"You Look Like Crap"

That's what I hear when people tell me I look tired.  I hear "you look like crap".  Because I know I do.  I just don't need other people to tell me that.  One lady at work tells me every day when I walk in the door.  This morning, I actually told her to stop saying it because I'm always tired and don't need to hear it from her every day. 

I wish I wasn't so tired all the time, but I have a 17 month old baby who, when awake, is moving.  I get up every day at 5:30, get myself ready for work then get Vaughn up and ready to go to dayhome.  I drive 25 minutes to the office, fighting in rush hour traffic.  I work a full day, take 35-40 minutes to get home, pick Vaughn up from dayhome, make dinner, play with Vaughn, bath Vaughn, get him ready for bed and then at 7:30 try to relax for a few hours before I go to bed at 9:30 for what will probably be a crappy night's sleep.  Vaughn may or may not get up in the middle of the night for what I call a "soother rejam".  Regardless of whether he's up for 30 seconds or 30 minutes I still hear him, I still wake up and I still can't get back to sleep.

Now, some, if not most of you, will say "Where's Tim in all of this?  Why doesn't he help?"  Good question.  I have no idea.  I'm sick of asking for help and not getting it.  Why should I even have to ask?  Why shouldn't it just be offered?

Last weekend, I was supposed to get to sleep in both days and ended up getting up both days with Vaughn at 6AM.  At what point do I just let my baby cry until Tim decides to be a father and get up to deal with him?  I can't just let him cry, I'm his mother and it's not right to make him suffer for me to prove a point.

I'm tired.  I look like crap 90% of the time.  And from what I hear, it's common among women - we do most of the work with the kids.  I wouldn't mind so much if I felt like I was appreciated or did a get a chance to sleep in.   That is why I like going on business trips, it forces Tim to take responsibility and do it.  I know he can do it, why he doesn't on a regular basis blows my mind.  If anything, you would think he would do it for me, knowing how tired I am. 

I just wish we as mothers got more recognition for the work we do.  I work full time and am a mother.  Other mothers I know are tired all the time too.  We do it because we love our families.  We do it because we know it needs to be done.  I just wish the men in our lives would appreciate us a little more.

I know some guys reading this are going to say "whoa, I do all that, I'm a big help".  If you are, then you are certainly the minority.  And good for you.  Go help yourself to a cookie.  I'm talking about me and my situation here and it ain't all sunshine and roses.

One step I have taken in what I think is the right direction is that instead of asking if I can go do things, I am telling Tim I'm doing things.  And this weekend, I'm going for a mani/pedi/massage on Saturday afternoon.  Hopefully I'll get to relax a little and won't be such a raging b*tch when I come home.  Happy wife, happy life, yes?

So next time you feel like you want to tell someone they look tired, please don't.  Chances are they know, and chances are they will hear "you look like crap" and nobody wants to hear that.  And before you tell me to make Tim start doing things because you're so perfect and you have such a perfect life, know that it's easier said than done, know that I'm trying but it's 2 steps forward, 1 step back.  He does a lot of things right, but when it comes to raising this child of ours, many days I feel like I'm in it alone. 

Am I complaining?  Yes, today I am.  Because I'm tired.

Mommies Gone Wild

Next Saturday is my friend Paula's birthday.  She wanted to celebrate it a little early and go out for dinner with a group of friends.  Turns out most everyone was busy so she and Lorne decided to go out alone and she was going to do a spa day - did I want to come?  Did I?  Does a bear?  Is the Pope?

Tim was excited to take care of Vaughn because that meant he didn't have to leave the house and go out with people he didn't know, I was excited to get out of the house and hang out with Paula sans the children.  Every time we've gotten together over the past year, there's been kids.  We both love our children oh so much, but we were friends before kids came along and promised each other we would have some time to ourselves before we were old and crusty.

So yesterday was that day.

