Getting the hang of it...

My kids came home from school today and I asked Bells to fold the laundry, which she did.  She's a gosh-darn 5 year old laundry expert.  So much win.  I asked my 7 year old son to make cream of broccoli soup.  He got the pot out, threw in some butter, grabbed some shallots... I almost cried with joy.  He needed a little help with the shallots and garlic, but he hacked up the broccoli, added the chicken stock, and did the vast majority of everything to do with it.  It was wonderful, with the dubious addition of fresh dill.  He got a little carried away, but I'm cool with that.  They're just getting so self sufficient!!  On the flip side, hubby comes home the other night, in time for dinner even, to lovely homemade crepes stuffed with roasted tomatoes, asparagus and crab and topped with a dill cream sauce.  The children were so excited!  I was so excited!  He emptied his pockets before sitting down and found.... his bosses' car keys.  Sigh.  So, I pack up dinner, uneaten, and the fam, and we head to Surrey to drop of the keys and go out for dinner with daddy.  This makes me feel like a supercool, awesome, laid back and supportive wife and mother.  (Except for the merciless teasing I rightfully inflicted upon him.)  So now, I am tooting my own horn.  My horn is awesome.  The kids are both in full time school, hubby's in full time work, and I am doing Jillian Micheals workouts everyday, yard work (this is a very new thing for me), cleaning, cooking up a storm, and generally not relaxing very much at all.  I made myself take a bubble bath with candles and rain outside and a trashy magazine... the whole shebang.  I lasted 5 minutes.  I find relaxing very stressful. I find procrastinating very relaxing, however.  I just need to know I should be doing something.
 That's all for now, just a rambling stream of consciousness with no lessons, clarity or revelations.  Happy Autumn, everyone, now for my first kids soccer practice which the skies have generously opened up for in true Vancouver style.

To The Prowlers!!

I know you're out there.
I know, because the closer I get to sleep the sharper my hearing gets.
I lay in bed silently willing my husband to breathe more quietly so I can hear you steal our bikes.
It is nearly 1am, I have checked the bikes twice and each child's bedroom three times.  Now I've psyched myself out.  Somehow, I skipped turning into my mother and went straight for grandmotherhood.  Everyone's a hooligan.  I may come off as delusional, certainly paranoid, but I'll have you know the first night we moved here I woke hubby up in a panic and he confirmed that yes, the sound I was hearing was gunshots, but they were miles away.
It's not my fault... I cut my big city teeth in Stepford.  It's so weird being in a big house that's freestanding and kind of isolated.  (There's tall hedges, alright?)
But Dear Prowlers, let this be my warning to you:  If you come on my property at all, I will hear you.

And I will stand by the back door and (passive) aggressively flip the back porch light on and off.  As long as it takes, MoFo.  

Update:  I'm slightly less paranoid than previously thought... the prowlers broke into our car last night and took the stereo.  At least they left the carseats.  I need a dog, or a wolf. Or a woolly mammoth.  Kyla, I think you have a team player in your mammoth wrangling scheme.