motherbumper

2011-05-27T00:45:00.004-04:00

motherbumper doesn't live here anymore.

but you should have been redirected by now.

just in case that doesn't happen:

continue to motherbumper's new home

Dust In The Wind

2011-05-05T17:46:00.000-04:00

He looks so lonely since Dallas has gone. No surprise really. He doesn't show any other signs of mourning -- or at least the ones I've witnessed in my 30+ years of cat relations.

Recently a black kitten has started visiting our balcony at night and instead of hissing and freaking out at this visitor as per strange-cat protocol, Emmett sits and visits with the little guy (or gal). They sit, with a screen between them, every so often saying a mew.

*************

We received a letter from the University of Guelph this week. Our vet had made a monetary donation to the veterinary school in Dallas's name and Ontario Veterinary College sent us a letter of thanks and condolence. Both beautiful and good business sense.

****************

There has been a noticeable decrease in dust bunnies since Dallas passed.

I always endeavor to find positive in every situation.

Bust A Royal Move

2011-04-17T20:07:00.000-04:00

If royal weddings were more like this, I'd probably drag my butt out of bed at 5:00 am to watch.

Personally, this time around I'll just wait for the highlight reel. Haven't bothered to get up for one of these things since the Andrew and Fergie fest way back in the 80s. Don't get me wrong, I have a soft spot for the Royal family but are they worth losing precious, precious sleep over? Nah. How about you, will you wake up for the festivities?

Montage Redux

2011-04-06T08:08:00.000-04:00

Last night my daughter had her first drum lesson. We weren't too sure what to expect and set all expectations on low because after all she is the fickle five. She often expressed interest in taking classes and is a great lover of music so we thought we'd give it at least a one lesson try. Heck, might as well try it out somewhere that is not my home.

The girl has always loved music. I played it often when she was a baby to stave off my boredom and stimulate her brain. We would dance around for long stretches and making her laugh kept me somewhat sane. Her musical tastes have evolved into her own and these days it ranges from ABBA to Bieber to Gaga to Yeah Yeah Yeahs and everything in between. She even has been known to break out some ACDC when the mood calls for it. That girl is most definitely complex.

Some nights her musical selections melt my heart with requests for The Immigrant Song or Superstar before bedtime. Listening to her decipher lyrics reminds me of being a kid glued to the stereo and pouring over lyric sheets.

Anyway. The lesson went well and after it was done her teacher selected a set of sticks to help her practice her rhythms on a pillow at home. Turns out the best sticks for her hands are from the Phil Collins collection. Trust me when I say that those drum sticks are the only things from any Phil Collins collection that will cross the threshold of my home. *cue mass exodus of insulted Phil Collins fans*

The drum teacher handed her the sticks on the way out and the wide look in her eyes when she whispered to me 'can I keep these?' washed away any doubt that she had fun.

On the walk home she started to hit anything that produced a noise while she richotiated around in that typical 5 yo pinball fasjion. As she dragged the sticks along a fence while dancing to the song in her head, she became a classic music montage from an 80s film.

And it was beautiful.

It's Not Wrong That I Wanted To Clip It's Wings

2011-03-31T22:31:00.001-04:00

I really, really, really, like really miss reading and writing posts during my down time. #FreeTimeIsAMyth #GoodThingILoveWork #AndMoney

Usually that statement would be said on Twitter but it wasn't because that thought meant so much more to me than 140 could ever get across.

Not that there wouldn't be many friends on Twitter who would instantly feel the familiar without the benefit of a post and reply with something in 'preaching to the choir' genre -- because I'm confident there would be plenty of people out there who would completely understand.

And not because my tweets are thoughtless (okay, maybe they are 90% 10% of the time) because my personal rule is to count to ten and read it again before sending anything out there -- and personal rules apply at least ~~10%~~ 90% of the time. Twitter is important to me. Twitter is how I keep one toe in mah commun-i-tee. Twitter is integral to my sanity (not really). Twitter is my life-line during the day (really). But I also think Twitter killed the Bloggio Star. My comments became @s and the illusion of knowing what was going on out *there* felt like a reality on Twitter until making time for a quick flip through the reader lead me to feel more disconnected than ever.

But I digress.

