Holiday-ee!

It’s.

About.

To go.

Down.

By which of course, I mean my birthday – and all the Morrowpalooza bdays (Me, hubby, son) – are this coming week!

We had family in town to start off July and took a little trip to the Quebec City area, which was delightful! ::throws some pics atcha::

And in completely unrelated news: (a) new book!! and (b) APES.

Dawn. of the et cetera. SO. INTENSE.

Going again.

That is all.

Whatever Rhoda Wants

Rhoda gets…

Then Homer starts his voice-over and we see flashes of the ugliest car that ever put Powell out of business. ‘Member?

But no, so today I learned that when Rhoda decides to talk to you, by George talking shall be done! Who’s Rhoda, you’re probably asking. Just a lovely South African woman who moved to Montreal from Saskatchewan after going to the 1967 expo and who about four years ago went to California for about a week in order to attend a convention but she can’t remember what city. How long have you known Rhoda, you say? For about three minutes on the bus today.

Delightful older women make my day.

Today I also learned that the school board from which Ez is getting a transfer agreement (and in which he’s never gone to school but long story and it’s mostly just more “Oh brother, Montreal”) is just not as well oiled as the one to which he’s moving. Which is itself a blessing. I showed up to do some paperwork and they asked me to sit and they said they weren’t gonna call the person I was there to see because that person was gonna call them when that person got back from lunch. And then 45 minutes later, another receptionist came to relieve the first and promptly picked up the phone only to find said person had been back for like 30 minutes but also wasn’t the person I was supposed to see and why hadn’t the 1st receptionist gotten me the paperwork which was available the whole time. And for some reason, I just kept smiling at everyone. Guess I really had nothing pressing because I was just relaxing without a care in the world in that lobby. I don’t even know.

And finally – but absolutely not for the last time – my last name has been Morrow for 12 years, Montreal. I shan’t be changing that for you. Kindly stop asking, thank you.

Who finished a new short story? I finished a new short story!

If you wanna know more about (some of) my writing projects, check out my Writing page, friends.

Oh, Scipiooooooo!

So all of my world right now is my latest short story, my submissions and my sugar-butt Ezzie’s out-of-nowhere stint with the Montreal Opera. And since I don’t really discuss the former in detail, that last bit is all I can actually talk about of the subjects mentioned.¬† ::tosses rose petals::

I can’t even. A few years ago, I introduced my little boy – who already inherited my love of MGM classics, much to my delight – to Porgy & Bess. Well. To Sammy Davis Jr. singing selected tunes from P&B. And he loooooved it. We spent a ridiculous number of hours watching various duets of Bess You Is My Woman, some opera, some not, and then choosing our favorites. J’adore. So for him to suddenly (and I do mean suddenly – we found out the same day he started rehearsals) get cast was, in his words, mind-blowing. And we’ve just been having the best time.

As far as he knows, Ezzie plans to be a voice-acting zoologist when he grows up. I have no idea whether he’ll ever do anything like this again or when the opportunity would even arise. This seriously dropped in our laps (very, very short story) and we’re not actively pursuing but either way. The point is THIS is fun and exciting and my little boy is on cloud 9. I almost wish there were more than four performances left – including tonight’s! Have some pictures!

Aaaaand that’s pretty much it. I am so happy for him.

I Might Need Security

I know Montreal loves to bring the drama, but today on Decarie, it was a little much. It was the old guys’ turn, and they showed up in great form, ready to prove that you don’t have to be young and foolish to be foolish and just extra.

I mean, honestly, guy walking toward me who’s making super creeptastic uninterrupted eye contact while I look everywhere but directly into your gaze. When you wait until I’m a few steps away and raise your hand and slap it repeatedly – which I guess is supposed to energize me to the point of high-fiving you?! – I don’t know how fast or far to run. Because I’m a lady in a pink and white striped dress and I need you to treat me as such. Cross the street if you must, I’ll wait. Physical contact shan’t. It shall not.

Hey there, buddy who raced around me? I wasn’t gonna pick up that open bag of whatever it was sitting on that bench at the bus stop. I wasn’t gonna stick my hand in and start eating whatever it was. You win, friend. The mystery trash food is all yours. And no. He did not look like he’d fallen on hard times, nor was there any activity that would’ve made me suspect he might race up to a bag on a bench and start eating. Having done so, of course, I give him a pass. Because…a guy just ate out of an open bag on a bus stop bench on Decarie. The verdict is in.

