Dukan it out

I'm tackling the Dukan diet.

It's not going to be easy.

In fact, I'm doing it slightly modified - there is absolutely no way that I can live without my coffee in the morning. I'm a wreck if I don't get it, honestly. So I'm allowing it.

In the meantime, though, for the rest fo the week - from now until June 4th - it's going to be meaty beaty big and bouncy, baby.

The Dukan diet is the one that Kate Middleton followed to become so slim in time for her wedding. There are 4 phases - the Attack phase, the Cruise phase, the Consolidation phase, and the Stabilization phase.

My mom and stepfather are doing it right now, and have had significant success - like in the first DAY, my mom lost 2 lbs and my stepdad lost 6. SIX! If I lost six pounds I'd be well establishd in the 130s.

So I'm going to do it, too. Just for a week. I can only eat protein and oat bran for a week, so I'm poaching some chicken breasts, just had a few slices of deli meat, and I'll pick up the bran at the store today when I take Boy Wonder to his storytime class.

In other news, significant rainfall here resulted in rising groundwater at our house, which in turn resulted in a flooded basement. Whee. We spent all day Saturday & Sunday squeegeeing and sucking up water. Now it's under control, and we're able to go about 3 hours between sucking up water from the cold cellar. I am hoping and praying the groundwater slows down and finally stops. Send me your driest - and meatiest thoughts.

Kitchen style

Sorry for the delay in entries, kids - Blogger decided it didn't like me, and wouldn't confirm my email so I couldn't get in to enter! But you can all breathe a sigh of relief, because I'm back.

This week the kids decorated my new apron (with my help.) We got a white chef's apron and a package of fabric paints. I spread the apron out and prepped the paints (squirts of each color on a sheet of wax paper.)

Then I had the kids dip their feet in the paint.

Princess P needed some help, obviously.

Then the best part: stepping on the apron and making footprints! Boy Wonder got to do his hands, as well.

The finished product. I can't wait to wear this proudly for many years to come!

Bird porn

I saw some birds DOIN` IT.

Ooooooooooh yeah. Living where I do, we witness a fair bit of procreation of the avian kind, a.k.a. bird sex.

We`ve had a pair of mourning doves (Zenaida macroura, if you are a speaker of Latin) nesting in our yard for about 3 years now. They`re back this year, which is awesome for a bird nerd like me. I love their call - it sounds the way I think velvet feels. Or the way a malt tastes.

Anyways, this morning I was stripping the bedsheets for the laundry and glanced outside at the gravel driveway. And I witnessed a special moment between the doves.

A very special moment, indeed. I saw one crouched down on the ground, and the other clumsily climbing up on her back. I could draw only one conclusion - the birdy version of the beast with two backs.

I mulled it over as I shoveled sheets into the washing machine, and still as I waited for Boy Wonder to finish his Terrific Threes class at the rec centre. I finally had a spare minute today to research bird sex, and found this:

I also found this:

And in a moment of inspired weirdness, this porcelain statue by Meissen, which according to Christie`s is worth $25,000 to $35,000 USD. Which is insane.

ANYWAYS.

I saw mourning doves mating this morning. Most birds have a cloaca because birds in general don`t have external genitals. No weewees here. So they turn their cloacas inside out, poke out their cloaca pokey things, and touch them. This is called - and I kid you not - the cloacal kiss.

The kiss is how the male gets the sperm to the female, and you know the rest of the story.

I tried to find a pic of the cloacal kiss for you, but OMG, it`s gross. The only pic I found was a closeup of a bird`s bum. And really, you don`t need to see that. Also, apparently, there`s a band called Cloacal Kiss. Now that I know what a cloacal kiss is I can`t say I think that`s the best name they could have chosen.

ANYWAYS.

I`m going to keep watching this pair of doves. I like to think that somewhere in our yard they`re snuggled up together in domestic bliss, just a couple of young kids trying to make their way in the world. I`ll see if I can`t get some photos of the babies, if I ever manage to find the nest. But in the meantime, I`ll leave you with this photo of someone holding a pet dove chick. ADORABLE, in a bristly beaky sort of way. Enjoy! And remember to reflect on the appropriate-ness of Cloacal Kiss for a band name!

