Me And My Intuition, We’re Tight. Me And My Telepathy, We're Tighter!

So many things in life cannot be explained.

Things happen, for whatever reason, and we have no idea what powers of the universe were behind those events.

I’m one of these people who believes there are always ‘forces’ behind what’s happening in the universe.

And as many of you know, I also believe some of us are more in tune with those ‘forces’, whether they know it or not.


I’ve always had strong intuition. I don’t always trust it, but it’s always been there.

I’m also really good at guessing games.

‘Guess how many X I have, Mom?’

‘Guess what I’m thinking, Mom?’

‘Guess what the next song is going to be, Mom?’

And once I’ve given my answer, it’s usually followed by, ‘HOW did you DO that?’


No, I’m not Criss Angel's long lost sister.

Which I’m really OK with, since I think he’s SA-WEEEEETTTTT!!!!!

But like I said, me and my intuition, we’re tight.


Two things happened yesterday that made me go ‘hmmmmmm’.



Adam wanted a whistle.

He was asked to be a referee during a basketball game at school today, and he wanted to look 'official' in his role, so he decided he needed a whistle.

On a string.

Although I knew we probably had ten million whistles kicking around the house, I also knew I’d never be able to find one for today.

So, after dropping him off at basketball practice last night, I hit the Dollar Store.


Actually, I hit FOUR freakin’ Dollar Stores, in search of a whistle that was not to be found. ANYWHERE!

Adam was very disappointed when I picked him up, and told him I hadn't been successful on my search.

I suggested he ask his gym teacher if he could borrow his whistle for the game today, and didn’t really think any more about it.


Just before bed, Adam asked if I would take a look on his bookshelf for a whistle.

Adam’s shelf is OVERPACKED with books and ‘stuff’ in general.

So is the floor at the end of his bed.

I took a quick scan of the shelves, and had a peek in a few of the containers that were sitting on them.

I let my eyes roam over the shelves, and mentally called out, 'Whistle! Get your butt out here where I can see it, NOW!'

No whistle.


I gave up.

I had tried to buy or find him a whistle.

It wasn’t going to happen.

I leaned down to pick up a couple of pieces of clothes off the floor and said, ‘Ya know, Hun, the sad thing is, there are probably a BUNCH of whistles buried here under this mess that you could have taken.’

Then, I leaned down once more and said, ‘Or … you could just bring THIS one!’


Sure enough, after four different stops, and time spent searching, THERE it was ...

Sitting on the floor ... at the end of his bed ...all by itself ...nothing else around it amid the clutter ... just waiting for me to find it … almost tweeting at me ...

Was a shiny silver whistle.

On a string.

Thank you forces at work!


Yeah. Got my Mom Of The Year Award last night after all! BAM!

And really? There aren't many better feelings in this world than hearing a gasp, and seeing your child's eyes sparkle and widen, face morph into delight and that zillion watt grin when we're able to do something they didn't expect or think we could.



My other encounter yesterday, with the forces at work, were again surrounding Adam.


Night before last he was VERY upset.

He hadn’t talked to his dad in awhile.

Not on the phone. Not on Facebook/email. Not on Skype.

He had tried calling. His dad's phone was out of service.

He tried connecting with him on Skype.

His dad hadn't answer his calls.

For whatever reason, he hadn’t called or communicated with Adam on his own, and knowing everything that was going on with the flooding in Australia, Adam was worried about his dad, and was feeling VERY bad that he wasn’t able to reach him or that his dad hadn't reached out to him.


Now, as his Mom, this pissed me off, BIG TIME!

I couldn’t understand why his dad hadn’t simply picked up the phone, or sent Adam an email on his own, simply to stay in touch.

Everyone has their own situation. But I'm a firm believer that in situations of separation and divorce, it's NOT up to the KIDS to ensure those lines of communication remain open, it's up to the PARENT.

Sure, that will change once they grow and mature, but for now ... no.

I did, however, suggest that Adam might want to send his dad an email the next day, to let him know he was trying to contact him.


