I Want To Be In That Number

Football is over.

Sad Char is sad.

HOWEVER! The CFL season starts on or about June 28 with pre-season games even earlier. The NFL season starts on or about September 5 with preseason games in August. So thats what…….4 months give or take?????? And in that time we have open practices, the combine, the draft……….that’ll help tide me over…..right??? RIGHT?!?!?

I think that my new goal is to go to the Saints home opener. This is for a number of reasons. One, I got a taste of it again in December and while that game was fun, it was their final regular season game and really, lets be honest, meant nothing in le grande scheme of things. Two, their defensive line is complete and intact and J-Vil will be playing from game one onwards, AS IT SHOULD BE. Add to that they hired Rob Ryan, the just-as-crazy-half of the Ryan brothers, as their defensive coordinator and BOOM bring on the brick wall of big boys! Three, Drew will be composed and collected and pinpoint and precise because he will not have any of the weight hanging over him that he had this year. He was essentially the brains of the entire team this year with the loss of the coach etc and having to work with an interim coach and then an interim-interim coach? That would crumble even the strongest of men. And last but not least, my personal fave is back, Coach Sean Payton. Back on the field where he belongs. Back beside Drew with his visor and his juicy fruit gum and his black track jacket. Back with energy and pure pure love for New Orleans coursing through his veins. He was a “free agent” for awhile. Open to other teams. And they wanted him. BOY did they want him. But lucky for us, lucky for NOLA, lucky for the team and for every fan who has stood by them that he stayed where his heart is.

Yes. I do believe that I would like to be there on opening day. Cheering and whistling and chanting along with 86000 other true-dats. Because when the Saints go marching in, don’t YOU want to be in that number??

Push Bar to Open

I had not seen my Uncle Rick from England for a good 25 years I’d say. He finally came to Winnipeg to visit us just last spring. You could see the years on his face, but those blue eyes, they still sparkled. Getting to know him through Facebook of all things made the visit that much better. He adored McK, loved her immensely, and you could feel it when he was around her. He got a huge kick out of Pat and believe you me, the feeling was mutual. After suffering a stroke and with his heavy british accent, Pat would say that if he closed his eyes it was like he was talking to Ozzy Osborne.

I will never forget taking him for breakfast at the Nook and having him hollaring out the team song for his Chelsea Blues while we sat in the crowded tiny restaurant. Everyone thought he was nuts. We just sat and laughed. I might have even been clapping along.

I remember my sister telling me a story of when she went to England and was able to visit with him. They went to a local pub for lunch one day and as many large doors do, the door leading to this pub had a sticker on it that said “Push Bar to Open”. So in my uncle walks, straight up to the bar, and leans into it with all his might and heft, huffing and puffing. When asked what in gods name he was doing he simply replied, “Oh, the sign said push bar to open.” This was him in a nutshell.

Of all of the amazing and beautiful things he saw and enjoyed on his trip to Canada, the one moment he said “made the trip” for him was when I brought him to my work. The soccer final was on, his team had made it, and wouldn’t you know it, we got to watch it on a wall-sized screen. He LOVED taking pictures of it and gloating to his boy Si, back in England, bragging and sending pictures to Facebook. Chelsea won that day and we draped ourselves in the flag he gave us and savoured the moment.

At the time, it was just a visit. Something that would likely be repeated. But now, its a cherished memory, one that I feel intensely lucky to have had. How LUCKY were we that he chose to come to Canada and meet McK and reacquaint himself with us after all that time had passed? How lucky are we that he didn’t wait another year, or for a better time, or opt not to come at all. How lucky are we.

Uncle Rick died yesterday. Suddenly and without warning.

Chelsea, Chelsea! Chelsea, Chelsea.

Football-Moms Kick Ass

Screw soccer-moms and hockey-moms. Football-Mom’s is where its at!

Yesterday my sweet little 9 year old declared that she was ready to get into a sport and that sport, my friends, is football.

*whooping and hollaring on the inside people!!!*

Now I have not forced football on her. I will admit I keep the channel on the games I want to watch and don’t let her change it lest she want to lose a finger but as far as PLAYING it, she came up with that all on her own. And I fully support this. I went online because I had no idea if there even WAS a girls league in Winnipeg and it turns out there is. We’re not sure the calibre or skill level required of the girls but it looks fun, not everyone looks enormous and a few of them even look McK-size. She. Is. Pumped.

I have not outwardly expressed my inner joy at her decision to want to try the game just in case its ridiculously expensive or of a higher level that she is wanting to play at but believe you me, when we find out all the details and everything falls into place, I will be one wide-grinnin’ son of a gun!

I will not yell any coaching from the sidelines. I will not boo or badmouth the opposing team. I will simply be the loudest, proudest mom in the stands. In fact, I will bring the noise of 86000 fans, a noise that still rings clear in my ears from December, and I will make sure she feels that out there, turf under her feet, enemy in her sights, hut, hut, hut.