That first statement didn't become a tweet because I needed to prove to myself that thoughts could once again gorge themselves and gain weight before going on a diet of editing. Also the need to prove that I could be an active participant in the blogging community by -- wait for it -- writing a post (how novel!) was badly needed.

Last year I had made a personal pledge to spend more time writing, reading, and commenting on posts just like back in the 'old days'. I set a really realistic goal of two comments a day because we all know that reading blogs is like falling down the rabbit hole and finding a couple of posts where something can be added is easy enough. In the beginning it was easy, goals were met times five. It felt good and it felt like I was catching up with old friends because that was exactly what it was -- reading about their lives and thoughts instead of just the headlines.

Then as all things do with annoying regularity, things began to fall apart. Streaks where there was no time to read and/or comment -- much less time for write -- lasted for days which stretched to weeks and then... well like I said, it all fell apart.

So here I am, flexing my typing fingers, favoring them over my Blackberry thumbs, and not tweeting.

Free Association Time! Nipples, Rings, and Pupils.

2011-03-16T21:32:00.002-04:00

Unbelievable.

At our dinner table this evening the conversation was about the differences between nipples and pupils. Apparently they sound too alike to my 5yo (must be my accent) and she thought it was hysterical to keep mixing them up. She's right, it is hilarious.

The talk disintegrated into a discussion on who has nipples (cats, humans, horses) and who doesn't (snakes, cicadas, Barbie). While these are the kind of conversations I could do without, I don't want to forget them.

Parenthood is like that, forgetting and all.

When she was an infant, I couldn't wait for the diapers and sore nipples to just STOP, I just wanted it over and why the hell would I want to remember that stuff but... I don't want to forget a minute of it.

Wish it didn't slip away so fast.

*******************

I have a ring fetish. Can't stop buying them and I just added to the collection.

These two silver dressy ones are new and gladly joined my beach glass collection.

Putting them on satisfies my urge to play dress up all the time. Do we ever outgrow that? I didn't think so.

*******************

Growing up is for chumps. I just wish my daughter understood that.

Somebody tell her please.

Stop growing up so fast kiddo.

Little Black Bear

2011-03-06T11:56:00.001-05:00

Last week my little bear Dallas passed away. He was 13 which in cat years is kind of old but not really.

Dallas came into our lives with his brother Emmett when they were about five years old. They had been shuttled around from home to home, neglected but not outright abused, and we had to teach them everything about living in a home where they weren't considered pests. Within a few looooong weeks of being in my then-boyfriend, now-husband's care they blossomed into characters that simultaneously drove us nuts and happy yet we couldn't live without them.

Just like kids.

Dallas was mine. He loved me and made special squeaks and purrs that were just. for. me.

Before baby G came along he would stretch out across my body when I was flopped out on the couch, something that he stopped doing once my belly grew with bambino and he never returned to do afterwards. That probably had to with the fact that I didn't get a chance to lie on the couch like that for years after G was born.

He would follow me around and comment on everything I was doing. He was mine and Emmett belonged to my husband. It was just meant to be that way.

Then the baby came along and everything changed.

Dallas made wide berth for the baby and me but once she became a respectful toddler who didn't always pull his tail, we settled back down into my fuzzy black bear boyfriend routine.

Emmett misses him though he hasn't directly said so.

I think Emmett isn't sure what is going on. He knows he is gone but at the same time he still searches. Death in the animal world is such a huge unknown. They get it, just ask an elephant or crow.

Don't tell me he doesn't miss him.

You would too if your brother was your only constant.

We miss you little black bear.

