Excuse Me While I Brag (aka Proud Momma)

I hardly know what to do with myself. 

This morning, Q left bright and early with my brother and his wife on a road trip to see my dad and his wife in Kelowna for the long weekend.  This is huge!  First of all, if this was me when I was 7, I would have had my auntie and uncle turn around 30 minutes into the trip because I was already homesick for my momma.  And Q is much like his momma in this respect.  When his best friend suggests a sleep over, Q always looks at me with horror in his eyes, silently pleading with me to say no, even though Q loves his best friend and their family.  He just loves his momma a tiny bit more.  The idea of going away to summer camp for a week might be any other 7 year old's idea of paradise, but my Q would wonder what he had done so horribly wrong that I would send him away for a whole week. 

In fact, up until last night I thought he was going to bail on the road trip.  I had my contingency plan carefully thought up - with everyone booking hotel rooms and him being the key to the trip, he was going whether he liked it or not.  I was also very cautious not to mention how much I was going to miss him, or how sad I was I couldn't go (I have to work...), or any of my concerns that he was going to back out.  When our wake up call came this morning (my brother knocking on my door, "Rise and shine!! Time for a road-trip!!!!) at 5:45 am, Q bounced out of bed faster than I've seen all school year, that's for sure.  He was the first one in the car, with his seatbelt on...

This is huge.  My baby is growing up.  And while I'm sooooo proud of the person he's becoming, it is hard to watch him find his wings and leave the nest little by little with each year.  He's becoming such a person.  Yesterday, he was playing with the neighbourhood children and I was surprised to see he's becoming such a leader.  He had these kids doing whatever he told them, with a kindness and directness that belies his age.  He had them weed and clean up my garden in a morning.  It was amazing to watch him work.  It's a little annoying that we have little to no privacy anymore because these children are inviting themselves to my backyard every single day to play with Q, but it's amazing to me the magnetism Q is developing.

Q's last day of grade two was this past Thursday.  He made it through the whole year with Mrs. J without having a nervous breakdown!  Hahaha.  Four days before the last day of school, he was still telling me he wasn't feeling well, and shouldn't go to school.  When I called his bluff, he resorted to the whiny, "But I hate school...."  Nevertheless, he made it.  He can read.  He can do math (in his head!!!!!), he's destined for great, great things.  And oh, the character he has built from doing something he hates every single day.   He's now my grade 3'er, which totally blows my mind. 

Here are some pic's of his "Sports Day" which was super nostalgic for me because I remember my sports days when I was his age and it doesn't seem like 25 years ago (GASP!!!)

yellow team kicked every ones butts.  haha

crazy hair day.  i'm still finding that stuff on everything

token action shot

So, I guess it's fair to say I'm a pretty proud momma.  I cannot imagine a more gratifying experience in life than raising up little humans.

Oh, and I totally know what I'm doing tonight without my little Q...Magic Mike, anyone?!?!?!

This Time For Reals

Two fairly significant things that happened to me in the past couple of weeks have convinced me that some fairly drastic changes were necessary in my life.  

First thing:  Q and I went to a soccer game here in Vancouver.  I was happily snapping pictures with my iPhone, just lost in my own world, when this kind gentleman behind me asked if I wanted him to take a picture of both of us.  I'm not the most photogenic person in the best of situations, and so I shy away from the camera all.the.time.  But the guy was so nice for offering, I felt bad for saying no. 

Here is said photo:

Second thing:  I weighed myself.  And I weighed 5lbs more than I did when I was 9 months pregnant with a 10lb 6oz baby.  I don't believe I need to say any more.  

Do you see what's going on here?  I'm pretty sure I don't have to point it out, but just in case you didn't notice...I have no chin.  I look like a linebacker - look at those shoulders.  And if you look real close, the ball is resting on my stomach!!!!

This is a sad state of affairs, my friends.  