Angry Reading, Its a Thing

Funny how sometimes you go back to something you really dislike, only to see if you still dislike it as much as you thought you did.

I read a few blogs now and then. I am not a committed reader as I do not entirely have time nor am I scheduled enough to remember to go to that one place and do that one thing everyday at that one time. So when I think of it, I go check stuff out. There has been one blog that I have read with somewhat regularity and I find myself drawn to it frequently, not because I like it, but rather, because I quite DISlike it.

It is somewhat of a communal blog and I go there to see if the one writer who I DO truly enjoy reading has left any new ditties behind. I’m always a little bummed when its not hers, and believe you me, I can tell within the first sentence if its hers or not, but I read anyway. And then I stew. And I think of comments. And I decide its better to just keep them to myself lest I make any online enemies cuz who needs that.

I get that everyone is entitled to their own opinion and I appreciate that we are all very different people. So I really have no valid basis on which to hang my dislike. But its there. I get that they are writing about things that do not interest me in any way but that doesn’t usually create dislike in my world. I can read a technology magazine and not be irritated by it even though I have ZERO interest in it. But this blog? The irritation is virtually instant. Its practically palpable.

I have come to realize after chatting with a pal that it is more the disingenuous way in which they write that irks me than the topic itself. The way that they think everyone wants these ridiculous things that they write about. And then when certain “other” posts garner comments and accolades I can sense them attempting to write in the same style and that irks me even more. The whole idea is to just simply write. Take the words from your brain, and throw them out into the world. Maybe I’m getting this whole blogging thing wrong. Maybe I should be thinking of things that other people want to hear about and spewing out a forced monologue and trying to fancy up really boring things and hope like hell I get a comment.

Hell no.

I write for me. I write to get it out and remember things and if someone else reads it, super. If someone else likes it, super. If someone else hates it, super. I didn’t write it for them. I wrote it for me. Thats me. Thats genuine. Thats what I want to read from other people.

If your words sound fake, one can only make a fairly simple and elementary deduction.

I will still click on over to this other blog on occasion, don’t get me wrong. I will continue to log on and remain typically optimistic that I will either be surprised and enjoy the words on the screen or be treated to a beautifully composed post from my favourite contributor. And if I am let down, well, I will carry on, tally-ho, push through the discomfort and will NOT exit out. No siree. I will read on, slight scowl on my face, restraint in my comment-typing fingers and when I have digested their words, will log off muttering something to myself about “why do I keep going back” and maybe even “glutton for punishment”.

Time and Place

There is a time and place for everything.

Wearing a black and gold tutu and dragging a panther behind you down Poydras? Time: Game day. Place: New Orleans. (Not heading in to a huge work meeting for example).

Burrowing your head in your laptop and not coming up for air or family or anything? Time: Invoice day. Place: Dining room table. (Not during a huge family dinner for example).

Playing in the freshly fallen snow with wild abandon? Time: Post Blizzard. Place: Backyard. (Not on the side of the road after being pulled over by the cops for example).

But most importantly, there is the whole “eating well and exercising” thing. Usually a pretty big part of my life. However. There is a time and place for healthy eating, and there is an equal and opposite time and place for pigging the heck out and eating what you want. New Orleans, 2012. Let the feasting begin.

Day one. Fried chicken sandwhich. Fries. Full on delish badness. Add to that two airport “meals” on the way and I can already see the “good eating” waving me goodbye at the gate. Add to that a late night milkshake and oh maybe a chicken burger and BOOM, instant sleep inducer.

Day two. 3 deep fried chunks of goodness otherwise known as beignets. Essentially donuts, delivered to you warm and covered in MOUNDS of icing sugar. Like, MOUNDS. Like Tony Montana in Scarface last scene with head in a bowl of cocaine, mounds. Add to that a cafe au lait with REAL sugar (I think they’d have laughed at me had I requested Splenda and really, whats the point) and BOOM, instant sugar high. A mid afternoon lunch/dinner consisted of a mufaletta (big soft white bun with sesame seeds, ham, salami etc and cheese) and a Pimms cup and BOOM, instant carb crash. Now since “lupper” was at mid afternoon, OBVS there would be late night snacking going on. One delicious Lucky Dog in mah belly and a quick trip to Walgreens produced chips and diet Fanta (best ever) and oh yeah, king size box of Milk Duds and BOOM, instant new BFFs, me and milk duds 4ever.

