drop hints about how in our grand youthfulness, dh and I should have more kids.  I of course nod and agree, and then move on.  It’s funny how with this adoption I’m not as, I don’t know, gossipy about it I guess.  I don’t feel the need at any moment to share every detail of what is going on with anyone and everyone.  Maybe because a revelation came with the last round that no one truly cares about the rigmarole before hand, they’ll just want to know about it after.

Crap, getting tired.  Sheesh, right when I get into the groove of writing is when my insomnia kicks off.  Gotta take it when you can right?  It’s like s#x, turning down that opportunity means that opportunity is gone forever.