Jillylicious Pizza

I made up a pizza tonight that even Boy Wonder ate. As a result I'm going to share it with you:

Ingredients:
3 tbsp oil
1 tbsp garlic, finely chopped or crushed
1 tsp basil
1/2 tsp hot pepper sauce (Franks, etc.)
salt & pepper
2 tbsp oil
1 cup chicken breast, diced (uncooked)
1/2 a red onion, sliced
1 thin crust pizza shell
1 cup marinated artichoke hearts, diced
2 large tomatoes, diced
1/2 cup goat cheese, crumbled
1/2 cup shredded mozarella cheese

Directions:
1. In a container with a tight fitting lid, mix oil, garlic, basil, hot pepper sauce, and salt & pepper. Shake to combine and set aside.
2. In a small skillet heat 2 tbsp oil and stir fry onions and diced chicken breast until golden and cooked through.
3. Drizzle oil and garlic mixture over pizza shell, then top with chicken and onions. Sprinkle artichoke hearts and tomatoes on next. Then top with goat cheese and mozarella.
4. Cook at 200 degrees for about 10 minutes, then an additional 5 minutes at 400 or until cheese is melted and golden. I recommend cooking on a pizza pan with holes and placing a baking sheet underneath to catch any spills.

Cats

GOD I hate cats. Not on principle. I see a kitten and I get as squishy and lovey dovey as the next person. I even pet cats. But right now, I HATE cats.

I especially hate Scruffy's cat, Oscar. I don't even have a picture of Oscar to share with you. I don't take pictures of Oscar. Because I can't stand him.

Oscar is a cat going through an identity crisis. In many ways, he is a cat. In other ways, he is a dog. I attribute this to the fact that when he was a kitten and we acquired him 7 years ago (and I picked him out - that was back when I liked cats, you see) Sasha used to pull him and his brother into bed with her and lick them for hours. We'd find them in the morning, wet with dog slobber. When the brother got hit by a car, Oscar's affections had nowhere to go but to the dogs, which resulted in him crouching for 10 minutes at a time while Roscoe humped him.

You can't feel bad for a cat that doesn't even try to get away from the dog humping it. That's how messed up Oscar is. He just lies there and takes it.

When you pull into the driveway, Oscar runs out to greet you. Like a dog. (He is like a little Wal Mart greeter.)
He scratches at the door to come in the house. Like a dog.
He drools on your pant leg if you pet him too long. Like a dog.

Unfortunately, Oscar's transition into dogginess is not yet complete, which is evidenced by him pooping ALL OVER IN MY FLOWERBEDS.

This past week I've been digging and raking the soil, adding compost and prepping it for my flowers. I love to garden, and playing in the dirt is my happy place. Playing in cat turds is NOT. It's disgusting. I water and I can actually SMELL cat poop.

Shudder. The cat is supposed to live in the barn, where he has a nice warm bed, a litter box, and a bowl full of food. Scruffy pets him in the barn. In the barn, Oscar has a purpose, and a destiny. He catches mice.

After he catches the mice, he ingests them.

And after he ingests them, he barfs them back up. Usually on my front doorstep. So I open the door in the morning, and find a pile of bloody mouse guts puked up by the cat. This is another situation that is NOT my happy place (see turds, cat.)

I can't bring myself to do anything about the cat other than to glare at him when he goes by. Sometimes I call him names. He appears to be unaffected. I wish I could say the same for the flowerbeds, and for the front doorstep, too.

Ew.

Wind warning

Typically, a wind warning means that people in the affected areas need to be aware of dangerous weather conditions and prepare themselves accordingly in order to reduce damage and keep themselves safe.

For me, wind warning means GET THE HELL OUT OF MY WAY BECAUSE IT'S FREAKIN' WINDY AND I HATE IT WHEN IT'S WINDY AND I WILL CUT YOU.

So, pretty much the same. Prepare yourselves accordingly to reduce damage and keep yourself safe.

Today was windy. Really windy. It blew all day - from 8am until now, 8pm, and it hasn't really stopped - and it was gusting at 35 mph. Which is about 60km an hour. Which is about as fast as a greyhound can run. And when it blows like that, for 12 hours straight, I get crabby.

I took Boy Wonder and Princess P to the park today - Boy Wonder didn't want to hold the string on his kite because it was pulling too hard. Can't say I blame him. My hair and skin feel like sandpaper and are dried right out. The new perennials I planted yesterday have had the crap beaten out of them and now I will fret about their well being.

I just don't like it. It howls. It blows dust around. I feel grit in my teeth, on my skin, on my clothes. It takes Princess P's breath away and Boy Wonder is none too fond of it, either.

Sometimes I feel like I'm just being a baby, but check this out:

A Canadian Climate Centre study in 1981 found that migraines are most likely to happen on days with high humidity and high winds.

And also:

Wind affects the charge of ions in the atmosphere. Too many positive ions can throw your system out of whack - resulting in " various physical disorders, as well as mental disorders such as depression, anxiety, nervousness, irritability, emotional imbalance, listlessness and apathy" (taken from http://helpingpsychology.com/weather-rain-and-suns-influence-on-mood).

