Today, as I was filling the dishwasher, I was struck by the woeful collection of dinner plates that grace our table during meal times.

Why is it that as soon as ONE plate breaks, the rest all seem to quickly follow suit and you are left with using all the dregs that you normally keep at the bottom of your plate pile?

We are a family of five.  In order to set a matching table, I need FIVE matching plates at any one time.  Naturally, these plates all need to be clean...dirty ones don't count!

It was not too long ago that I had a lovely, MATCHING collection of black and white Corelle dinnerware.  I bought two sets, so that I had EIGHT of everything, plus I had some cute plastic bowls and plates that the kids normally used.  So, I could easily set the table for five and have it all matched, but if I wanted to 'stretch out" using the good plates, then I'd use the plastic ones for the kids.

But, now?  This is what I currently have in my plate pile (even when every single one is clean at the same time!): 

4 lovely Black and White Corelle dinner plates.

4 cute plastic plates with animal motifs - 3 of which are cracked and about to die.

1 nice aztec motif dinner plate which my husband got in a fruit basket, or something like that, from a hotel.  I bet it actually belonged to the hotel restaurant, but he thought it was his to take home and as they never came after him or billed his Visa we have kept it - guilt free - ever since.  This plate is slightly bigger than my other dinner plates, and though it is nice to look at, it does not match my black & whites so it is always relegated to the bottom of the plate pile.  However, we are currently needing to use all the plates right down to the bottom of the plate pile at every meal time, so this plate gets set on the table quite a bit these days.

1 old and ugly green flowered Corelle dinner plate that a friend once brought over to hold a bunch of cookies.  I don't remember the cookies, but as I had a falling out with this friend shortly after she brought this plate over, I never managed to get it back to her.  And now, given our dire plate situation, this particular item is used regularly during meal times and so is now a regular part of the cupboard, meal, counter, sink, dishwasher, cupboard cycle.  Anyway, she never ASKED for the plate back, so I figure it's mine now.  Beside, it's the exact same pattern that my own mother had when we were children and that has to count for something doesn't it?

So there you are.  Now, I ask you, how can a decent woman make a nice, matching table setting from that list?

I *could* just buy more plates, but all the Corelle open stock ones are just in plain white.  Now, I am not opposed to plain white, but at $4.99 a pop it seems a bit extreme!  Seeing as how I'd need at least two table settings (the kids are getting to old for the cute animal themed plastic plates), I would need 10 plates, and that would come to $50, not including taxes!

I *could* just buy 2 or 3 new sets of dinnerware and start over again from scratch which actually is cheaper than buying them all separately, but I cannot find the crucial combination of pattern & price that I am happy with.

I *could* just hop on over the Value Village and pick up a few more plates just to get us through, but have you SEEN the plate piles there?!?  I simply cannot bear to purchase any, even though they are only $0.49 a piece, for the simple fact that I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that those plate piles just recently graced someone else's cupboard and have now ended up on the shelves of VV for the simple fact that said person now has a brandnew set of MATCHING dinnerware.  It's just too depressing.

Paper, anyone?

Today I did something very uncharacteristic of me.

I'm not sure what possessed me or even what planted the idea in my mind, but it took root and I had to go with it.

I'd been sitting at the table all day, working on my homeschooling planning for the year (okay, okay, I know I'm a little behind!) and I needed a break.  Normally, when I need a break from sitting down and doing school work, I do the only reasonable thing that a busy, connected, homeschooling mother does:  I take my cup of tea and my chocolate and head over to my computer and I sit down.  After all, I do have to multitask you know, and if I didn't take my snacks and my lunch at my computer, how else would I find the time to hang out here, or on my fave forum, or surf the 'net?  I mean, really.

Anyway, today, I needed a break from sitting down, so I did the unthinkable.

I cleaned.

Now, if you know me, you know that is not like me.  Not like me at all.  I hate cleaning.  Hate cooking, too, for that matter, but that is a topic for another blog entry.  So here I am, me of the hate cleaning philosophy, and for a break I grab my handy Swiffer and start swiffing.

This has nothing to do with the fact that I bought fancy new wet-cloths for my Swiffer at Wal-mart yesterday...nothing!

What I found as I was swiffing, is that the act of swiffing with a Swiffer is quite addictive!  And, man, can that thing really catch those dust bunnies!  Gotta love it!  Anything that makes cleaning easier - I'm all for it.  So I swiffed and I wet-swiffed and swiffed and wet-swiffed some more.  Now my floors are all sans dust bunnies and they are clean.  Wow!

But, you know, I have one better than that handy Swiffer!  They don't have nothing on me!  For years now, I've had a wonderful technique that makes sweeping and washing the floors so much easier and faster and I use it every single time. Works like a charm!

Wanna know what it is?

