You know that feeling when you want something for a long time, and you think about it all the time, and then one day, you obtain it and it is everything you ever hoped it could be and more? Well, my children experienced that this weekend. Yes, we finally purchased a package of Sham-Wows.

Ever since Mark saw his first Sham-Wow commercial, he wanted to possess one. He NEEDED to possess one. He wondered how we could possibly live our lives without one. Every day, it was “We could use Sham-Wow to wash the car! We could use Sham-Wow to wash Grandpa’s boat! We could use Sham-Wow to dry off Barkley!” And so on and so forth, until we actually saw the Sham-Wow display in Costco. (“I thought it wasn’t available in stores” I said to Rob, who hushed me and put it in our cart, evidently fulfilling Mark’s greatest dream.) We came home with the Sham-Wows at approximately 12:35 pm on Sunday, and several hours later, they were still busily washing everything in sight. Mark’s enthusiasm was contagious, because Jake was clearly bitten by the Sham-Wow bug. “Mom, do we have any spilled winecoffeecola?” Jake asked, parroting the guy in the commercial. Answer regretfully in the negative. No matter, there were many other surfaces to clean. The baseboards are now in their cleanest state ever. Jake was actually so enamoured with his that he pretended to give birth to it, shoving it up his shirt, saying “My stomach hurts” – I had informed him that is how a baby knows to come out, the mommy’s stomach hurts. Like really hurts. – and then pulling the Sham-Wow out of his shirt, announcing “Look at my baby!”. I would like to know if this sort of thing happens in any other household.

I have mentioned before that I have no idea why I purchase any toys at all for the kids, and after the Sham-Wow miracle, I am reinforced in this opinion. Hours of occupation, sparkling clean baseboards – what more could I ask for?

Okanagan wineries.

Jim Cuddy. I (and yes, this is bragging) actually met him! Hubba hubba. That story is the subject of a whole other post, but let us just say that he wins the Hottest Canadian Contest (other than my husband, of course, who is very sexy and handsome and also very confident, and so can handle my schoolgirl crush on Jim Cuddy).

I was jealous of my husband every single day when the boys were babies. Every single day when he would leave for work, I would envision his life of freedom: walking to the train station unencumbered by double stroller or diaper bag, a ride on the train with nothing to do but listen to his IPod, having a cup of coffee with no crying or clinging, a lunch eaten with an empty lap and one that did not consist of only a single slice of peanut butter toast. His life seemed, to my baby-filled world, the epitome of freedom. And although this being the modern age and I – privileged with the ability to choose – had chosen this very life, at times it felt like I had been sentenced to it. I was busy with the needs of a very young toddler and a colicky infant. I rarely, if ever, had a moment to myself and I was resentful and jealous that he did, his work-related stresses notwithstanding.

I am not jealous of him anymore.

In fact, I think I have much the better deal these days – the boys are easier, more fun, and I spend much of my time doing fun and interesting things with them. The exception was this past weekend.

My husband was attending a company golf tournament in a mountain resort, and the itineraries that he sent home were filled with fun events and lovely meals, and although I did not envy the golf portion – no – I was filled with jealousy that he could spend the weekend in the company of friends and co-workers with no responsibilities other than to enjoy himself. I on the other hand was caring for the children, enjoyable though they may be, and I felt extremely put-upon. I wanted to be the one going somewhere, doing something, and being completely secure that someone else would take care of things at home, without my input or concern. Of course, that’s not possible. The sad and honest truth is that even if such an opportunity for me to leave for the weekend arose, I would not likely seize it, and I would certainly not be able to be light hearted and carefree about it. The truth is that I cannot go back to the days of light hearted and carefree single-girl travel, and really I do not want to, but I can’t help but feel a selfish sort of sadness that those days are gone forever.