Lastly, there was the old guy riding his bike super fast on the sidewalk. Toward me. And a family walking pretty much with me – which we won’t even question. They’re affectionate. So geezer on bike who starts aggressively swiping the air with his hand, which is apparently meant to make us get the heck out his way? Apparently, his voice did work – jury’s still out on the brakes sitchiation – because as he passed through us, face still tight in what I’d assumed was a disapproving grimace? “Have a good day, you guys!”

In a super sincere tone? After trying to mow us down with a seemingly homicidal snarl of misdirected hostility? ….k.

But don’t let any of that distract you from the bus that didn’t show or the metro that sat for 18 minutes. Because I certainly didn’t.

 

 

Steel Morrow…glias

So the hubs and I just celebrated our 11th wedding anniversary! (Sidebar for TRUF: Thank God for His grace, hallelujah and AMEN!) And this has been pretty exciting because for some reason – and let’s not argue with it, shall we? – the eleventh anniversary is steel.

O_O

That’s. AWESOME. For true. I mean, there are so many things you can do with that. Superman references. …And other stuff, I’m sure. I actually considered getting a bouquet of magnolias. And dipping them in steel. Because…diabetes, I guess. Anyway, I ended up going a different direction but I think we can all agree, it was a completely reasonable consideration.

And since I know you guys so well, I’m just gonna give ya whatcha really want. Pictures of us.

Hey Josh, 'member when your ring wouldn't go on.

Hey Josh, ‘member when your ring wouldn’t go on.

No matter what...ya gotta strut.

No matter what…ya gotta strut.

Love lift us up. Amiritie.

Love lift us up. Amirite.

<3 <3 <3

For serious, tho. Yay! Eleven years, one wonderful son, three countries, three graduations (Josh, you’re only in the lead for now!), a grillion pictures, innumerable memories and each other.

Someone said, “Here’s to eleven more!” …and while I totally get the sentiment, I think we’re gonna shoot a little higher. ;)

Jesus, Take The Wheel

Today’s my due date but not my birthday ’cause I shows up when I wont to, boiiiiiiii.

::ahem::

You know how kids wanna scare the ever-lovin’ crap outta you, all the time? You know?

Here are just a couple ways my super dependably cautious son has tried *not* to make it to his upcoming ninth birthday:

(1) Stick hand into ball dispenser at bowling alley.

Let’s just stop right there, right, because. Who. WHO. does that. Whodoesthat.

I was not present. By the time I heard about this, his hand was free, swollen and scuffed. And he was doing his Ezra-the-Confessor bit, which my father clearly didn’t see coming because he’d intended not to tell me until way later? MY CHILD WILL SPILL THE BEANS, DADDY. COME CORRECT. And having been told by the child who clearly wasn’t dead or missing said hand (which my dad thought a possibility and poor dear, he probably looked a lot like that owl at the time), I still almost passed. out. Don’t.

(2) Get bit in forehead by family dog.

Okay, this wasn’t his fault and maybe bite’s the wrong word but his skin was broken and AGAIN I WAS NOT THERE AT THE MOMENT BECAUSE THE LORD WAS TESTING MY BLOOD PRESSURE. “Let’s see how many times she can find something out after the fact, see that her son is alive and mostly intact and still have a heart spasm.”

(3) Fall off bed in the middle of the night and against the corner of the nightstand. So that an inverted teepee shape was right – some might say, decoratively – beneath his left eye.

I promise, if there was somebody to whoop, they’da got whooped. Latifah had in all seriousness had it up to here by this point.

All of these happened in California on our marathon vacation. And then today…

(4) Rub his eye – which was irritated – with a visibly soiled rag.

I can’t. Eye swollen. Doctor called. Steps taken.

Dead.

 

An Emblem of the Land I Love

Friends! (Romans, Countrymen!) I have arrived back in Montreal, huZAH! Whew. Girlfriend. I can’t even. And during that three week tornado (I’m not sure that imagery works either but this is what we’ve got right now), someone actually had the audacity to draw attention to this blog! SMH. Guess I’d better justify your love, Tatiana!

What better way to discuss expatriation than spending my first American Independence Day in the United States since 2009!

DSC02084-1

It. Was. Wonderful. July 4th on Zuma Beach in Malibu with my son, my nephew-son, my sis and mumzy. Feeding lifeguards some of our hoagy, watermelon salad and pasta.