I don't wear my glasses.

'Cause then I can't see the dirt!

Can't sweep and wash dirt that ya can't see!  And can't feel guilty about not doing a good job if you can't see what you didn't do.

Works every time!

What's really sad...really, really sad...is that they get me by surprise every single time.  Every.  Single.  Time. 

What does that say about me?

You see, about six months ago, my then 9 yo daughter started the "Sock Attack" tradition.  What she does is to gather up a bunch of socks (old, smelly, clean, fresh, or riddled with holes, it matters not!), roll them into tight little balls, hide them under her bed covers, and then when either her father or I enter her room to kiss her good night, she let's out a blood-curdling scream and attacks us with the sock balls!!

Of course, being the loving, kind, parents that we are, we cannot stand there and take it like wimps, so we gather up all her missiles from around our feet, and hurl them straight back at her.  What follows is a sock attack free-for-all, often with her brothers running out of the their rooms to get in on the fray.  This has become our nightly good-night tradition.

I know.  We are a sick family.

Is it any wonder we cannot ever find clean socks to wear in the morning?  My daughter has been known to search under her bed at the last minute for a clear pair, only to come up with one purple and one yellow.  Naturally, she wears them, and naturally, she has become known as the girl with mismatched socks.  When people notice, I just blame it on the fact that we live on an island - everyone knows islanders are weird!  Oh...if only they knew it was because of the "Sock Attack!"

Recently, I instituted an "old and dirty socks only" rule in our sock attack tradition.  But, naturally, as our need for soft, tight missiles grows greater by the day, not one family member has stuck to that rule.  Now, when I need a clean pair of socks, I don't even bother to go to my sock drawer...no, I simply look under my bed, or on the top shelf of my daughter's closet, or behind my son's headboard, or even underneath the vacuum in the linen closet.

And you thought coming up with matching pairs of socks on laundry day was hard enough...try doing it after an entire week of "Sock Attack"!!

They are getting crafty, those little brats!  Just the other day, I went in to to kiss my daughter good night (yes, I'd totally forgotten about "Sock Attack!"), and just as I bent over the bed, I noticed that the figure in the bed was NOT my daughter, but her life-size Madeline doll!  Right at that moment, her closet door burst open and I was attacked from behind! 

I don't know this will end.  But my youngest child (7 yo Daniel, who has always thought of himself as my protector) reminded me just before he went up to bed that I should expect a sock attack, and he even offered to loan me some of his socks in the battle.  I took him up on it, strategically kissed him good night before I kissed the others, armed myself with a full load, and let loose on Shekinah and Timothy before they knew what hit 'em!

Thing is...I may have won that battle...but the war has just begun!

Vacation. What is the meaning of it? Let me explain:

V = Very much over budget.

A = Attack of the horse fly!

C = Connection = internet/cell phone = fat chance!!!!

A = Automatically forking over $50 at Chuck E. Cheese because there is nothing else to do in the rain.

T = Thunder and lightning and more rain then you've normally seen in a year!

I = Idiodically sucking in your gut while at the beach, in the vain and hopeless attempt that everyone will think you are one of the hundreds of sexy teens, instead of just a has-been.

O = Oh, no...not a leak in the trailer!!!

N = New and interesting bugs that in normal circumstances might become a science experiment, but when you are living in the trailer simply mean you are out a $1.00 per bug because you must bribe the kids to kill them.

So, now you know what "vacation" means. And what are YOUR summer plans?!?

Okay, we're on vacation right now...busy driving 4000km across the country...but, I just had to check in from the road to share a conversation I had with my 7 year old son yesterday:

I'm sure this has happened to you:  You are in a store...maybe even just to browse, because after all, we moms like to browse...your kids are with you, but they KNOW the rules, which bascially entail:  "Don't ask for anything because you aint gettin' it and you'll just make me mad!"

Naturally, we fully expect our children to follow the rules.

Naturally, they do not follow the rules.

They ask for everything under the sun, moon, and stars.  And each emphatic "NO!", just leads them to ask more and more, and even to ask for things they DON'T want.

Case in point:  We are on the ferry from Vancouver Island to the Canadian mainland.  It takes 2 hours - there is not much to do but browse the gift shop on board.  I tried to sneak away and do my "just looking" (eg:  reading gossip magazines without paying for them!) in peace and quite without children.  Apparently, my dh decided at that moment to take a nap and sent the children to look for me.  So, just as I am trying to determine if Nicole Kidman really is pregnant, in walks my youngest son.

Daniel:  "Hi, Mom!"

Mom:  "Who are you?"

Daniel:  "Mo-om!!  Hey....can I have this bag of licorice?"

Mom:  Giving him the evil eye - "You just bought a bag of candy.  No way."