25 Things Deemed Double Rainbow Worthy In 25 Minutes

2011-02-20T19:51:00.005-05:00

Listening to my husband read our 5yo the Harry Potter series. They are on the third book and she is completely fascinated. I worried she wouldn't be able to follow along but boy was I wrong.
Seeing the lightbulb go off when helping someone understand techie/geeky things.
Making new friends who just go *click*.
Biting the top off of a Cadbury cream egg, removing the contents with my tongue, then devouring the shell without one sticky drop on my hand or chin. I has talents and I knows how to use thems.
When my 5yo willingly shares a story about her day. Doesn't matter what it's about, it excites me that she wants to share it with me.
Getting a full night's sleep. It's so rare that it must be celebrated in my books.
Finding a comfortable seat on the subway or streetcar.
Feeling organized.
Private lists on Twitter because it allows me to organize my online life without needing to explain my madcap categories.
Bookstores with comfy seats.
Finding a table near an outlet at the coffee shop.
Days with no screaming or tears.
Office supplies.
Squirrels!
Watching great television (currently working my way through Mad Men and yes, I *heart* Don Draper)
Movies, movies, movies. Nothing sounds better to me than sitting down and escaping into someone's vision of [insert topic here].
Successful escapes.
Finding a bra that fits. Then being able to afford multiples.
Having a pedicure where no one utters a thing other than 'great colour choice'
Massages.
Making it to a yoga class.
Finding jeans that fit and require no alterations or a bank loan.
Watching the Westminister Kennel Club Dog Show.
Making fresh pesto with toasted pine nuts over pasta.
Traveling with someone who likes to go the local route over the tourist one. Unless the tourist route involves Sasquatch statues and the like because then I want to be with someone who also cannot resist the siren song of kitsch. Which for the record sounds like a Danzig / Don Ho mashup performed on the accordion.

Schmutzie started it, I'm doing it, are you in? 25 minutes, 25 things that make you feel all double rainbow. GO!

Thank Heaven For Little Girls

2011-02-15T07:39:00.002-05:00

Not a very original title but I stand by it. Mind you, I'm sure little boys hold their own lengthy list of reasons for gratitude but girls are what I know so please forgive my sexist slant.

One thing I miss and haven't done in a while is feted a baby across this tangled web. Baby showers make me smile. It's been too long since the my last shower attendance which isn't as unhygienic as it sounds. Babies are meant to be celebrated.

Parties need to be thrown for babies, babies like Mozzie, a little girl who's arrival this coming May has been greatly anticipated by this lovely lady. For the record, Casey has more patience I could ever muster in pregnancy. Anyway. Mozzie's particular party has been happening for a few weeks over at DesignHer Momma's and like any fun party, there are prizes to be won (no really, there are prizes: this time around is a Puj Tub).

Today Casey will be opening a small care package from me, something full of mostly Canadian magic, mostly for her with something special for Mozzi. I hope it makes her smile. And if you need to smile today (and who doesn't?) think about the magic babies bring (these pictures have made me smile for many days now).

Babies are meant to be celebrated.

Kids Renaissance: Week 6 -- 100 Days Of Attitude Edition

2011-02-14T07:00:00.003-05:00

Today marks my 5yo's 100th day at school this year and I'm not sure what they do at your child's school but this is a main event at her alma mater.

Just like last year, we needed to create a project of any 100 things to represent the days attended thus far.

In JK, she chose to find 100 pictures of horses and glue into a workbook which sounded like a very cool idea when she came up with it. But I must clarify when I say that 'she chose to find 100 pictures of horses and glue them into a workbook' that really meant she declared herself the project manager overseeing her team [aka. me] who would create this hectare of horses.

This meant that at this time last year I spent an entire evening finding pictures of horses, then printing, cutting, and pasting said pictures of pestiferous ponies into a workbook that my daughter chose. I did that. Me. All alone. Because my child, my awesome and completely strong-willed little angel of anarchy? She had next to no interest in actually doing the project. Well nearly none. She told me where to glue stuff a couple of times.

Anyway. I remember thinking the entire time 'this had better not be an indication of my involvement in this child's future homework because hold the phone Pointdexter, I ain't going back to school again. It was traumatic enough the first time.' Mind you, it is tempting to see if I could do better with a second time around at school. Thoughts of me being like Drew Barrymore in that movie where she's a narc and gets a second chance at high school after being a complete dork the first time [too lazy to google] have crossed my mind but then you know, something shiny passes by and *poof* there goes that daydream. Plus I'm not sure there is much call for adult narcs at my daughter's elementary school. Or at least I hope there is not.

Bottom line my child needs to do her own homework. And this year she did. Sorta. Considering she has had only one assignment per year so far, she did do a whole lot more this time around. In fact she did most of it. She counted out all the coins, she picked the shape and the color scheme, I glued the outline and even though it's all blocked out here, she wrote out some details and signed her name.