When I quit smoking (insert fanfare) 18 months ago (insert more, louder fanfare), I substituted food for smokes.  I felt bad for myself.  I had a pity party for one like all day every day.  Some days as I laid in bed, I would add up all the food I had eaten during the day and would usually add up 3 chocolate bars, some jujubes and some yummy, yummy carbs.  I was horrified.  It didn't seem like I ate that many chocolate bars. It wasn't a conscious decision.  It just sort of happened.  Then I would eat really, really healthy food for a day or two and I'd be right back to where I started.  Stuffing my face.  And usually in private.  

Of course, I knew I was gaining weight.  My clothes kept shrinking, and I'd have to buy new ones in larger sizes.  I would get winded when I bent over to tie my shoes because my gut would get in the way.  I started wearing boring granny panties because I just didn't feel attractive anymore.  My sweat pants were my "go-to" clothes.  I kept telling myself it was impossible to lose weight.  I kept telling myself that eating made me happy and there was nothing wrong with that.  And then I saw these big glaring signs and didn't want to play the pity game anymore.

Under the guidance of my brother who has will power made of steel and can lose weight by blinking, I have created (and stuck to...) a meal plan for the past 2 1/2 weeks and.....

****DRUM ROLL PLEASE****

I have lost 7 pounds.  

Okay, so I still have 35 to go, but what ever.  I can do it.  

But I know, I know what you're asking....How, oh how do you do it?

Well....

I figure I was consuming approximately 3500 calories a day.  That's a pound of fat every single day.  That is horrifying.  I dropped my calorie intake to 1200 a day, and cut out all unnatural sugars and consume very, very low carbs.  I know right?  1200 calories.  No sugar.  Low carbs.  Why bother living, right?  After the first week, all I had lost was the will to live.  Seriously.  The first week was the hardest - I was going through major sugar withdrawal.  Major.  Like cold sweats and head aches.  It was hard.  It was impossible.  I was miserable.  I was hungry all the time.  I had no energy.  Every day, without fail my brother would send me these cute inspiring text messages like, "You can do it, Sis...luv ya!!"  and I'd be all "Whatever." 

I'd text him, "Can I have whole wheat pasta?" and he'd reply "no."  

"Potatoes?"

"No."

"Gyoza?"

"Seriously?"

"No."

It was a really, really bad two weeks.  

But my tummy started to slim down with no carbs to bloat it.  

And then, I started to have more energy.  Like a lot more energy.  Like, I have been to the doctor numerous times because I'm always sooooo tired.  Test after test would prove nothing was wrong.  It was so frustrating.  Everything was working fine, so why was I exhausted all the time?  You guys, it's like I've found this amazing super drug...eating healthy and eating clean.  I'm not exactly ready to run a marathon or anything, but I have energy like I've never had before. 

Today, I weighed myself for the first time since starting to eat well.  Expecting maybe one or two pounds difference, I was totally surprised when I found out I had lost 7 pounds.  7!!!!  It's so amazing that I celebrated....

...with some ice cream.  (Hey, the cheat days are vital...)

Did I mention my brother owes me a really, really nice dinner if I don't lose 15 lbs in a month?

In Which I Almost Died (Only Not Really....)

Those who know me, know I have a small-ish fear of catching some horrible disease and dying. And to be fair, there are gross little germs and spores lurking on every keyboard, door knob and phone - we all know it's true.  It amazes me that we can get through a day without something going horribly wrong (like your body forgetting to breathe, or your red blood cells forgetting to reproduce, or *catching* a strep infection and having to have your leg amputated at the knee) let alone a whole lifetime. 

I know we all have an expiry date, and that date is predetermined from the day we're born.  But still, I would like to be able to have a guarantee that I will be around at least until my son is able to find his underwear (which has been in the same drawer since potty training, and he still cannot find it), and take a shower without being told to do so (I figure I'm doing well asking for that, seeing as how he's a *boy* and they're a little slow in the whole hygiene department).  I read a story about this guy who gets speared in the head, like with a spear and walks into the ER like he has a hangnail, then walks out a few days later with a little loss of vision but nothing else.  You read other stories how some woman trips at the mall and bumps her head, and dies from a brain hemorrhage.  Moral of the story:  When it's your time to go, it's your time to go.   