Let me take you back about 10-11 years first.  I had zero people depending on me, I was in my mid-twenties and had just joined a rugby team.  These girls were my life - all I did was work, practice and play rugby and party.  Every weekend we were out at The Rose & Crown, partying it up.  Saturdays and Sundays were spent feeling sorry for myself but we usually mustered up enough energy to go out for dinner at Fiore's or Singapore Sam's on Sunday nights.

Paula and I used to play rugby together.  She was a back, I was a forward, so we didn't see too much of each other at practices, and she was living with Lorne when she joined our team so didn't come out with us all the time.  Here is why Paula is such a dear friend to me - one year at Rugbyfest in Edmonton, I sprained my ankle and was in horrible pain.  There was a big party down at OTS Park and I couldn't go.  Paula stayed back from that party to hang out with me and keep me company.  Then, when we got home, she drove me to the high school I was coaching at every day until I could drive myself so I didn't miss practices with the girls.  I will always remember and cherish her for that.

Paula only lived a few blocks from me, so we saw each other quite a bit.  We had a lot of good times and good memories.

However, I'm no longer even close to that person I was 10 years ago.  Tim hears stories from back then and can't imagine I was ever like that.  Yup, I was.  I'm sure not proud of everything I did, but it was my life and I lived it.  Just like I do today.

I'm also sad to say that a lot of the friendships I had from back then have dwindled.  I moved away, lost touch and grew apart from many of the girls I was once so close to.  I'm not going to lie, it hurt and it still hurts sometimes to know that they could cast me aside so easily.  However, I started to focus on the friendships that do matter and people that want me in their life, and now I'm in a great place.  I'm still very close with a few of the girls from the team, and those girls will be my friends for life. 

Okay, back to the present.  So, Paula has 2 kids, I have 1 and the time we get to spend together is always kid-centric.  Yesterday, it was all about time to ourselves.  We met in Kensington at Purr so Paula could do a little shopping for her birthday dinner.  I've always loved shopping with people - especially ones that will humour me and try things on that I like but would never be able to wear.  It was a lot of fun and Paula got a really nice outfit.

Then, it was lunch at Molly Malone's.  We had lunch at a pub.  We were by ourselves in there - it was glorious!  The food was fantastic and the cider was nice and cold and went down just a little too fast...

We arrived at Riverside Spa - I had a bit of a wait because my appointment wasn't until 3:15 and Paula was getting a massage.  I went in to their eucalyptus steam room for about 20 minutes or so and then had a nap (a nap!  In the middle of the day!!!) until just a few minutes before we had our manicures.  We then each had a mineral pedicure, a good visit and some more laughs before we had to say goodbye to eachother.

As my life has changed, so have my priorities.  Family is so important to me, and I never realized just how much until I have one of my own.  I no longer have the desire to "party til I puke" because that's not me anymore.  I usually have one or two, and then I'm done - I have to get up and be a good mother to my son, and I'm no good to him when I'm tired, impatient and cranky. 

I'm so glad though that I still have friends who knew me back then, can see me for who I am (then and now) and still love me just the same.  Going wild means something completely different now, but I am so happy I got to do what I did yesterday.  There's a saying - if momma ain't happy, nobody's happy.

Well, I'm happy.

Cooking With Phyllo

Last weekend, we were invited out to our friends' cabin.  They had just finished building a porch and wanted to have some people over to warm it.  I love a good warming party, and everyone knows if there's a potluck, I'll be there.

So, there I was on a Friday afternoon trying to figure out what I was going to take the next day.  I knew I had a half case of pears in the basement so my dish had to incorporate them in somehow.  After much poking around http://www.tastespotting.com/ I came up with an idea that seemed doable.  Off to Safeway I went.

I couldn't find puff pastry for the life of me, and the bakery department told me that phyllo was just as good, it was a puff pastry also.  Super!  They only had it in the freezer section but I grabbed it anyway.  I got the rest of my ingredients, and merrily rushed home to transform my pears into a piece-de-resistance.

