Um, yay?

I got a job. In Moose Jaw.

I'm still processing this.

Heavenly

I've been kicking myself that I didn't bring a camera along when I went out for dinner last night. I want to show you the food that I love SOOOO much. But now I can't. Please imagine spicy and delicious cajun food - blackened shrimp and scallops, fried oysters and (drum roll) - SWEET POTATO FRIES.

Ever since I was introduced to this restaurant (is it you I should thank for that, Starski?), I have been absolutely in LOVE with those fries. They make me happy when I'm sad. And if I'm already happy, then they make me do a little bum-wiggling "yay-for-food" dance.

So what could be better than enjoying SWEET POTATO FRIES with a lot of fabulous people as part of my birthday dinner last night? Not much. And I wish I had a picture to share the love with y'all.

Did I just make up the coolest new word ever?

I totally missed my blogiversary. Happy 1st blogiversary to me.

Making a /k/ from scratch

Big news! A little kidlet that I am seeing for speech therapy said a "k" sound today! Surely this deserves a blog mention/potential breach of confidentiality!

If you aren't a speech pathologist or a child with a phonology delay, you may take "k" for granted. No big deal. Likely, there was a point in your life when you said, "Tan I have a tootie?" and your parents thought it was cute. Then someone laughed at you for saying "titty tat" and you started making sounds at the back of your mouth and it was all good.

Say a "k" right now. Go ahead. Now, think about how you might explain to a 3 and a half year old how to make that sound. It's really not that easy. It's better if you try to show them, but it's a hard sound to see as well.

Since my supervisor is awesome, and I am trying my darndest to BE her, and this little kidlet is a genius, we were able to hear a few good k's today. Really, it was the high point of my day.

It kind of reminds me of last year, when a child I was treating said "kitty fart", and it pretty much blew my mind.

[I will only truly have achieved my goal of BEING my supervisor when I have successfully used the exclamation "Zippidydoo!" in an effort to entertain a small child. Seriously. I'm getting there.]

. . .continued

I lied! It's been two days, and now you're all waiting with baited breath to hear how on earth a choir bus trip could lead to nightmares of my husband's infidelity. All in good time, my friends.

Where was I? Right, I was a self-righteous prig in high school, and I liked to hold hands by starlight but would not "date" any boys. My refusal to commit to a relationship resulted in my being abruptly dumped-but-not-really-because-we-weren't-dating-anyway on more than one occasion, with no explanation whatsoever. Or my special friend would just mess around with other girls (perhaps at the 'drinking' parties that I wouldn't go to) and then tell me about it (or not).

Which leads me to the choir trip connection. It was my first big high school choir trip to a music festival in one of our beautiful national parks (I was 15). My 'kindred spirit' somehow found time, between our chastely frolicking up mountainsides and holding hands past curfew, to get very friendly with one of the other girls in the choir. I had no idea at all. The hand-holding just went on as usual on the bus ride home.

A few months later, he was feeling guilty, and told me that he and whatsername had done some particular things together. I was VERY naive, and I knew what those things were, but I couldn't quite fathom what that entailed, or how it might have transpired. I had absolutely no frame of reference for such naughty deeds. I was hurt, and probably made my pillow all soggy over it, but I really didn't get it.

NOW I GET IT. I think there's a part of my brain that has been reeling for a while (especially since I gained a frame of reference for those particular things) at how unoffended I was at the time. And there's another part of my brain that responds with great suspicion and fear wherever choir bus trips are involved. I can't help it. It's probably my amygdala, and its job is to make me freak out about those kinds of things, right?

So when Daniel came home from the choir trip, the 15 year old and the 20-something parts of my subconscious got together and said, "You know, apparently things can happen very easily on choir trips. We should be afraid."

But let me tell you, if there's one thing Daniel hates, it's having to deal with my bad dreams. Especially the part where he has to defend himself against the nasty Daniel in my subconscious, who cheats on me with much older women, and doesn't bat an eyelash. He doesn't humour me much, and I can't get him to swear that he's never slept with a 50 year old. He's pretty sure that he won't do it any time soon, but he's never as convincing as I want him to be.

Is there a lesson to be learned here? A gem of truth that can be taken away? I'll tell you one thing. My friend who actually dated boys in high school did not deal with the ridiculous situations that I got myself into. And she still got to hold hands in the park, and received way more poetry than I did. That's about it.

Wait -- there's more. I should trust my husband a whole lot more (you hear that, Subconscious?). The commitment of marriage is worth far more than the fickle star-gazing of youth ever was.

This could be trouble

I always want to post, but lately I've felt like nothing much has been going on in my life to write about. It's either too personal, or it violates confidentiality agreements related to my school practicum, or it's all just too darn boring.

And then it hit me. Why don't I just write some random anecdotes based on past experiences? Sounds good to me. It you've known me for a while, you will have heard tham before. Sorry.

As I've mentioned here, Daniel recently went on a choir tour that I wasn't part of. When he returned, I actually had a few dreams that he was cheating on me. Once with numerous young ladies, and once with a 50-year-old lady who was, erm, friskier than I was (keeping it family-friendly here).

I know perfectly well why a choir tour that involved bus travel sparked latent insecurities and fears that my partner will be unfaithful. But it's a kind of long story. Maybe I'll write it in installments, sort of a cliffhanger serial post, to keep you coming back for more. Tales of adolescent infatuation and heartache. . . tales from a prairie girlhood. . . tales of what a stupid kid I was.

Back in high school, I wouldn't "date" boys, because I was (and am) a christian (is there an html code for adding a little halo over words?). When my christian friends dated boys, I expressed general disapproval and self-righteousness.

What I would do, instead, was be "just friends" with boys, and we would go for coffee, take long walks in the park, and traipse about in wheat fields in the light of the harvest moon. After 6 months or so of this, we may kiss once, on the lips, but only if we were standing in a park or in a field or on a bridge in the moonlight. Seriously.

Just how irritating was I? Just how much pillow-sobbing did my behaviour cause? How many high school boys would restrict themselves to moonlit hand-holding with a non-committal young prig?

Tune in tomorrow, to find out!

Overheard at the Children's Festival

Street performer guy in bowler hat: This one kid had me by the suspenders, and then this other kid sucker-punched me in the stomach. He was just a kid, but it really hurt.