Kids have been sick with – well, with a couple of things, actually. Dan had a stomach thing last wednesday/thursday that they got at the beginning of this week while at the same time contracting a cold/flu type of an illness. It’s been barfing and sneezing and no sleep, oh my. The fevers have been high and they’ve both been given to fits of fever induced hallucinations.

Jacob first started having fever hallucinations last year. His were strange, sometimes funny and a little scary. That is, he was scared but not terrified. His hallucinations tended toward more of the confused wanderer scenario. You know that guy who stumbles out of the dessert after not having had water for like 9 weeks? Like that, kinda.

Madison, however, was terrified. Her first hallucination involved screaming that there were holes in her head and demanding that we take her into the light so that she could show us. When faced with a mirror during one of these hallucinations she stared at herself in HORROR and cried over and over that she just can’t doooo this, she just can’t doooo this.

Unnerving, to say the least.

Jacob always seems less frightened and more incensed. Something’s happening, WE HAVE TO GET OUT OF HERE! and then he might try to drag you out of the house like an action movie hero or head for the door without you. And he always says he can see through himself. He stares at his hand and tells you he can see right through it.

And he believes it. Just like Madison believed she had holes in her head. God. Awful.

Happily, they are both on the mend and have been given the thumbs up from their doctor. No infections, no medications required. hiphiphooray! It’s all worked out just lovely, actually. You see, we’re headed for the Mayan Riviera next week and I think it was right decent of them to get sick this week so that next week we’re all healthy and ready for mommy to have massages on the beach and drinks at the pool bar.

Also, they can have fun too, if they like.

This has been a cold ass muh fuh winter. Probably the coldest ever. Emperor penguins would probably grimace, if they lived here. One of those winters where even the heartiest among us are complainy and bitter.

I, for my part, have been a good sport. By this I mean that I haven’t complained any more than usual. I’ve survived by wearing black yoga pants 24/7. I’ve been the leader of the well worn cheer it can’t last forever, spring has to come some day.

The past two weeks, though, have been really grating on all of our nerves. Blame lies with the weather forecasters and their brand of trickery. There has been the ongoing promise of weather sounding way too good to be true. The stuff dreams are made of, these forecasts. The kind of temperatures that melt snow and warm hearts. The sort of thing that talks you off the winter ledge.

Only, hang on, what’s this now? None of it is coming true, is it? The days come, the promised days of sunshine and lollipops, and they are not quite what they were meant to be. Sure, it’s warmer (ish) but it’s not really a lot different. Because while the temperature is up the windchill is fierce and so the shift is fantasy. You still have to wear mittens and walking down the street is only about 3% less horrible..

That’s not enough.

I’m convinced that the weatherman was given the directive to lie. Give false hope, they told him, and let’s keep the general population from resorting to a length of rope and the rafters in the basement. I’m sure that’s what it is. A little something the government cooked up to keep suicide rates down. It’s a nice idea but I think the time has almost come to just honestly get us some better weather. I say we take 15 degrees off australia’s hands. Let’s make this work out for everyone.

Better needs to be better now if not downright awesome.

We’ve never been on a major vacation together, dan and I. I mean, we’ve been to california a few times but that’s not major. For a vacation to qualify as major it must be designed to escape the cold by way of going where there is only hot. The trips we’ve taken have never been the february escape variety.

Super Major: Europe.

So now, here we are, and we’re thinking we should take a trip. Florida? Mexico? Anywhere Not Winter? Yes, let’s, do.

But then you’re forced to consider the many elements to vacation taking. Even going to the US is now more complicated for Canadians because we the current climate requires us to have passports to cross the border. This because Canadians are scary and really tough. Like babies or kittens. And lo but we do not have passports, Dan, I and the children. We are sans passportification, if you will.

So today I finally went to the website about all things Canadian Passport and began familiarizing myself with the ins and outs of becoming international. There’s the passport photo which, it turns out, is damned serious business. Don’t you go mucking about with that bit or you’ll probably have to do pushups and they’ll never let you see the waterslides at DisneyWorld, not even on your birthday.

There’s also the proof of citizenship which used to be a matter of saying, I AM CANADIAN and then holding up a thirty proof can of beer. I’m from a part of Canada other than Toronto so I don’t even have saying aboot by way of proving myself so what? How? I don’t know? I’m nice? And more socially tolerant than people from most other countries, except Sweden? Does that convince you? No?

The thing I was least expecting in this application for international travel status was the bit where you are required to jot down the actual physical weight of your, you know, body. Yourself, pound-wise. Get on a scale, look at the lying asshole of a number and then write it down, forever documenting the demolition of a desperate delusion.

Alliterate that.

I am by no means a large person. I know that. I’m probably in the smaller than average but certainly not skinny category, as far as people of my gender and age classifications. Okay? I know that. But here’s the thing and the thing is: that’s got nothing to do with it. I just cannot know my weight. I cannot. I go from this perfectly normal person (using the term normal completely inaccurately) to a numbers obsessed lunatic. It doesn’t matter if the scale said you weigh 92 pounds. It’s not about the skinny or the small. It’s about making sure that whatever the number is, it never goes up.

EVER and not even for FIVE minutes or I will murder the scale in cold blood.

I’ve done it.

Now here I am with this admittedly silly highly neurotic but completely under control issue and wanting to go on a vacation which would require me to have ownership of a passport. And I tremble with fear! I tremble! With the fear!

Alright, I don’t tremble so much as I moan and I complain. Because what cruelty to ask a girl to weigh herself a few weeks before she gets on a plane with a suitcase full of nothing but bikinis? I mean, really. Are they really gonna weigh me if they think I’m a terrorist?

She looks shifty.

She does indeed. Get ‘er on the scale and we’ll find out for sure.

Probably better if we stay home. I’ll never fit into an airplane seat anyway.

so hi. been having trouble getting ducks in posting row. silly ducks. always going this way and that with their cute little bums. waddle waddle, no no ducks, not that way, get in the row!

they never do. i can’t help it.

today i have many fine goals. i goal to write my novel. i goal to photograph my items. i goal to shave my head and join a cult.

it’s okay, i’m not likely to achieve any of my goaling. the cult will have to wait for another day.

what i will do, and you can take this shit to the bank, is i will be back to post a proper post. you know, the kind with content. it’s gonna be killer, buhhhhddy.

so for now, blah and bugger, i will see you cats laterlike. right now i have to go get jake and research this thing they call ‘content’. i hear it’s easy. i can handle it.

buhbye.