Turns out the phyllo has to thaw for 5 hours or overnight in the fridge.  It was 7:30 PM and there was no way I was going to attempt baking at 12:30 AM.  Oy vay.  I decided that if I got up at 6:00 I could get everything done before we had to leave for the cabin.

Did I mention that I had agreed to go to a playdate with the kids from our baby group at 9 until 11?  No?  Well, yes, I did.  I wanted to see the kidlets and their moms and wanted Vaughn to play with his little friends so I knew I had to find a way to do both.

Since I am in the logistics business, it shouldn't be too hard to do this right?  Sure, but when you add a little bright-eyed and bushy-tailed toddler in the mix, it kinda throws you for a loop. 

I got up right away, took the phyllo out of the fridge, as the package stated the pastry has to be room temperature.  No worries, I thought, I'll just go have my shower and by the time I get back, it will be ready for me.

I prepared my pears with ginger and lemon juice, took out the ricotta cheese and rubbed my hands in delight.  My first time with phyllo pastry - how exciting!  I took the box apart, quickly scanned the directions, blah blah, wax paper, blah blah de blah, butter, uh huh, do de do, 350 degrees, roll, yup, okay.  Got it.

Wax paper on the cookie sheet?  Check.  Except I don't have a cookie sheet, so the bottom half of the broiler pan will have to do.

Melted butter?  You know it.

Room temperature phyllo pastry?  Not quite.  Turns out they really mean it when they say room temperature.  I discovered at 7:00 on a Saturday morning that if you don't have room temperature phyllo pastry, it will stick to itself, be impossible to peel off the pile, and you might have to throw away 8 sheets of it before you can get one useable one.

I had a big pile of gooey pastry, a hot oven waiting to bake, a needy baby and a clock tick tick ticking away on me.  Focus Kerry! 

I finally got 4 sheets done and buttered, ricotta cheese spread, pears sprinkled over, brushed with butter, sprinkled with cinnamon, drizzled with honey and rolled up.  Brush that with butter, drizzle with honey and ready to go again.

#2 went much better than #1.  Ah ha!  I got the hang of this now.  Wait?  What's that funny smell from the oven?  It smells like when my dad used to wax skis in the garage.  You mean you're not supposed to put the wax paper in the oven?  Oh crap.

Open oven - remove strudel-like pastry items and transfer to a non-stick surface.  Sounds easy in theory, not so easy when they are delightfully warm and gooey but not cooked yet.  One of them split in half, so a repair job was in order.  Having never worked with phyllo pastry before, it didn't go well.  I was hoping that they would taste really good and the appearance wouldn't matter so much.

That's done - back in the oven they go.  Good, on to #3.  Reread directions on box.  Wait.  What?  I'm supposed to slice it before I bake it?  Oh for crying out loud.  Here we go again.  Remove from oven, slice to halfway point and put back in the oven for hopefully the last time.

It is now 8 AM, I have one more left to make and I want to get out of the house by 8:30.  I have yet to dress and feed Vaughn his breakfast.  I can do this.

Deep breath, in, out.  And begin.

#3 went like I had been doing it my whole life.  I buttered, spread and drizzled with panache.  #3 was perfect and I couldn't wait to present it at Julie's cabin. 

While #1 and #2 were almost done, I rushed upstairs and changed Vaughn.  Pulled them out of the oven to cool - they looked so messy, but so delicious.  While #3 was coming to a perfect golden finish I shoved a bowl of cereal and some fruit down Vaughn's throat so fast he didn't know what was coming at him. 

I left #'s 1, 2 & 3 on the stovetop to cool while I was at baby group.  We had a great time, but of course, I felt a little pressured for time because we had to get out to the cabin.  I walked in to our house, ready to see what they looked like, and half of #3 had been eaten.  Yup, the best one.  Half gone.  I couldn't believe my eyes.  Tim thought I had made him breakfast. 

Breathe Kerry.  It's only a strudel for Pete's sake.  #1, #2 and the remaining piece of #3 were transferred in to a container for transport.  Pack up the car and away we go.