Makes sense to me. I feel owly, the kids are owly, and it is not supposed to end until sometime tomorrow night. Blah!

The working man

In spite of the drizzly spring weather we're having, Boy Wonder knew there was scooping and moving to be done. And he was just the man to do it.

We filled a couple of cookie sheets with popcorn kernels and some rice I found hanging around at the back of the cupboard. Then Boy Wonder got to work.

According to the theory of Montessori this exercise encourages development of a child's ...' "development of will". The child discovers that he can conduct his bodily movements through the direction of his will. When translated to a life skill, this gives the child confidence in facing challenging activities realizing that he can practically accomplish any task as long as he wills it.' (taken from http://www.fmployola.com/materials.htm).

Sounds good to me!

Also, it makes a mess, and when isn't that fun for a 3 year old?

Red Bull saves the day

So, it's been an ugly morning. Princess P is going through a growth spurt, so she's up a whole bunch in the night, and during the day alternates between ravenously feeding and wanting to be held. It's exhausting, especially because Scruffy is working extra hours due to the spring season and as a result leaves before the kids are up, and gets home after they've gone to bed. I'm pretty much flying solo.

I hit the wall this morning - Boy Wonder had a dental appointment and I was trying to get everybody out of the house and to the dentist on time. Princess P kept screaming every time I left the room, and I caught Boy Wonder driving his toy excavator through my seedlings and tearing them up.

I was on the brink of tears. I finally ended up shouting at Boy Wonder (which I HATE doing, and try to avoid at all costs) and sent him into his room with instructions to build a huge jump for his Hot Wheels. I finally managed to finish getting everyone dressed and clean, when I discovered a bunch of itchy spider bites on my chest.

Ew ew ew. I guess I had a sleepover with one last night - when the weather warms up I ALWAYS end up with bug bites. It doesn't help that I'm mildly allergic and end up wanting to scratch them with a wire brush. I've taken some allergy meds, but am still dying to itch. It looks and feels ucky.

We finally made it out of the house and had 5 minutes to spare. By this point I'd nearly cried three times (and it was only 10:30am) and could barely keep my eyes open. Enter my superhero: Red Bull.

Now. I'm well aware that Red Bull is at best a controversial beverage. But oh my goodness, does it ever help me. I was able to sit through Boy Wonder's dental cleaning (his first, and may I just point out that he did WONDERFULLY!) as well as survive taking both kids grocery shopping afterwards. I'm so on the ball now that I even have a bottle prepared and waiting for Princess P to wake up (she's still asleep in her carseat, so I'm doing a quick blog entry.)

So, given my lovin' on the Red Bull today, I'm going to share with you my secret (i.e. not secret at all) summertime Red Bull beverage. Drum roll please:

8oz Red Bull
4 oz Sprite or 7up
1-2 oz Bacardi Limon Rum

Yes, it's for grownups only. But it's light and summery and boozy, and after a day like this one, what else could a person ask for?

The mutts

We live in the country, so we have dogs.

This photo has always reminded me of the painting with the farmer and his daughter, holding a pitchfork in front of their house. You know? This one? American Gothic, by Grant Wood:

It's especially appropriate because the dog on the left is a girl, and the dog on the right is a boy. Aww.

ANYWAYS.

Sasha (left) and Roscoe P. Coltrane (right) are our farm dogs. Sasha is a labrador retriever/chow chow cross, and Roscoe is a Pomeranian/any dog under 30lbs cross. They are indeed the ultimate mutts.

Sasha's interests include swimming, riding in trucks, rolling in dead stuff, and naps. Roscoe's hobbies are begging for food, trying to make you give him food, stealing food from the kids, and running around barking (he is a lovely little animal.)

Sadly, though, the clock is ticking on our doggies. Sasha is a geriatric now. She was born in the fall of 1999, so this fall, she will be turning 12 years old. At 60+lbs, and given that she is a mix of larger breeds, she has started to decline due to age. The muscles in her hips have virtually atrophied, meaning that she struggles to go up stairs, get out of her bed, and walk. She eats frequently but is losing weight - the knobs on her back are visible and her skin sags everywhere. She sleeps a LOT. She often forgets "rules" - like no barking - and if we don't stop her, she'll bark for 20 minutes at a time.

It sucks.

Scruffy's owned Sasha her whole life. When she was a young pup she went to work with him in his truck. For the past 7 years she's lived with us on our acreage, with her sidekick Roscoe (the Robin to her Batman.) She's never been injured or hurt, with the exception of one summer when she slipped on the dock at the lake and bruised her butt (try seeing a happy dog who can't wag her tail - funny.)