Daniel:  "Look at this cool car!  Can I buy it?"

Mom:  "No."

Daniel:  "With my OWN money?!?"

Mom:  "Daniel, cardinal rule here is:  Never buy toys on the ferry.  They are highly over priced and you can get the same thing in a dollar store for a buck!"

Daniel:  "Aww!  Please?  It's so cool!  I need a new car."

Mom:  "No.  No candy.  No toys.  Nothing."

Daniel:  "Well...how 'bout a shirt, then?"

Yep.  It's works.  It squishes and cinches and flattens and lifts in all the right places.  Yipee!!!

I know you are wondering why I needed a bustier...well, it for a strapless dress for my sister's wedding.  My other sister and I are bridesmaids, and we all are in strapless dresses.  Strapless dresses with a tight bodice.  I have never worn a strapless dress in my entire life and I stay away from tight ANYTHING now that I have belly rolls and back fat.  So, needless to say, I was nervous about the whole thing and went hunting for an undergarment that would be flattering and that I wouldn't need to tug at the whole night.

So, I ended up with a plain, nude-colour, strapless bustier full of boneing for stay-up-ability.  Now that my dress is finished (had it made), I got to try on the whole kit and caboodle the other day.  As I come out of the dressing room, my lovely 9yo dd rushes over to me and puts her hand on my belly and says:  "Mom, you're FLAT!!!"

Do I love this child, or do I hate her?  Hmmmmm....

Well, who cares...the dress fits, my tummy doesn't jiggle, my b**bs don't pop out, and I look good.  That's all that matters!

We've all done it.

I know you've done it just as much as I have.

You're no better than me...admit it!!

You've done it too, I'm sure you have, so just come out and say it.

You've Googled someone, haven't you?  And, I bet you've Googled yourself, too, huh!

These days, with all the privacy issues and government regulations about personal information and all that, we Google ourselves just to make sure there ISN'T any information out "there" that we don't want CyberDude and his 7 billion croonies to have access to - or at least that's what we tell ourselves.  But, really, we Google ourselves with a secret hope that somehow, somewhere, someone got ahold of something really great that we did, and they posted it on the 'net, and now, by a great turn of fortune we find ourselves famous with a fan base we never previously knew about!  Right? 

And we Google other people, especially people from our past, just be sure that they AREN'T famous with a fan base that they might actually know of, and along with that possessing riches that we can only dream of.  'Cause, that would just be grossly unfair.  You know?

Well, just the other day, I was thinking about a past colleague of mine and I wanted to know if she was still involved in the field she trained me in all those years ago.  So, I Googled her.

Freak.

She's famous!!!

She's written a bunch of books and has a blog that is visited by 500 people per day; she's considered a guru in her (new) field and was, apparently, a child prodigy as she was taught this particular skill at the knees of her grandmother when she was but four years old; and, not only was she just blogging the other day about needing to go to a book signing (not to get signatures, folks, to GIVE them!), but she's even on Wikipedia!!!!

If I find out she's rich, I'm gonna...I'm gonna...I'm gonna...errrrrrrrrrrrrr!!!!!!!!!

But, don't worry about it.  I've got it all figured out - I just have to write a book.  Seems everyone who is anyone today has written a book and rode it's pages straight to stardom.  So, I'm just gonna do it.  I'm gonna write a book!

I'll start now:

"Once upon a time..." - nah, can't go there, it's over used.

"At the stroke of midnight..." - nah, can't go there, it either has to be romance or mystery, neither of which I understand in the least.

"During my painful childhood..." - nah, can't go there, 'cause then I have to expose my own skeletons, too.

"In this text you will find..." nah, can't go there, I hate textbooks!

"In the beginning..." nah, can't go there, God already wrote that one.

Darn!

There's nothing for me to write about!  Freak.  I'll just have to resign myself to life of obscurity with out fans or riches.

Note to self:  Don't Google people who aren't ALREADY famous.  You never know what you will find!

Maybe you know me?  I'm Kg...which stands for Karyn-grace (nice, eh?).  This is, apparently, my blog, but I've been AWOL for over a month now, because I was totally stressed out and VERY BUSY and just simply could not think of anything funny to say, any interesting conversations to share, any questions to ask, or just...well...anything to write about.

So...so...so...there!

Maybe I'll write more now.  I don't know.  Should I?

1.  I just purchased my very first bustier.

2.  I am afraid of heights.  I didn't used to be, but once I had kids the fear seemed to start with being afraid that THEY would fall and then it morphed from there.

3.  I was in a beauty pagent when I was 18.  I lost.

4.  My anniversary is this Saturday.  I will have been married for 14 years.

5.  I teach a Parent-Child Mother Goose class.

6.  I've been to the Blue Grotto (but wasn't able to go in, as the tide was too high).