I can’t tell you how many times I opened an email message to him myself that night, wanting to tell him to ‘Call or email your son!!!!!’

But I didn’t.

I stayed out of it.

The EX and I aren’t exactly on good terms right now, and as far as I’m concerned, I don’t stand in the way of his relationship with his kids, but it’s up to HIM to at least MAINTAIN that relationship.


So, I held my tongue.

I held my fingers back from flying over that keyboard.

But … I sent him my message, regardless.


Oh yes.

The mental vibes were travelling at high speed from Nova Scotia to Australia that night.

‘Call your Son! Call your Son! Call your Son! Call your Son!’

I used every telepathic vibe I could muster.

Then, finally went to bed, hoping he ‘got it.’


Yesterday afternoon, Adam and I got home from work/school and Adam went up to his room to check in with his friends online.

Within thirty seconds, I heard the scream, ‘DAD SENT ME A MESSAGE!!!! DAD SENT ME A MESSAGE!!!!’

I couldn’t help but smile to myself.

Halfway around the world, and he got my message.

He heard me.

Good.

Damn. I STILL got it! ;-)


Yeah, me and my intuition, we're tight. Me and my telepathy, we're tighter!


Just two more instances, where it makes me wonder if that psychic might have been on to something, when she told me flat out that I was a Witch descendant from Salem ;-)

Ya think?!?!?


Oh … and Criss … Babe, call me! My intuition is telling me we’d have a simply magical time!!!

K.

Cold Stone Creamery, You DEFINITELY Kicked Fruitcake's Butt!!!

Shortly before Christmas, I received an email from a marketing rep for Cold Stone Creamery.

Apparently, word that I absolutely CAN’T STAND fruitcake had made its way all the way to the corporate execs at Cold Stone, and they wanted to offer me an alternative the old holiday standard.

Cold Stone Creamery Declares Death to Fruit Cake

“Candy Cane Wonderland Cake The perfect combination of moist Devil’s Food cake and minty Candy Cane ice cream with chocolate shavings and candy cane pieces frosted with ganache, makes for a perfect hostess gift”

-- Taken from email I received

They were offering me a cake?

OK, so maybe they weren't making and marketing it JUST for me, but ...

They were offering me CAKE!

An ice cream cake creation!

Well now. Wouldn’t THAT be a treat!

I told her I would be happy to try one of their cakes. Absolutely! Send that gift certificate along, please!

And she was happy to oblige, by sending me a certificate for a ‘small round cake’.

I told the boys I would pick it up over the weekend, and we could give it a try.

Unfortunately, it didn’t happen THAT weekend.

I got sick.

REALLY sick.

Missing over a week of work kind of sick.

Thank you, influenza and crappy lungs!

The marketing rep followed up a few weeks later, wondering if I had had the opportunity to try the cake yet.

I felt bad, I had to tell her no.

I HATE when someone gives me something to try, and blog about, and I can’t get the post done right away.

Drives me INSANE, knowing I ‘owe’ a post to someone.

But, after explaining I'd been sick, I told her, ‘I don’t want to get the cake, until I can actually TASTE the cake, and ENJOY the cake.’

She understood completely.

Over Christmas break, the boys each had a friend over one day.

I took them all to Pirate’s Cove for an afternoon of swimming.

Pic taken from HERE

After swimming, we made a stop on the way home at Cold Stone Creamery!!!!

I asked the boys to wait in the car.

What? Are you kidding me?

Bringing four boys in, to choose and agree on what TYPE of cake were going to get just WASN’T going to happen!

I wasn’t going to put myself or the Creamery staff through that nightmare!

I went in, and handed the girl the certificate for my cake.

She had never seen one before.

CRAP!, I thought. They’re going to say 'no'.

Instead of giving me a hard time (like some businesses do, thinking you’re giving them a bogus certificate), she simply called her manager over, verified she was allowed to accept the certificate, and then directed me over to the freezer where those 6 and 8 inch little circles of heaven were being kept frozen.

There are three Tim Hortons/Cold Stone Creamery locations in HRM. Halifax, Dartmouth and Bedford.

