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.

For the first time in about a year and a half, I have clean carpets. Hoo boy! Nothing says “1950’s housewife” like the excitement I felt about getting the carpets cleaned, with the exception of maybe obtaining some kind of household appliance. And let me tell you, the excitement was contagious. It was like the freaking circus just came to town for the boys. All day they waited, anticipating Mr. Carpet Cleaner’s arrival. His van was spotted outside at 3:27. “HE’S HEEERRRRREEEEE!!!!” screamed Jake. Mark flung the door open as the unsuspecting carpet cleaner started up our walk. “HEELLLLLOOOOOO!!!!” Judging by his somewhat alarmed expression, clearly Mr. Carpet Cleaner was not accustomed to such an enthusiastic welcome. That was just the beginning. “Is that your vacuum? Is that your vacuum hose? Is that how you plug it in?” The questions were nonstop and the glee was not containable. It kind of made me feel bad. Like how deprived are my children that the carpet cleaner brings them such joy?

Any time we have had people working in our house the kids have been completely engrossed by the progress of the job. A couple of years ago we had the interior doors replaced, and Mark practically stalked the guy doing the job. There was a constant, running commentary from him: “Look, he’s taking off his hat! He’s picking up a hammer! He’s drinking water from a water bottle!” It was a little awkward, not unlike yesterday’s mayhem. I always have a nagging concern that these guys are going to mistake the boys’ enthusiasm for MY enthusiasm, and mistake me for a cougarish, lonely housewife, as in certain adult films. Like maybe I’m going to show up in a short satin robe with those fluffy mule slippers. “Is that your screwdriver? It’s really BIG.”

Anyway. The carpet is clean, even the stain from Barkley throwing up potting soil has been removed. So I am excited! Because forget the lonely housewife, that stain was turning me into a crazed Lady Macbeth.

I had the good fortune to attend a workshop/discussion with Kino Macgregor, an amazingly talented and lovely yoga instructor. The majority of the discussion centered on transformation and cultivating inner peace and acceptance. It was incredibly inspiring, and it really is how I strive to live my life, with compassion and mindfulness, although I will admit here that at times I feel less like a peaceful being and more like Frank Costanza – SERENITY NOW! – especially when I am trying to get out the door and Jake is sitting on the step, shoeless, yelling “I JUST CAN’T DO IT. I CAN’T PUT MY SHOES ON” and Mark is talking, obliviously, over the din of his brother’s complaints about dinosaurs and Doc Hudson.

Where was I? Oh, yes, inner peace. I was completely inspired by this workshop and the beauty of this woman’s mind. Then, abruptly, my inner peace shattered with the sight of my neighbour – this neighbour – mowing the lawn shirtless. Recall that I live in a city where the average daily temperature, in the hottest month of the year, is 22.9 degrees Celsius. It is not the tropics, people. We do not actually need to be shirtless. Do I do yard work in a thong? No. I do not. That is because I have respect for my neighbours, and I expect the same in return. GO PUT A SHIRT ON.

Of course, hypocritically, if this scene was like something from a Diet Coke commercial, I probably would not complain. But as it is, I really do not need to see your gut, your man boobs, and your back hair, so clothe yourself, neighbour! DO IT NOW!

Right. Inner peace. I’m working on it. I swear.

Father’s Day dawned, like it frequently does here, with a torrential rainstorm and gloomy grey skies. Fortunately, I have lived here long enough to know that you never should plan any outdoor activities in June, i.e., a barbeque, without having a bad-weather Plan B. Actually, forget June, that rule applies for any month in this city. Anyway, our plans for this Father’s Day were actually non-dependent on the weather – the boys were headed to a lunchtime birthday party and Rob and I went out for a rare lunch date. Prior to that, Rob opened his gifts – golf balls! – and took the boys on a trip to Home Depot. Oh boy! Nothing says “Dad” like a trip to Home Depot. Apparently much fun was had by all.

Rob is an awesome dad. He’s wonderful with the boys and they, of course, adore him. However, and I’m going to whisper this very softly, I don’t think he would be as good of a dad if we had girls instead of boys. Is that a terrible thing to say? I’m not saying that he wouldn’t love them, or be a good dad, but I think he is a better father to boys.

“Brian would just be too tough on boys” a friend told me, regarding her husband and his relationship with their two girls. I thought about that for a long time. Is Rob too tough on the boys? I think about when they are whiny, and he tells them to “man up” – something I would never do. I think about when they hurt themselves: Mark won’t cry, and Jake will furiously wipe away tears with a stoic expression.

Meanwhile, the boys want to grow up to be JUST LIKE HIM. Well, Mark wants to be just like him, even going so far as to say he wants to work in the same building and same office, he wants to be exactly the same height and play with the same golf clubs. Exactly the same. Jake, however, wants to be BETTER. He wants to be taller, and stronger, and – despite the fact that he is not yet four, people – he has been quoted as saying “I am going to make more money than you and have a faster car”. Yes indeedy.

Sometimes I will come into the living room to see the three of them squished together on the big chair, to hear them saying “I love you” to each other, and I know that he is not too tough, that the boys know their dad thinks they are the best and will always be there for them. And the love affair goes both ways, the boys climb into bed with him in the early morning for a snuggle, they clamor with excitement when he gets home from work, they can’t wait to tell him about their day. They think he’s the best dad ever, and I think so too.

When my husband got home after my fabulous day on Monday, he said “It’s interesting. It’s hard to know who I’m coming home to.” What? Just because I was competing, and won a blue ribbon, in the Wow I’m Bitchy Today Contest on Sunday, which was immediately followed by my blue ribbon win in the Today is all Sunshine and Rainbows Contest on Monday? He should feel LUCKY. Things are not boring around here, what with my mood swings and all.

Nonetheless, I would like to report that summer vacation, so far, is going nicely. This is massively helped by sunny weather, despite the fact that there was an immense thunderstorm and downpour yesterday afternoon. We took that opportunity to try out some science projects from the Usborne Big Book of Science Things to Make and Do. Let me tell you, I purchased this book through Scholastic, and it was the best Scholastic money I ever spent. Much, much better than the Scooby Doo Early Readers Pack. MUCH BETTER. The projects are aimed at children who are older than mine, but they are so simple that there is no way I can screw them up, which is a very good quality in a science book, no? The only problem is that I have now run out of white vinegar, and am getting very low on baking soda. So, you can probably imagine the kinds of experiments we are doing.

All of which is to say, my pure joy at doing junior science experiments probably qualifies me to win the blue ribbon for Not So Cool But Tries Really Hard award.