That doesn't mean I don't worry about it.  I worry, because worrying is what I do best.  Unfortunately, this means that things like a Spa day are somewhat bittersweet.  Never know whether that fuchsia pink nail polish was worth the staph infection you caught from it.  You never know if the shampoo you use that promises silky smooth hair and smells like coconuts, is also teeming with parabens - which we just found out are like, super harmful and cancer causing.  I'm just saying, it would have been nice to know this before we faithfully used said product for the past 15 years.  Sugar, they say now, helps cancer grow faster.  Cancer cells feed off sugar.  Sugar.  Can you believe it?  I put sugar in everything.  How, I ask, can something so sweet be so sinister?  It's just not fair. 

So anyways, because I'm leery of any horrid diseases sneaking up on me, I'm usually pretty alert to what my body is telling me.  Some may call this being a hypochondriac, but I just think it's being well informed.  Having said that, if I went to the doctor every time I thought something was wrong, I would have to quit my full time job, so I could go to the doctor every other day.  So I wait.  And I wait.  And if it (whatever it might be) is still there after a week, I figure it's probably not my imagination and therefore a *real* problem.  But then I wait another week or so, just to make sure it doesn't go away on its own.  If after 3 weeks, it's still there, I start asking other people if they've ever experienced something like that - because, who knows, it might be normal...After 4 weeks, I google my symptoms.  Okay, who am I kidding, I google my symptoms on the first day, but after 4 weeks, I google them again.  After 5 weeks, if it's still not gone, I make an appointment with the doctor for the following week. So 6 weeks after I first notice something, I finally make it to the doctor.  But seriously, I've already diagnosed myself, and now I need them to prescribe some medication I can't pronounce (or prescribe myself....) or do some horribly invasive test to confirm my worst fears.

With that, I will tell you that I have been living with kidney stones for at least 6 weeks.  Ahhhhh, I know what you're thinking, those are super painful....like worse than giving birth.  Yup, that is what I've heard as well.  Turns out all my kidney stones are actually so small they pass without me hardly noticing them at all.  So far (you say pessimist, I say realist...)  Also turns out I have a cyst on my ovary that is the size of my ovary.  And this is where the pain is coming from.  This would seem like the perfect time to panic, except for the fact that my google search tells me that 1 in 4 women of child bearing years gets at least one cyst in their lifetime, and they usually come and pop without anyone the wiser.  So, again it's not a big deal.  Mine just doesn't want to pop. 

So 6 weeks of worry, then another week to wait for the CT scan, and then another week to wait for the results, and I find I have nothing to worry about.  That's 8 weeks of needless worry

At least until September when I have a follow up ultrasound to see if it's grown or popped or if we need to do a biopsy. 

But, again, nothing to worry about....

...right??

Q-isms - Revelations and the National Anthem

There are a few things about boys that I am learning are *typical*.  Little boys are not complex, and I don't mean this to be mean.  I mean that what you see is definitely what you get.  I can (and have) spend minutes with other mothers I've just met and we can instantly bond over our little boys and their *typical* traits. 

For instance, I can send Q to his bedroom to put on a t-shirt and shorts and like 15 minutes later, he'll still be naked.  He'll be in his bedroom, but he has been totally distracted by some toy he hasn't given any thought to for months.  All of the sudden, it is the coolest.thing.ever.  First common trait among boys: easily distracted.

I cannot even tell you how many times I've told Q to go get something and less than 5 seconds later, I hear, "MOMMY!!!!!!!!!!!!  I CAN'T FIND IT.  I'VE LOOKED EVERYWHERE!!!!!!!!!!!"  I tell him to look again, this time giving him a hint, and then I hear again, "NOPE.  IT'S NOT HERE!!"  And yes, he's yelling, because he's upstairs and I'm downstairs.  Then I get all yelly too, "IF I FIND IT IN LESS THAN 5 SECONDS MISTER, YOU'RE IN TROUBLE...." and every single time I do find it.  In less than 5 seconds.  Q cannot find something that is right under his nose.  Ever.  Second common trait: Not very observant.