Unfortunately, the location I chose to stop at didn’t have a HUGE variety to choose from.

The Candy Cane Wonderland was there.

As much as candy cane was very Holiday-ish, I had only one problem with it. I only like candy cane/peppermint in very SMALL doses.

A whole candy cane cake?

Chances are I wouldn’t make it through three bites before tossing down the fork.

Not really fair to do a review on an item that would have one strike against it from the start.

I quickly looked over the others, and immediately mentally removed anything else that contained peppermint, and focused on what else I thought the kids might like.

That left ...

Cookies and Creamery

Cake Batter Confetti

Cookie Dough Delirium

… WAIT A MINUTE … Cookie dough?!?!? Cookie dough?!?!?!

SOLD!!!

Not only was cookie dough MY favourite, I hoped it would be the ONE cake, that I could get all four boys taste buds to agree to.

I was right!


We got home, and no sooner were we through the door, then the boys started asking for CAKE! CAKE! CAKE! CAKE!

They wanted cake?

I made them have a quick bite of 'food' first then ...

They got cake!

Look at those CHUNKS of cookie dough!

And?

They LOVED it!

Me? I’m a bit more of a challenge to win over.

Especially when it comes to ice cream cake.

As a rule, I generally don’t eat ice cream cake. It hurts my teeth and it’s just too freakin’ cold.

I think I’d have to be sitting poolside in Jamaica, in a blazing heat wave, before I’d actually ASK for an ice cream cake.

They’re just SO. FREAKIN’. COLD!

And did I mention cold?!?!?


But, I tried it.

And I LIKED it.

Granted, I couldn’t finish my whole piece. My teeth were screaming at me with each bite of frozen cookie dough chunk.

Oh. But … the cookie dough! MMMMMMMMM!!!! The COOKIE DOUGH!

Once it warmed up, and softened in my mouth, my taste buds were in heaven!

Huge chunks of it hiding within the smooth, creamy ice cream.

Once again, I'll say, MMMMMMMM!!!!

The only down side I see to this cake (oh get REAL, we're not even going to DISCUSS calories!) would be the price.

It would have to be a VERY special occasion, for me to justify blowing $25 on a cake.

No offense, Cold Stone, I wouldn't even pay that for a cheesecake, and THAT'S my absolute FAVOURITE!!!

I'm sorry I just couldn't bring myself to try the candy cane cake, but you know what?

They did what they set out to do regardless, because they wanted to give people another option to Fruitcake for the holidays and ...

Cold Stone Creamery, You DEFINITELY Kicked Fruitcake's Butt!!!

Thank you Cold Stone, for the generous offer of your gift certificate. The boys and I thoroughly enjoyed and appreciated your delicious ice cream creation!

K.

Oh, Stephen King? I'd Be Honoured If You'd Be My Tom Hanks!

For as long as I can remember, the only thing I wanted to do was write.

In grade five, I wrote a play.

The teacher liked it. I assembled a cast, we rehearsed, and then presented it to the class.

Any old classmates out there happen to remember that?

It was my first Stephen King-like attempt.

Something about vampires and Transylvania. I can’t recall anything else about it, other than the fact it took place on a train.

But what I do remember, is that rush of having written something that someone read, and liked.


People are always telling me I’m in the wrong line of work.

They say I should be 'writing'. Something. For someone. Somewhere.

I know. I agree.

I should be writing entertaining parenting articles. A horror novel. A new thriller series for teens about ...{Maybe someday you'll find out}...

Not business and training materials.


Problem is, I’m an artsy chick, niched in the tech and business world.

And when you’re a parent, especially a single parent like myself, you count yourself lucky to HAVE a half decent job.

And you take that responsible road, and stay where the paycheck, and benefits are.

My work feeds my family and provides the essentials we need to survive.

My writing makes me genuinely happy.

Unfortunately, they’re two separate worlds. They don't often collide.


I found a ‘fix’ for my writing itch with this blog.

As you all know, I absolutely LOVE my Korner.