We had a super fun day at the cabin, great food, great company and by the time it was time for dessert, the stress of the  morning had completely melted away and I was happy to hear people tell me how wonderful my pear strudel was.  Knowing the effort I put in to it was worth it to hear one yum after another.  Yay me!

So why am I writing this?

Well, strudel #4 went in the oven just 25 minutes ago and I wanted to see if I enjoyed phyllo a little more when the pressure was off.  I pulled the pastry out of the fridge this morning so it was the perfect temperature - one sheet after another peeled off the pile like paper - still quite delicate, but not sticky and easy to work with.  I still had pears and ricotta cheese so I knew what I was doing with those. 

I'm here to tell you folks practice makes (almost) perfect.  I'm no longer afraid of phyllo and ready to try different things.  Tomorrow night will be a strawberry and brie concoction and who knows what comes next? 

I, Kerry Rasmussen, conquered phyllo.  Here's the proof:

Vaughn Proof

I want to start this off by saying I love my son immensely and in no way should this blog be construed as me complaining.  However...

It is getting increasingly difficult to take Vaughn to other people's houses.  He is in to absolutely everything, loves to push buttons, shake lamps, stand on their couches and in general, make it so I can't relax even the slightest bit.

I didn't want to "baby proof" too much because a child is supposed to come into our lives, we are not supposed to go into theirs.  Flash forward a few months and there is absolutely nothing within his reach in our living room (where he is mostly contained).  There is a baby gate at the bottom of the stairs and a baby gate at the entrance to the kitchen.

I have tried the "let him look at it and eventually he'll ignore it" method.  Let me tell you something - the more you show my son, the more he is interested in it.  The more he knows you don't want him to have something, the more he wants to have it.  

We gave him his own remote control, but he knows it doesn't do anything.  We gave him own little "phone" but again, he's on to us.    For the most part, he's pretty good when we tell him to get away from something but the distraction we offer him is only good for a nanosecond and he's back to his impish ways.

Vaughn loves to get things off of shelves.  We have to be vigilent about what we leave on the table beside Tim's desk, on Tim's desk and on the kitchen table.  I can't believe how far his little go-go-gadget fingers can reach.  Don't even get me started about going to someone else's house.  It's embarrassing.

Yesterday, we went over to my friend Julie's place for what was supposed to be a play date.  Her daughter Joelle was happy to sit and play quietly.  Not my child.  He was all over the place, grabbing at everything and couldn't sit still for a minute.  He wants to see and experience the world all at once -  I just wish he didn't have to do it all in 45 minutes.

Now here's the thing - I'm not super hard on him for sharing water bottles or sippy cups.  Even though I give him his, he always wants to have the one that belongs to someone else.  I don't know how other parents feel about that, but I'm okay with it, as long as it's water.  I have been on sports teams galore and am used to sharing water bottles so I don't see it as a big deal.  However, other parents seem put off that my baby grabs their sippy cup.  I apologize in advance if that bothers you.

I also feel like sometimes I never feed my child - when someone else has food, he's all over them like a dirty shirt and grabbing at their plate.  Of course, I steer him away and try to distract him with his own cookies and snacks, but as per usual, he wants what the other one has.  I hope this goes away in time because I really am starting to lose my patience with him.

Funnily enough, I have no problem taking Vaughn to restaurants.  For the most part, he's really easy going and quite pleasant.  He has a "shelf-life" of approximately 1 hour after which he is frantically trying to launch himself out of the high chair and on to the floor.  Leisurely meals out are a thing of the past.

For the all the chasing, redirecting, calling, distracting, and my sighs of frustration, I'm still proud of my boy.  You want to know why?  He's got so much energy and a zest for life.  He is living every day to the fullest and wants to experience as much as he can.  He is happy - good gosh is he happy - everyone who meets him just adores him and I'm so glad for that.  He is game for just about anything, adapts easily to new situations and very rarely loses his mind when he doesn't get his way.  He's smart, he's active and he sleeps really hard.  What's not to love right?