Day three. Game day. Hotel freebie breakfast (toast and coffee) because all energies must be focused on game day prep. Covered in black and gold we set off. 7 hours later the only food in my belly was my long since digested toast and a shared bag of wonderfully bad-for-you stadium popcorn. And after walking back to our French Quarter hang out, I needed a burger man. So a burger was had. Quick fix, back to the hotel to dump the tutu and get warm garb on and back out we went. Totally spent, adrenaline drained from my body, we wandered around, checking menus, looking for some cheap yummy grub, maybe a jumbalaya, maybe not. Landed in a smallish joint playing the football game and set up house. After a salty afternoon my dinner consisted of: one rootbeer float (full sugar, not diet) with heaps of vanilla ice cream and 3 beingets with heaps of icing sugar. Yeah. That was dinner. 2 gallons of sugar later and BOOM, the realization that we had to get up at 4am for a flight sunk in, along with my sugar crash.

So in conclusion….by all means eat well and exercise but for the love of god when you’re on vacation, RELAX and have some donuts for dinner. BOOM.

Sad and Thankful

I spent a lot of time touching McK this weekend. I felt the need to have my hand on her somewhere, essentially at all times, over this past set of days. She and I have always been very cuddly, always very loving, and I think if I told her I loved her any more than I already do it would be all I said in a day. But this last little while, with what has happened in the US, even the slightest touch of her soft skin was a necessary part of any waking moment for me.

I have not been able to watch the news. I cannot, right now anyway, bear witness to the grief and sadness in all of those families and not be a broken mess. I can still barely bring myself to watch any 9/11 documentaries because all I see when I do is loss. I could not stomach the idea that when I was getting McK ready to go to school on Monday, 20 other families would not be doing the same, even though they JUST DID on Friday.

I am not the type to say “go home and hug your kids” after a tragedy such as this because I am a firm believer that you should not need a reminder to do that. I can’t fathom a day where I do not smother my girl in love, or tell her how amazing I think she is, or stroke her hair out of her face as she falls asleep. And I do not know what I would do with myself if I didn’t get to do that, every day, whenever my heart felt compelled to do so.

I am blessed. I am lucky. I am thankful.

Laissez Les Bons Temps Rouler

Two weeks! Two weeks from tomorrow and I will be on a plane, heading to New Orleans, where the sole purpose of the trip is to watch some FOOTBALL!!! There will be a little shopping, some really phenomenal eating, but mostly, there will be football-ing.

My NFL team is the New Orleans Saints. It has been ever since I first saw them play at the Superdome in September of 2008. Theres just something about dem Saints, baby. From the moment they take the field, the post-coin-toss moment where Drew raises his hand, swipes it down and 86,000 people start chanting “Who dat?”, the group huddle and cheer prior to the start of the game where giant men surround one gaint man and hang on every word he says and in unison they agree that they deserve this win, they have earned this win, they expect this win. And watching them play? Its breathtaking. From Darren Sproles who is all thigh, to Jimmy Graham who is all legs, to Akiem Hicks who is all Canadian, to Jonathan Vilma who is all in, to Drew Brees who is all eyes. Makes one amazing team who is all heart.

I will be, in my obsessive fan glory, decked out from head to toe in black and gold. I have even bought spray paint to paint old boots gold a la MsBehaviour’s Bomber Boots. There will be black and gold nails, gold eyeshadow, my beloved number 9 jersey (natch), face paint, gold glitter, tattos, eye glare tape, and fleur de lis’s stuck everywhere I can stick em. But the piece de resistance? The dragging panther.

You see, when we are there, the Saints play the Carolina Panthers. And, much like the guy at the Bomber game who drags around a tiger on a rope when we play the TiCats, I will be dragging along a black panther on a lovely golden string through the streets of New Orleans. As excited as I am to watch Cam Newton play, I hope he gets a royal TROUNCING on game day.

Add to that some decidedly witty and clever signs that we are sure to get on TV, and there you have an NFL fan at its finest. Anything less would be an insult to the cult that is the Who Dat Nation.

Geaux Saints!

A Very Merry Christmas Indeed

I like Christmas. I think its fun and pretty and when you don’t overdo it, completely enjoyable. I like that we have made our own traditions, however much angst and disappointment that created with certain relatives. I like that we no longer pile into the car on Christmas eve and go have dinner with relatives we only see once a year and sit through the evening watching so-and-so ignore so-and-so and pray for no arguements or drama and stay way later than we want to. I like that I make a meal for the inlaw side of the family in my home on Christmas eve now. That McK gets quality time with her grandma and grandpa and uncle. And I like that they leave when I tell them to so McK can go to bed at a reasonable time.

I like that I decorate my home with the same decorations each year, as boring as that may be to some. And that there is a spot for each and every one of them. I like the way my stockings hang on the mantle and my tree has evolved from a picture perfect specimen to one adorned with McK’s creations and various ornaments gifted to us by wonderful friends. I like that our door is open to anyone who wants to come by on Christmas day, share some coffee, wine and conversation and that there is always something to nibble on laying beautifully on the table. I like that McK gets up, discovers magic under the tree and can’t WAIT for the first visitor of the day. I like that we all get to sit around in our pj’s till we decide we want to get dressed. Its cozy. Its simple. And its perfect. For us.

