Growly growl growl. I wrote the longest post about my week and Blogger ate it. Blogger! You asshole! I love calling inanimate objects 'asshole'.

Anyway, I wrote how we took Tristan to Science World on Thursday. It was pretty neat and we'll probably get a year pass because we liked it so much. On the way there I got pretty cranky though. I hate driving in Vancouver. I ran out of gas, so I had to exit on Bridgeport road in Richmond (pretty big suburb) to fill up my tank. I pulled into the first gas station and it was full serve only! What's that about. I told the guy that I didn't have enough for full serve figuring that it would cost more, so he directed me to another gas station down the street. I pull in there and it too is full serve only. I yelled a few obscenities (Tristan was sleeping) since I was running on fumes and in a very desperate situation. The guy came over to fill the tank and I asked him where the nearest self-serve station was and he said Vancouver. "You have to be kidding me," I said. Nope. Turns out all of Richmond is full-serve. I felt like I was on Back to the Future. The attendent explained that there were no limits and that it doesn't cost more, so I was instantly happy again. It was pretty nice considering that Tristan was sleeping so I didn't have to disturb his nap to pay for gas.

Once I got back on the road, I ended up behind a white van with three bullet holes in the back of it. I had an ethical debate on whether I should notify the police or just pretend I didn't see anything. This ethical debate took place while I very carefully paid attention to my driving, since you don't want to rear end a van with bullet holes in it. I looked closer and they did look kind of fake. Vancouver is Hollywood lite so there is a good possibility that the van was a prop. I felt like Chunk in Goonies at first though "BULLET HOLES, YOU GUYS, BULLET HOLES!" (Movie reference #2 jeesh).

Friday, I went to my first playgroup with Tristan. It was suppose to be geared to getting the kids socialized and for meeting other parents. I was the youngest mom again. How can I be the youngest mom when I'm almost 30. Weird. Anyway, I don't see myself clicking with any of these ladies. The group wasn't too condusive to adults though since they only had baby chairs to sit in. Most moms sat on the floor and played privately with their kids. HELLO?! Play GROUP! It's suppose to be group play. The teacher forced everyone together for crafts, story time, and playing with a parachute, so maybe everyone will start hanging out instead of just keeping their distance. Talking to moms is weird though. "My name is Jen. That's Tristan. Oh, your kid is so cute. What a big girl!, look at them," You end up looking like a loonie really quick. You can't exactly talk politics or current events when you have to keep your eye constantly on your kids.

Saturday, Ben got major penis points for fixing the rotting deck stairs that I put my big preggers self through. He even painted them without me asking. Wow. We went to White Spot and Tristan and I shared a virgin pina colada. Well, Tristan ended up just stealing mine. I got him apple juice, but mommy's drink looked better. After he blew spit bubbles in it I let him have it to himself. Kids.

Ben had to work Sunday. I went to church with Tristan. He played with Julien in the play room while I went to mass. I love my pastor Jean. She's so great at making you really learn something new about the stories that you've been told over and over again. Every time I've had a woman minister or deacon lead liturgy I left feeling like they taught me something new. They just have such a insightful way of looking at things, and really look into the history. The male priests I've had just use the readings as a jumping block to a Packer joke and some shallow interpretation tied into church doctrine. I think the Catholic church is doing itself a disservice by not letting women share their point of view to their clergy.