And is it really such a big deal that the dog water dish got turned upside again?  Nah.  I have to remember that he is just a baby after all and one day (hopefully soon) it will sink in and I won't have to tell him again.  Until that day, my son is teaching me patience.  Lots and lots of patience.  Thanks Vaughn.

Stank On A Plane

One of the perks of my job is that I get to travel.  I don't travel much anymore, but I was recently asked to go see a few customers in Portland and was excited to get away for a few days by myself.  I decided to leave on the Sunday, mainly so I didn't waste most of my day Monday travelling.

The downside to travelling to Portland is that there are only 2 flights a day out of Calgary to Seattle via Horizon Airlines.  The first leaves at 6:30 in the morning and the other leaves much later in the day.  Alas, I had to be at the airport before 5 to ensure I got on my flight.

I did arrive at the airport around 4:45 AM and got myself in line to check in.  I waited, and waited, and waited, and waited.  Did I mention I waited?  For over 45 minutes, the same 2 families were standing at the counter while the ticket agents tried to help them.  It drives me nuts when people travel by air and don't have what they need and then back everyone else up while they get sorted out.

Needless to say, everyone in line is starting to panic a little, because the flight was supposed to close at 5:30 and we still had to get through Customs and then security.  By 5:45, I was at the ticket counter and less than a minute later, I was on my way to Customs.  That's how it's done people, have your confirmation and passport in hand and pre-pay your luggage fee.  Sigh.

Customs was a breeze - once again, I had everything prepared, signed and ready to go.  Stampy stamp, I'm on my way. 

Then I hit the security line.  Dead. Stop.

I could not have been more frustrated - every single person in every single line had something wrong with their bags.  I get that paying $20 for your bag might cause you to just do carry-on.  However, if you are carrying on, then follow the rules - put your liquids in small containers in a plastic bag OUTSIDE your bag.  Sounds simple right?  Well, it seems as though everyone thinks they don't have to follow these rules. 

Security was having to open and check each bag coming through, remove the offending items and then re-run them through the x-ray machine.  You can imagine my frustration watching this and knowing I'm already late for my flight.  However, I knew other people from my flight were behind and the gate agent came through and told us they were holding our flight for us.  Super.

All I had was my purse and my laptop.  I was wearing flip-flops and paid the $20 charge for my bag so there was nothing to getting me through.  I made my way to the gate and still had time for a coffee- they were delaying boarding because so many people were held up.

I know it was early, we were all tired and maybe didn't get to do our morning constitutionals like we do every day, but it was about half way through the flight when...

someone farted.

This was not your average fart people.  It wafted about the whole plane, filling our nostrils.  And there was nowhere for it to go, as we're on a plane and can't open the window to let fresh air in.  Gross, I know.  But if that wasn't enough...

they farted again.

Hey people, I'm not judging, I've farted many times in public and it ain't always pretty.  But I can say with absolute certainty I have NEVER farted on a plane.  Not to say I never would or will, but wow, after the first one, I think I would have gone to the bathroom on board and tried to pass the gas in private.

I survived.

I met up with my friends Jerry and Julia and we had a super fun day shopping around and catching up (I haven't seen either of them for over 5 years).  It was a little bit short but some time is better than no time.

I had my client meetings and got set for my flight home.  The flight from Portland to Seattle was quick and easy and thankfully, I had a seat to myself (when you have ample hips like myself, it's really nice on those little planes to not have to squish yourself in beside somebody).  I landed in Seattle and had about an hour to kill before my plane took off to Calgary.

Just before the plane started boarding, I asked the counter agent if I could have a seat to myself if the plane wasn't full.  Once again, they were able to accomodate me, but I would have to sit at the back of the plane.  Big deal, these days, they load from the front and the back so I didn't care where I sat. 

Big mistake.

There I was, happily settled in my seat, air blowing in my face.  Life was good.  Then a lady came to the row of seats ahead of me, and when she went to put her carryon bag up above the seat, this waft of body odour hit me like a ton of bricks.  What the h?  I was tired, on the last leg of my journey home and then this?  The worst thing was that she just couldn't seem to get her air vent or light quite right so she had to keep fiddling with it.  And you guessed it - every time she lifted her arm, stink-o-rama.