Q is a man of few words, and this is trait #3.  Every day I ask him how his day was and every day I get, "Good."  That's it.  Good.  Every day.  I try to probe.  "Well, what was your favourite part???" "I forget."  Either my son has a very serious problem with his short term memory or he just can't be bothered to tell me.  I also get this, "What did you do today?" and I get, "Nothing."  Nothing. I haven't seen you in 8 hours and you haven't done anything??  Something is wrong.  Also, when I ask him what he's thinking he says, "Nothing."

Hmmmmm.....

So, I kind of had this revelation:  How many times have you asked a guy, who looks super deep in thought, what he's thinking?  Expecting some profound words to come from his mouth, he looks at you and says, "Nothing."  I know that I have and I was all pissed off because I thought he didn't feel comfortable sharing his thoughts, or didn't think I was important enough to his waste precious time sharing his thoughts with me.  But nope, turns out...he really wasn't thinking anything at all.

Or, when was the last time you got your hair done, thinking it was super drastic and super awesome and your guy doesn't comment or notice at all?  And then you get all distraught, "He doesn't even look at me anymore." SOB.  Ya, chances are...he's just a guy and he wouldn't notice right away if you shaved your head bald.  I know, and now I feel a little bad because it's really not their fault.  They're born that way.  We're just so different, us women and those men.  I think that if I ever have a boyfriend again, I'll (maybe) be a little more patient to their *inadequacies*.  They just can't help it.

But back to Q...before bed cuddles are the best time of our day.  We cuddle, he shares things with me that he doesn't think of during the day.  Last night, he started singing "Edelweiss" in his sweet soprano voice.  I asked him if he learned it in music class and he was really quiet.  This meant that he learned it in the dreaded Mrs. J's class, and he doesn't want to say, because I will say..."Well, she cannot be all bad if she taught 20 children to sing such a beautiful song," as I've done before when he sings a song she's taught. 

Me: You know, Q.  Edelweiss is the National Anthem of Austria  (which by the way, I just googled and turns out it isn't, but he doesn't have to know that, and really it's not the point of the story, okay?)

Q:  Ugh, I'm glad I don't have to sing that song every Monday morning!

Me:  You sing the Canadian Anthem every Monday?

Q:  Yep.

Me:  Like you have an assembly and sing it all together?

Q:  Nope

Me:  In your classroom?

Q:  Yep.

Me:  And they play the music over the loud speaker?  Do you put your hand over your heart?

Q:  Yep.  Mrs. J does but not me. 

Me:  Well, sing it then.

And he does.  He sings the whole song from start to finish, word for word.  It was amazing.  I was so proud of him.  I was so proud of his school for taking the time to teach the children a little patriotism, because let's face it...us Canadians are not as patriotic as our neighbours to the south even though we have a really fabulous thing going on here in Canada.

What Not to do When You're PMS-ing

Last week, I had this whole post planned out in my head - What Not to do When You're PMS-ing, but I was soooooo filled with rage, I let it sit for a day or two to calm down.  Now, a week later...I still remember what pissed me off, but I can't really put my finger on why.  I had to delete the whole post because it just wasn't filled with the level of angst that I had felt just 7 days earlier.  So, evidently, the thing you really shouldn't do when you're PMS-ing is write a blog post.  Although, I bet it would have been really funny.  In case you're wondering, the top 3 on the list were:  Driving, Parenting and Working...ya...it was a bad week...

So instead, I am going to talk about why I think I'm still single.  I'm really very introspective today and have been thinking about this for quite some time.  And time I've had, my friends...5 years to be exact.  Okay, 5 1/2 years if we're going to be *exact* exact, but whatever.  