It’s my safe place to be creative, expressive, and I still get that rush, every time I hit ‘Publish’, hoping someone, somewhere, will relate to my words, and maybe even have/offer an opinion on the particular topic.

But after I hit that ‘Publish’ button, more often than not, I can hear my mother in my head, ‘It’s just too bad you weren’t getting paid for all those stories you write, Kimberly’.

Agreed, Mom. Agreed.


Now ... I’m hoping that might change.

Because as of Jan 6th, I am officially being published online!

I mean, somewhere OTHER than here.

And … will (hopefully) be getting paid for it.

WooHoo! Go, Me!


A couple of months ago, I finally got off my butt and put myself ‘out there’.

Stephen King, James Patterson, Lisa Jackson - they were all simply taking too long to knock on my door.

You know, like Tom Hanks and wife Rita Wilson did, for another great Canadian chick, Nia Vardalos - with that whole Big Fat Greek Wedding thing.

I stopped waiting for an opportunity to fall into the Korner, and responded to an ad looking for writers at the news/information website, Examiner.com

And I was accepted!


After the OMIGOD feeling died down, it hit me.

Crap! Can I actually DO this?

One of the requirements is to write the articles in third person.

Can I do that? Outside work, I’m so used to sharing my own experiences, in first person, can I go back to writing in third?

I’ve been added to the Family and Parenting - Single Parents channel.

Can I keep my articles to ONLY (single) parenting topics, localized to Halifax, when we all know I have a tendency to go off on tangents?

Crap.


So, I sat down, and wrote my first article.

No, it’s not about single parenting.

It’s not even about parenting at all.


But it’s up there.

And people are reading!

OK, so I’m a rule- breaker bender. Deal with it.


As I said, my new home on Examiner.com is in the Parenting and Family Channel. Under Single Parents.

In Montreal.

No, I don’t live in Montreal, however, they currently don’t have an edition for Halifax.

Yet.

I hope to change that!

Or, you can just click here Kim Stoodley, to find my profile page, with a list of my articles.


I don’t have delusions of grandeur. I don’t expect to make millions from this experience.

But hey, you’ve got to start somewhere, right?

And if the golden voice of Ted Williams can be discovered on a street corner, then I’m staking my claim to fame on Examiner.com


Come visit me!

Subscribe to my feed.

Read the articles. Click that LIKE button. Repeat another day!

The more you do, the more possibilities there are for me to gain revenue for my articles.


You won’t find anything you’ve seen in the Korner, over at Examiner.

Like my work and blogging life, I’ll be keeping the Korner and Examiner as two separate entities.

Examiner references the Korner, but will not contain the same articles.


So now, you ... go ... read.

After clicking the Kim Stoodley link, scroll down just a bit past my profile info, and you'll see an article called Lumps on lymps (or you can just click that link right there).

This is my first article. It's on this page you can click that LIKE button.

Feel free to do so!


Alright. Now ... me ... deep breath.

Here we go - time for another new adventure, Kim!


Oh, and Mr King ... uh, Stephen, message me, please!

I have a great idea for my first thriller, a mix of both fiction, AND fact.

I just need someone to take that chance on me.

I'd be honoured if you'd be my Tom Hanks!


Or ... Rita Wilson.

Ya know, your choice.

K.

Dude, You'd Be LUCKY To Carry My Baggage!

Merry Christmas, and Happy New Year to you all!


We had a very quiet, and good Christmas in the Korner this year.

Stayed home, opened presents, then drove a couple of hours to Mom’s for Christmas dinner with family.

Good food, good company, good kids, good times!


I also had visitors of my own over the holidays.

Workers in my basement.

No, the renovations have NOT officially started yet. And DON’T get me started on WHY!

However, I did have workers in my house related to the flood cleanup.

Did I mention I had a flood in my basement?

No?

Yeah. That was FUN!


Not only did it hold up the start of renos, but now I’m fighting with the insurance company over the claim.

Did I mention FUN?!?!? NOT!!!!


The first day the workers were there, I worked from home.

Nice guys. One was older, training the ‘new guy’ who was starting his first day on the job, that day.