I will try to explain just how bad this smell was.  Imagine not showering or doing laundry and wearing the same clothes for about a month.  Put maybe some garlic with a dash or two of very aromatic spices and this is what I got every time I took a breath.  The people the row over and back from me were also effected by the smell, so I know it wasn't just me.

And the icing on this cake?  She brought fish and chips on board with her for dinner.  I kid you not.  It was literally a buffet of disgusting smells.  Why, when there is no where to go, no way out, was I caught behind this woman?

After the flight attendants did their first round of service, the one noticed that 4 of us were breathing in to our shirts trying to protect our poor olfactory receptors.  Moments later, we were presented with cinnamon teabags to hang off the table trays and give us a little bit of relief.  That did get us through the rest of the trip and we were all too happy to breathe in jet fuel on the tarmac just to get rid of the smell of what was on that plane.

Now, before you go all "don't be mean, Kerry" on me, all I am saying is that it is common courtesy to bathe when you are going to be in a confined area for a period of time.  If you can afford a plane ticket, you can afford a shower.  You don't even have to use deodorant or soap, water gets a lot of the stank off. Clean clothes also solve a lot of the problem.  

I'm just saying it was not pleasant and I'm so glad the flight was only just over an hour.   And that is my stank on a plane story.  What's the worst thing you've ever smelled?

Reunited and It Feels So...Good?

Next weekend is my high school reunion. 20 years have gone by since I've seen a good lot of people that are going to this thing. 20 years. All of the insecurities I had as a teenager are starting to rear their ugly heads again. Let me tell you a little bit about my high school days...

I grew up in a very small town in rural Saskatchewan - Shaunavon to be exact. Population - just over 1500 people. High school population - 142 students from Grade 8 to Grade 12. If you were even a little bit different, you REALLY stuck out. Of course, we had the usual cliques, but they only had 10 people each, so the cliques were cliquey.

I was quite involved in my school, athletically and otherwise. I played almost all the sports we had - I wasn't a superstar, but I was a hard trier. I was in the school plays, worked on the yearbook and tried my hand at peer counselling. We went skiing almost every weekend out at Fernie and in the summers I was a lifeguard and swimming instructor. I babysat all the time, worked a lot of different part time jobs and tried to stay busy. Not a lot of time for friends in there - I guess I valued earning money to buy clothes over developing friendships. Or did I work because I didn't really have a lot of friends? Hard to say.

As someone who never had a best friend growing up, I can say it was a little hard to live in Shaunavon. Sure, I had friends, everyone for the most part was pretty nice to me, but I didn't have that one person that I could say had my back or that I could turn to when times were tough. I think that's why to this day I have a hard time opening up to people.

What brought these feelings on is the slide show I agreed to do for the reunion. I'm getting pictures e-mailed to me from everyone so we can take a walk down memory lane and also get to know each other a little better at this stage in our lives. I realize now just how much I missed out on. Gosh did everyone have a fun time. I wish I could have been there to experience some of those moments.

Not that I totally regret my life - I have a tremendous work ethic now. Playing all the sports I did helps me work on teams. I like to think I've been a good coach, teacher and mentor and hopefully that will help to shape me into a successful mother.

I remember one particular incident that will probably stay with me for the rest of my life. There is one girl that I was pretty close with - Kim. We would walk to school together, play after school and hang out. For some reason, and I don't remember what it was, I didn't invite her to my birthday party one year. Her birthday was just shortly after mine and rightly so, I didn't get an invitation to her party. It was after school and I was waiting for my mom (who is a teacher at the school I went to) in her classroom. With tears pouring down my face, I watched almost everyone in my class walk across the school yard on their way to Kim's house to celebrate her birthday. Without me. My mom said something to me that day that didn't really resonate until later on in life. She said "I know it hurts now. But when you go away and grow up, you'll find friends that will be yours for the rest of your life".