I am an independent woman.  It's one of my best qualities (if you ask me...), being independent gives me a confidence I didn't have ten years ago.  I am totally not bragging when I tell you that I can fix vacuum cleaners, unclog drains, unplug toilets, wrap up wounds without batting an eye, I pay the bills, I can plan a party, I get the job done, kids.  And I'm super proud of the fact that I can do it all on my own.  It was a daunting task just even a few years ago.  Corny, but true...what doesn't kill you makes you stronger.  And stronger I am.

Being independent wasn't a choice.  It was an adaptation due to my circumstances.  There was a time in my life where I would have loved to have someone else do all those things for me.  I would have loved to just buy the Ikea furniture and have someone else put it all together while I browse Pinterest and drink a glass of wine.  I would have loved to have someone else fix the toilet when the thingy doesn't flush anymore, because putting your hand in that water, even though you *know* it's clean is super gross, no matter what any body says.  I would love to have someone else take the car to get the oil changed because to me it's just a hassle until the car doesn't work anymore.

So with every independent thing I have had to do, my heart grew a little harder, just a little bit more bitter.  Every time I do something for myself, I realize I don't need someone else to do it for me.  I don't believe in love stories anymore.  Guys, can you believe that I didn't cry when I watched The Notebook?  I scoffed.  I rolled my eyes.  My heart has become hard.

I don't even give men a chance anymore.  Attractive men, available men, give me 15 minutes and I can find a reason why they don't make the cut.  And this is because my heart has become hardened.  I don't want to give anyone the chance.  I don't want to fail at something (a relationship) when I know how fantastic I am on my own.

I don't want my heart to be hard.  I want a soft heart.  I want to be open to the possibilites of love.  But I just cannot find a reason to soften.  Being tough and jaded gets the job done. 

The *Really* Real Housewives of Vancouver

Oh my goodness.  I am still so outraged by that stupid, stupid show.  Not only is it a completely insulting show for housewives everywhere, it's also a horrible representation of women in general.  The more I think about it, the more angry I become.  This idea that a bitchy woman is a strong woman is just so offensive to me, possibly because it is nowhere near the truth.  In my experience bitchy, rude, in yo' face women are not strong, they are incredibly weak and have built up this rough exterior in an attempt to hide their weaknesses.  Women who possess true strength are calm, yet passionate.  Kind, yet firm.  They speak words of strength, exude an air of strength, and their actions speak for themselves.  So, what I see on The Real Housewives of Vancouver is a bunch of insecure, rich bitches who run around putting others down in an attempt to look better themselves.  Two of them don't even meet the definition of housewives, seeing as how they're both divorced - and that makes me mad.  They shouldn't even be on the show.  They lose by default and definition. 

I began to think about the *housewives* in my life- women who have devoted their lives to their families and their husbands.  In this day and age, saying a woman has devoted herself to a man starts a whole gaggle of arguments about the merits of feminism, but for this post, and for the women that I am about to speak of, I use the word *devoted* in its true definition and as a positive description of their choices.  In taking vows to the men in their lives, they have devoted, promised their lives to their betrothed.  These are the really real housewives of Vancouver, and I am filled with pride that they are in my life.  It's sad that we as a society chose to idolize the rich in money, poor in spirit.  We sit and watch housewives yell at each other and back stab each other and pump their lips and enhance their boobs and call this entertainment.  All the while, the really real housewives of Vancouver are the unsung heroes...no one's watching them, except for little ears and little eyes...

I have decided to showcase the really real housewives of Vancouver.  I have been blessed with some amazing women in my life.  And one of them I met in what was absolutely the darkest time in my life.  I've been pretty vocal about suffering from post partum depression after the birth of Q.  I'm vocal because I don't want other women to go through the same thing and think that they're alone, or that there's no hope, or that there is something wrong with them.  I met E in a post partum depression support group.  I imagined I would find all these crazy women in this group, but instead I found these amazing kindred souls, wise, smart and wonderful.  She had a newborn, and was working on her Masters.  I mean this woman is incredibly smart. What makes E so amazing as a housewife is that she stuck it out.  There were times she looked at her husband and hated him, looked at her daughter and thought she was not mother material.  But she stuck it out.  In a world where so many people give up, she worked at loving her husband again.  She fought every voice inside her head that said she couldn't be a good mother.   I think one of the reasons I admire E so, so much is that after how difficult a time she had after the birth of her first child, she pushed through her fears and doubts and had another baby!!  That is incredibly awe inspiring for me!  She has two beautiful, smart, well adjusted children, a wonderful husband, a FULL TIME job, and she is one of the kindest souls I have ever met.  She is a really real housewife.