The vet has checked her out and tells us that there's pretty much nothing we can do, and that's okay. We aren't going to extend this dog's life for years with expensive and possibly painful treatments. Death is a part of life. We knew from the first day that our dog would go, and when his time comes, Roscoe will go too. Animals die before people. And it sucks.

I'm not sure Sasha will see the end of 2011. She has had a long, happy life for a dog. She's been surrounded by love, and had many days of cruising through the pasture, trying to catch a gopher and rolling in cow poop. And for the past 6 years, she's had Roscoe to keep her company when we weren't around.

I'm trying to prepare myself for the inevitable. This morning she got up and couldn't make it across the floor. I had to help her with support under her belly and coax her across. It was awful.

Happily, Sasha's good days still outweigh her bad ones. But when we see that her bad days outweigh her good ones, well, then we'll know it's time. For today, though, she's going to nap on the deck in the sunshine, and Boy Wonder will give her a belly rub, and she'll go to sleep tonight knowing she is loved. And I guess that will have to be good enough.

Scruffy Salad

As part of our attempt to shed the winter weight, Scruff and I eat a LOT of salad. This one is his favorite.

Serves four, or two people trying to fill up on fibre so they don't snack on chips and garbage later on in the night. ;)

Cascadia Salad

4-5 cups mixed greens (I use the packaged ones, with mesclun, arugula and baby romaine)
4 tbsp goat cheese, crumbled
1/2 cup pecan halves
1/2 cup dried cranberries
raspberry vinaigrette

In a small saucepan heat the pecans over low heat until fragrant. In a bowl toss with cheese, greens, and cranberries. Drizzle with vinaigrette to taste.

Awesome served with blackened chicken breasts or multigrain bread.

Since I'm a rush today this will be my only entry - promise more tomorrow!

I know you're sick of hearing about it

But they got him.

It took 10 years, but they got him.

Kinda crazy. To be honest I hadn't even thought about Osama Bin Laden for a long while. I sort of pictured him dying of kidney failure in a cave somewhere. That he died in a mansion sort of makes me shake my head.

It makes me remember where I was on that day. I remember vividly the images playing over and over of the planes flying into the towers, the billowing flames and black smoke, and the people wandering stunned in the streets.

My sister and I were driving to the University. It was the 2nd day of classes in the Fall 2001 semester. We had the radio turned on as we sat waiting for a light to change when one of the announcers began to cry. Their shock and horror were clear, even through the shabby little radio in my 1991 Chevy Cavalier. My sister and I stared at each other, stunned and confused.

WHAT just happened!? Planes? Huh?

I dropped her at her building and parked the car. As I walked to class I still wasn't clear on what had actually happened - just that there had been some kind of plane crash in the States, that it had been horrific, and that they suspected some kind of attack.

When I walked into the building that housed my lecture hall that morning there were TVs on wheeled stands throughout the hallways. All of them were turned to CNN, and all of them were surrounded by students sitting silently in front of them.

I joined one group and we watched the planes crashing over... and over... and over. It was surreal. It looked like something out of a movie.

I'd never seen a building filled with 20something students so quiet. It was eerie. My boyfriend at the time called my cell, asking if I was okay (of course I was, why wouldn't I be?!) My professor in my next class lectured as though nothing had happened, and I can remember feeling totally shocked that he didn't even mention the attack.

The next professor warned us all that our world was about to change, that personal freedoms were going to be redefined, and to remember this moment. At the time I thought the fuzzy haired man with the Albert Einstein mustache was exaggerating, but he was spot on.

It hasn't been the same. I grieved for the thousands of people who lost their loved ones either in planes, or on the ground, or months afterward when they suffered from debilitating diseases caused by rescue efforts. I grieved for the soldiers who had rushed to Afghanistan and their families and friends left behind. I grieved for the prisoners in Guantanamo. I grieved for the innocent civilians blown up and injured in conflicts in Aghanistan.

There was so much heartache that came from those attacks. 9/11 filled the world with so much pain and sorrow for so many people, and for that reason I'm glad Osama is dead. I know it's not right to celebrate death or killing. I know that a new leader is going to take over Al Qaeda, and that heartache and sorrow have a good foothold and aren't going anywhere soon.

But I hope that this can end the chapter, sort of - 10 years later, many things in the world have changed because of Osama's actions. I wonder what things in the world will change now that he is dead.

I wonder what I will tell my children when they are old enough to ask me about 9/11 and Bin Laden. I remember asking my mom who Hitler was and feeling dissatisfied with her answer. I hope that since I was a young adult when 9/11 happened I'll be able to answer their questions to the best of my ability, but more than that, I hope to answer them in a way to impress upon them the most important fact of the whole thing - that there was so much pain and sadness caused by the conflict, and that's the worst part of all.

The winds of change are blowing, that's for sure.