You know what mom? You were right. The friends that I have now are incredible. I don't see them as much as I would like, but I know without a doubt that they are they for me, that they love me for who I am and want me to be happy.

And I have no reason to be insecure - I'm good at what I do, I wake up in a good mood (almost) every morning and I've aged well. Sure, I've put on a lot of weight, I started my family late and I don't own my home, but I'm alive and it's my life. I'm not proud of everything I've done, I've made a lot of mistakes along the way, but I'm in a good place now. Gosh, would life ever be boring if it were perfect. Wanna know something else? I'm looking forward to seeing everybody and catching up with them, insecurities aside. They're all hard-working people just like me. They've all had struggles, just like me. Nobody, not a one of them, is perfect.

See you in just over a week, SHS Class of 1990!

P.S. Thanks to facebook, I've been able to connect with a lot of my old classmates. While I don't exactly pick up the phone and call them, I do feel closer to them, have sent Christmas cards to one or two, and gotten some excellent advice on mothering from a few of the gals along the way. Lastly, I'd like to add that Kim is a lovely woman and I'm really glad to have found her again.

Who Are The People In Your Neighbourhood?

Anyone who knows me knows that I love love love to watch people.  I think most people are curious about the other beings we share this world with, but I go past just seeing people - I wonder what makes them tick, what their lives are like.  The longer I live in my place, the more I seem to notice my neighbours - especially now that it's summer and everyone is outside more.

There's a lady that lives at the end of my row of townhouses that gardens endlessly in the summer.  I've never really spoken with her, but she always seems to have visitors sitting with her in the front yard.  She literally spends her entire day outside as long as the weather is good.  What peace she must have in her life.

A few doors down, there is a really full house.  Our units are all 2 bedrooms, and there is a single mom with her three kids and she has a roommate with a dog.  That house must be crazy inside - which is why I think one of the little girls is always playing outside.  She is fearless -  running here there and everywhere- little Miss Independent.  Peace and quiet must be very rare in that place.

Come down a couple more doors and we have my cousin and his wife, our neighbours.  We don't really see much of them - I guess we're not high on their list of people to visit with.  I suppose that's alright - you don't really want family all up in your business all the time anyway, but it's nice to know they're there if I really need them, and I know they would be.

You know who I feel really sorry for is the kid that lives just outside our front door (well, in the unit directly in front of us).  He is homeschooled and I think quite lonely.  He is always by himself, and even if I see him with other kids, he's off to the side doing his own thing.  He doesn't seem to be very well socialized and some of his behaviours are odd.  He will sit outside our front door and bark, trying to get the dogs to react to him.  Poor kid.

We have the unofficial Neighbourhood Watch guy who goes around peering in the yards, making sure nothing untowards is happening.  I hope he just sticks to the yards and isn't a peeping Tom, that would be creepy. 

There's the old couple who look so sweet  - they are always sitting out on their front step in their lawn chairs watching the world go by.  The wife can't walk very far, so every time they go somewhere, the husband has to bring the car over and he escorts her.  There is so much love in that action, and I can only hope that if I am fortunate enough to live that long I feel that kind of love every day.

And then there's our neighbours we enjoy the most - Steve, Leah, Jarrett and Madison.  We are so lucky we met Leah - she has a dayhome.  She was gracious enough to watch Vaughn for me a few times before I went back to work.  When I was looking for somewhere full time for Vaughn, it was not going well at all.  I asked Leah if she would take Vaughn and at first, she was hesitant because he was so young and not walking.

Thankfully, she agreed to take him 3 days a week and we're so happy.  It's so great to walk out the front door, 2 doors down and drop Vaughn off.   When I pick him up at the end of the day, he's always in a great mood and some days it seems as though he doesn't want to leave.  I never worry about him and know that he is in great hands!  And the more I get to know her, the more I like her.

So those are the people in my neighbourhood... I wonder if they wonder about us like I wonder about them.