I talked to them on and off throughout the day. Gave them some music, offered drinks etc.

Just cause I’m nice and friendly that way ;-)

But for the most part, I left them to their work, and I sat upstairs at the kitchen table working on the laptop.


I could, however, hear their conversation downstairs.

Interesting, the things men talk about as they work.

Not surprisingly, one of the topics was … WOMEN!


Oh yeah. And did I get an EARFUL on THAT one!

The older guy was telling the younger guy about a recent date he’d had, and how the woman ended up being somewhat of a Bitch.

Something about her psychological well being was thrown in there as well, and a few other choice descriptions, but mostly … it was that she was a Bitch.


As I sat at the table listening, yes … I WAS listening, the only thought that seemed to be rolling through my mind was, ‘… and they say women gossip about men?!?!?!? Whoever ‘they’ are, ‘they’ have apparently NOT met this gentleman!’

Suddenly, I noticed a break in the conversation. It sounded like the older guy was whispering something.

Strange.

Why would he suddenly be whispering, when the entire previous part of the conversation was in normal, somewhat loud, tones?

Then, I think I heard the reason for the whispering …

The young guy replied to what the older guy had whispered...

'Well … yeah … the NICE ones ALWAYS come with baggage.’


My fingers paused over the keyboard. My mind completely forgot what it was I had been just about to type.

Surely I had misheard him.

I COULDN’T have heard what I thought I had just heard.

‘The nice ones always come with baggage.’

Well now. How’s THAT for a slap.


Maybe they were talking about me (because of the whispering), maybe not.

Regardless, the meaning of the sentence was CLEAR.

The ‘nice’ chicks come with kids. AKA … baggage.


Would anyone like to take a guess how much will power it took, for me NOT to fly down those stairs and give that young'un a piece of my ‘nice’ mind?!?!?!

OH. MY. GOD.

The only thing that stopped me, and I mean ONLY, is that I knew this kid had NO IDEA what he was talking about.

Baggage? BAGGAGE?!?!??!

You know, Buddy, kids aren’t baggage. They’re PEOPLE!

Granted, they're little people, but they’re people, nonetheless. Mine included!

NOT BAGGAGE!!!!


See this?

And this?

And this?

NOT baggage.


Baggage is something I store into the overhead bin on a plane. Or in the trunk of my car.

My kids? They are NOT baggage.


My kids are the MOST important thing in my life - right up there with breathing & blinking.

My kids ultimately help make me the person I am.

They make me strong, they keep me honest, they give me a love for life and adventure.

Not baggage.


Would I have met Bret Hart if not for my kids? Probably not.

Would I have been 70 ft in the trees, zip lining and thrill-climbing? Most likely not.

Would I continually try to be the best person I can be, so these two little people will be proud to call me Mom? Maybe … maybe not. Who knows.

My kids are actually pretty cool people, who are damn fun to hang around, when they’re not being jerks to each other.


Unfortunately, some guys just don’t get that.

This young’un was apparently one of them.


I held my tongue. I didn’t say anything nasty to him.

Oh but I wanted to! Believe me!

If nothing else, what I REALLY wanted to tell that boy was, ‘Ya know what Dude? The very first time you and your girl have a child, and you hold that baby in your arms, you remember me getting your face and telling you ‘They’re NOT baggage!’. Cause I’m SURE you’ll NEVER think of kids that way again!’


I’m convinced, if you’re not a parent, whether through natural delivery, adoption, or through whatever other means got you there, you just don’t get it.

A parent just doesn’t think of their child as baggage. Ever.

A pain in the ass sometimes? Absolutely!

Baggage? NEVER!

Sure, some days, I’d love to simply wrap ‘em in bubble wrap, stuff ‘em in a box with a sticker on it that says ‘Airmail … Zimbabwe’, but with one heartfelt apology, one goofy grin, or hug, that feeling passes.

They’re not baggage. They’re the best part of my life.

Hopefully someday, Dude, you’ll get it.

Oh, and just so ya know? Dude, you'd be LUCKY to carry my baggage!

K.