C has four children all under the age of 8 and three of them are boys.  I know that at least one of you just went crazy reading that sentence.  C's son is best friends with my Q and even though we went to the same university, we didn't meet each other until almost 15 years later. After university, C met her husband, had some kids and decided to stay home and raise them.  I know, novel idea, huh?  They raise them all on one income.  In this era, a one income home is almost unheard of, unless you're a single momma with a deadbeat baby daddy.  And her husband is the pastor of a church, so you know he's not getting paid crazy amounts of money!  So what, they cut coupons and eat dinner at home most nights, she is there for her children.  She's teaching her children about God, and about how to live a life worth living, and she's leading by example.  Her children are happy.  Her children are kind.  Her children are polite and well mannered.  Her job is thankless, and she won't see the true impact of all her hard work and dedication until her children are much older.  How many times as a new mother did I just wish for some adult time!  How often do we tell ourselves how important *things* are!  More important than time and devotion! She is amazing to me.  She is a really real housewife.

M!!  Ah, M is my girlfriend with the Latin flair.  I love how she says "terrible" like "terrival".  M has a beautiful marriage.  She married her best friend.  Coming from South America when she was a young woman, she married young - I want to say she didn't know English when she moved to Vancouver, but I can't remember for sure.  Anyways, her family a million miles away and she's starting a new life.  M and her wonderful husband E are so fun to be around.  Their love and humour is infectious and you just feel so special in their presence.  Just over 5 years ago, the unfathomable happened when their baby girl, just two years old, died suddenly.  As a mother, I cannot imagine anything more devastating as the loss of a child.  But M, with two small toddlers, chose to take that pain and sadness and become stronger for it.  She made her family stronger, made her marriage stronger.  Of course, the pain of losing a child never ever goes away, but her smile is amazing and she makes me smile!  Her children are such a delight to be around!  The very first time they met me they came over and gave me a big kiss on the cheek!  How welcoming is that?!?  She has a relationship with her children, and a beautiful portrait of her angel, who is never far from her mind.  She is a really real housewife.

S taught my son to talk!  As an SEA in my son's kindergarten class, she saw Q's struggle and frustration.  When the health authority said, 'Oh don't worry, it'll come' and the school board said, 'Oh we don't have time...' S said to me, 'Give me 10 minutes a day, 3 times a week.  I'll fit it in to my schedule."  Within a month, easily, Q could say his own name without people wondering what he was trying to say (Quinn sounds like Twin when you can't say your C,K,Q's).  We struck up a friendship and I learned so much about this amazing woman.  Her husband left her when she was pregnant with her third child, and so she raised three boys on her own, but the most amazing thing is that she also took in 3 foster children to raise as well.  So, here is this single momma raising 6 kids on her own!  She waited until her three sons had grown up and moved out to marry her long term boyfriend, and she's now the proud grandma of one smiley little boy.  S still works with children who have special needs and she gives them a voice no one else even thinks they have, sometimes working two or three jobs just because she can't say no to children who need her.  Last summer, S and her husband took in their newborn great-nephew, after momma had a few issues to deal with.  They're now raising this 8 month old little guy, when really they've already paid their dues tenfold.  I really wish there were more people like them, willing to devote time to plant a seed in the lives of our young children.  S is a really real housewife.