I’m not into Griswold-esque light displays, copious amounts of “stuff” everywhere, cooking a huge meal (and cleaning up after!), or a bazillion people in my home all at once. I take down the decorations on the evening of Christmas day when the boys are out picking up Tim Hortons for everyone thats left in the house. I don’t generally let Christmas linger in my house. On to the next I say!

This year will be a little different. Theres a “significant other” that may come along with the bro-in-law and it will likely be her first introduction to some of the other in-laws (could get interesting). Theres a cabin that may be rented where, if we decide to do it, we won’t even be at home on the day. But either way, we will make sure McK has the best possible time with the people she loves most in this world. That is the present I give to myself every year.

Jesus H Winnipeg, Cheer the Hell Up

Ok 85% of you Winnipeggers. What in the bejeebus is it going to take to make you happy? Huh? What? Because no matter what you whine for, pine for, beg for or insist on, the  MINUTE you get it, you find something wrong with it. ALWAYS. Oh, you think I’m wrong? You feelin’ a touch defensive? Let me refresh your whiny goddamn memory. Sit back, relax, and just listen to yourselves.

Case in point number 1 – We want an NHL team. No wait. We want OUR NHL team back. The old one. And you better call them the Jets. Oh whats that? We have them and you called them the Jets? Well then the logo better be pretty effing cool. Oh whats that? You’re changing the logo? Oh em gee it better be wicked or we just won’t like the Jets AT ALL anymore. THAT’S the logo??? Fuck the Jets man.

Case in point number 2 – We want a new stadium. The old one is horrible and gross and rickety and an embarrassment to the city of Winnipeg. It has gross bathrooms and small seats and is Just. Not. Good Enough. Oh whats that? We get a new stadium? Its going to be state of the art and likely the nicest one in all of Canada? Well then it better be ready the friggin SECOND you said it was going to be ready or we just won’t like the Bombers anymore. Never mind that its an architecturally intense structure that we don’t want to get wrong, its late. Its late and the world just stops turning cuz YOU SAID it would be ready. Oh whats that? We don’t get the trough to pee in anymore and the team lost this year? Fuck the Bombers man.

Case in point number 3 – We want an Ikea. We’re a big, all-growed-up city now and we deserve a big, all-growed-up store. Winnipeg has been holding its breath for decades to bring in a furniture store to monopolize the really-neatly-designed-but-crappily-made furniture market and goddammit we NEED this. It will show the rest of Canada that we aren’t the stupid little brother anymore. Oh whats that? Its coming and is going to open on time? Well did you not realize that it was going to put smaller home decor stores out of business and the products are horrible and don’t come with instructions and only losers admit to shopping at Ikea? Fuck Ikea man.

Winnipeg. Get. Over. Yourselves.

Your Face Is Dirty

Its Movember. Which, in reality, is one of the most brilliant, unique and popular fundraising initiatives I have seen in a long, long time. Everyone loves to get involved and the words “MoBros” and “MoSisters” are flung about willy nilly. And while participation and donations skyrocket for prostate cancer and mens cancers in general, I long for December 1 when the creepy looking dudes in the office who just can’t swing proper facial hair get to wipe that catepillar off of their faces.

Don’t get me wrong, there are some that can rock the handlebar and some that normally have a moustache of some kind. There are some who clearly have no idea how to properly keep it trimmed and groomed. There are some that need to “anchor” it with a goatee (bless the goatee). But there are some that look like 13 year old boys who haven’t had their first shave yet because Look Mom I’m a MAN Now!

I walked up to a colleague near the end of the month last year and said “Oh, did you only just start your fundraising?” He looked a little hurt and murmured “Noooo.” Oh. “Sorry” I said.

My boss is participating this year. When I saw his name on the list I sat with it for awhile and determined that no, no I could not picture him with any sort of facial hair. I told him as much too. He reassured me that there would be a full goatee happening and even with that, I find myself a bit taken aback every time I go into his office. My first thought when I realized he was participating was an immediate “What meetings does he have this month where he will have to present, in front of people, with that THING on his face?”

I now find myself walking around stores and malls and wondering “is that your real look or is that your Movember attempt?” Moustaches are not something I normally notice on a person (well, unless they’re female, then its kind of ALL you notice), but just the fact that for the month of November, ALL you think about are moustaches and who has ’em? Well, as a previous non-profit, medical related fundraising professional, I give you a standing ovation for the birth of Movember. Bravo.

Time to go buy some stock in Gillette. I have a funny feeling in a couple of weeks it will skyrocket.