Listening to my favorite patriotic performances – Marvin Gaye’s National Anthem, Whitney Houston’s, and Beyonce singing America, the Beautiful at the 2008 Inaugural Concert – and having my son FINALLY learn the words!! He is American!!! <3

The entire vacation was a marathon reminder of customer service and general niceness from strangers. (Oh, I can’t pretend not to miss that, California.) And eating. Oh, MEXICAN FOOD. Save yourself for me! No matter wheeeere you go…I will find you!

But 4th of July. That just felt wonderful. I love living away and I love coming back. I love standing in a crowd of people at Disneyland (on July 5th but shuddup) and singing along during the extravagant fireworks show, hearing people cheer and gasp and happily celebrate my native country. ::sighs and flower petals::

I love following my wanderlust and knowing, you can always come home. <3

March. (Yep, that’s it.)

My. Bad. Is March just running away with anyone else?! <— Interrobang. ::snort:: That was for Jen-the-Twin.

So, my pretties, I wish I could tell you all the things (aw, I’m starting to get tired of that reference especially when it’s NOT making reference). Le sigh. Life. Is bigger. It’s bigger than you and you are okay, sorry, I have to stop. But fret not, my loves, because I shall replace that R.E.M reference with a song that I am fully drunk on right now.

I am seriously all in. ALL. IN. I’m having the same romance with Ellie Goulding I had with Florence and the Machine, Gotye, The Civil Wars and Page CXVI. Gotye wasn’t this intense, to be honest, but that isn’t saying much since the extreme to which I’m obsessing is just… indescribable.

HOW. HAWT. IS. THAT. SONG.

Man. Between that one and FATM’s Blinding, they totally have Avrilis covered. And I wish I could talk about it for a million words but alas. I cannot. Or much of anything that I want to. Someday, my pretties. Someday.

Oh and for those of you in some part of the world where March is actually spring? Here’s a pic from last week.

SleddingYou’re welcome.

Something Something Books Have Powers

First things first, if you didn’t read the reblog from yesterday, shame on you. Because this is where you go to have fingers wagged at you, you’re welcome. And my friends are on a roll because my girl, Babs, just dropped a mic, as well, and you should go to. (That was a link. Click it.)

Speaking of Babs, she just LITERALLY blew my mind. (Yes, I’m giggling to myself. Figuratively.) So I tweeted about how as we walked home in the not so gently falling snow [read: it was sort of like getting occasionally punched on top of my head by someone made of mush] my 8 year old son told me that he’d put a snowball in his pocket at recess. To which my mom brain went: …of course you did. See, you might have been ready to ask “why”…but then. You might not be a parent. Onward!

So anyway! At some point, I realized he meant, “I put a snowball in my pocket at recess… and it’s still in my pocket.” Which still basically got this response:

And believe me, it’s not even that he’s ever done this before. It’s just that I’ve known him a few years now.

So, I tweet about it. And Babs asks if I know a book by Ezra Jack Keats called “The Snowy Day”. And that the boy puts a snowball in his pocket to take home. And then my brain straight fell. down. Because my son’s name is Ezra. O_O I mean, because this:

EJK

Seeing as he used the word “ain’t” the other day because he’s reading the book Shiloh, I feel like maybe my son should be watched extra close. Like forever because I totally can’t remember every book he’s ever read and how they might translate into our lives. But I do know he’s read all of the How To Train Your Dragon books thus far. So that can’t be good. >.>

This Title Is Amazing

All the things! That’s what’s been going on this month. :) The following will be a picture-journey, because that’s just more fun.

Firstly, the Morrow parents came to visit from Cali, weeee! We haven’t seen them since last Christmas, which is just crazytown so it was definitely time. Together, we headed to Calabogie Lake in nearby Ontario. I can’t imagine a prettier time to go, including summer, because the rain, the lake, the autumn colors = perfection.

The little one looking at the rain and lake from our cabin.

Kishums!

This is my writerly pensiveness face. #nailedit

Speaking of dumb pictures of me…

This was fine…but then I was like, what if I sit on the arm of this cute bench?

And then this happened. #NotSoStableArm

And so, yeah – I guess I should stop posting pictures from the weekend now. You get the idea. Outside pretty; we had fun.

But finally. The thing de resistance. The hubby’s grad school graduation! It happened!

Ezra likes those gloves…and not taking the degree out of the envelope for the picture.

Hearts, hearts, hearts.

And goodness. Lots of things, transitioning, busyness. You know how we do.