These are the really real housewives of Vancouver.  I haven't even touched on the really real housewives of Calgary, like my BFF who stood at the side of a pool early, early one Saturday morning for 30 minutes while her beautiful, head strong daughter decided to not join in her swimming lessons because the teacher was a boy!  Or my girlfriend who's facebook status read, "breastfeeding newborn number 4, while holding a puking number 3..." This just after she made an amazing birthday cake castle for child number 2 the week before.  I guess reality like this doesn't sell.  Unless you're one of 4 sister wives married to the same man,  or you're plotting the demise of your ex while getting your botox injections, no one really cares if you're a good wife or mother or both. 

I am so proud to call these women my friends.  I think I have been blessed to have them in my life, and they've all come just when I've needed them the most.  I feel that just one paragraph doesn't even begin to describe how amazing they are.  Think about the amazing housewives you have in your life.  Thank them for their efforts, for often their job is thankless.  No one appreciates the dinner, til there isn't one there.  We take these women and their devotion for granted.  I was fortunate enough to have a wonderful housewife raise me, and look how fabulous I am!  That wonderful woman, my momma, is still in my life (in fact, in my house!!!!) after all these years, and our relationship has grown from mother/daughter to friends and roomies.

Like Looking in a Mirror

I have a sister-in-law. 

Often times, when you hear someone talk about their 'in-law's' it is followed by an eye roll or a sigh or an obscenity under their breath. 

But not me.  Nope, not me.  I loooooooooove my sister-in-law, so much so, we ignore the in-law stuff.  Early on when my brother first started dating her, I told him that if they ever broke up I would be losing a brother.  The three of us hang out often - they don't mind me being the third wheel (or maybe they do and are just too polite to say...)  Last summer, we went on a road trip to Seattle - the two of them, and me and Q.  For a time before their wedding, A lived with us.  I recall one Thanksgiving with 3 women (A, my momma, and me) in the kitchen and not even one argument was had.  She's a good fit, we all agree.  At their wedding reception, I asked my brother again why it took him so long to find my sister, but then thanked him profusely for doing so.

We think a lot alike, Alice and me.  We're drawn to the same clothes in our favourite stores, we share the same weakness for Nutella,we finish each other's sentences or say the same thing at the same time and we break into song in the exact same spot of the exact same jingle every single time.  We usually dissolve into a fit of giggles, and it's my brother who rolls his eyes.  One or two times, he has asked that we stop singing along to some song or another because, his words..."I did not marry my sister!!!!!"

A few times at Church, people have said, "Hi, A!" to me and I just smile and say "Hi!" back, assuming they're used to seeing my bro with her more than with me.  People say the same to her, "Hi, C!!" and she does the same.  I don't think we look alike, except for the hair length and colour.  She's about three inches taller than me, has beautiful brown eyes and is stunning.  I mean the girl is gorgeous! 

We went for sushi, the three of us the other day and on our way there we ran into a neighbor that my brother had just met.  My brother made the introductions, starting with his wife, and then with me.  The guy looked puzzled, and said, "Really?  I thought you were going to say your wife's sister.  She's your sister?!??!?!"  My brother quietly replied, "Ya, I'm not quite sure what happened there..."  The three of us laughed about it all through dinner.

Then, A got to Church before me and when the man at the door asked her if he could help seat her, she smiled and told him she was looking for someone.  He was persistent and offered his help, what did this person look like...A stopped for a moment and then said, "Kinda like this...." and pointed to her face.  The guy, without missing a beat, says, "Oh ya, I haven't seen her yet!" 

Now, I'm sure Freud would have a hey day with this and all sorts of theories about why my brother married his sister.  You hear about women marrying their *father* all the time.  My one friend's husband looks more like her dad than she does...and she never even noticed til people pointed it out.  I'm not going to go there.  I'll just take it for what it's worth...a compliment, if I look like this beautiful woman, I'm not doing too poorly.  And if we are similar in character, even more the compliment, I think.

I'm pretty sure she feels the same way.

as you can see...we really don't look that similar (i'm on the right, just in case you can't tell...)



awwww, i just love her to bits!!

Then there was that one time my girlfriend knocked on my door, my mother answered and my friend proceeded to have a full conversation with my mom, believing it was me....what does that mean, I wonder?