Behold 100 days of school on St. Valentine's Day:

For the record: she stole the change from my change bowl. Need I say more?

Kids Renaissance: Week 5

2011-02-07T08:12:00.001-05:00

Beauty.

That was not a word that filled me with dread before I became a parent to a girl but now that an impressionable feminine mystique has been put in my charge, I dread the topic of beauty. Maybe it would be the same if I was raising a boy but that I will never know and honestly, I doubt it.

Defining beauty for my child is one of the most difficult things I've had to do as a parent. One does not want to warp her ideas, one wants her to make the definition her own. If she finds beauty in what isn't the norm, will she have the confidence to keep it in the category of beauty when it comes under scrutiny by her peers or media? The last thing I want to do is pass on my own issues with the definition of beauty. How can I stop others from hammering into her head the false impression that skinny, tall, big tits, tiny waists are all you need to be a beauty? Confidence, that's all I can arm her with: confidence.

So that's what I do. For now true beauty is winning, I hope to keep it that way.

Beautiful Girl - Gigi Age 5, marker on paper

So have you created a virtual corner for your child's artwork on your blog before it's ~~tossed~~ filed away? If you have, please share a link with me in the comments below. I promise I will drop by and tell you that you are also raising a member of the future renaissance, because you probably are.

Post Blissdom Let Down With A Liberal Sprinkling Of Sighs

2011-02-02T14:33:00.000-05:00

*sigh* It's over. Blissdom is over and wishes that life had a rewind button have gone unfulfilled.

When I uploaded the photos off my camera post-Blissdom it took about 2.2 seconds. It seems there was only about a dozen photos on the card. While I'd love to blame the camera the real issue was with the photographer -- as in the photographer didn't take any photos. *sigh*

I mean, I did take some photos. Take for instance this disco ball. I took 40 pictures like this. This particular sparkly globe feted those who attended the grand parties thrown by the Blissdom ladies.

And that's about it for photos. Seriously, that's it.

Why does my camera always remain pretty much unused at conferences? Why do I always depend on others to take photos? Why don't I make the time to snap some memories? Most of my time was spent catching up with beautiful blogging friends (and making new ones) and during the rare moments when there was no one to catch up with or meet, minutes were killed hiding behind my Blackberry. It's always safe behind my Blackberry.

Mind you, a photo was snapped of one of my favorite friends, Amy Turn Sharp. She doesn't really have a mustache though if she did, I'm sure it would be made of solid gold. The only reason this photo even happened was the fact that she saw me sitting alone at a table with my camera, so being the beautiful persons she is, she grabbed the mustache and demanded I take a photo. I've never been so happy to oblige a snap. It only took me ten minutes because I couldn't figure out my camera [insert eye roll].

And somewhere else on someone's camera are photos that prove I had fun and friends while being all Blissdom-y.

Like when I molested my beloved Anissa and made a new beloved with Robin (she's luscious) plus forced myself on Cecily. Then there were my roomies and awesome lovelies Heather and Schmutzie. We stayed up every night until 2am plotting how we were going to use dead bodies as sleds (don't worry, it was our dead bodies that were going to be used.) (Not other people's dead bodies because that would be wrong and just plain weird.) (Actually that whole dead body thing sounds bad so forget I mentioned that dead bodies at all, k? Thanks.)

Not to mention I loved inappropriately touching and/or stalking Sassy Irish Lassie, Ann, Carmen, MomoFali, Amy Tucker, Aimee Greeblemonkey, Michelle, Rachel, Casey, and Heather to just name-drop a few wonderful people that were there and who I had the luck to speak with -- even if it was for just a few minutes. I know I've forgotten many others that should be on my victims list but I'm running out of time [stupid work and silly family demands *rolls eyes*].

So there you have it. The wisdom workshop I lead with Amy Tucker and Erica RAWKED! (if I say so myself and I do so there) and that Blissdom post I haven't written is still somewhere up in my head with nary a chance of making it to the screen for sharing. I guess all I can do is yell out: I went to Blissdom and all I came back with was some pretty awesome memories and friends.

Conferences rock.

Kids Renaissance: Week 4

2011-01-24T07:00:00.016-05:00

While I'm enthusiastic about my daughter's artwork sometimes her medium makes my head explode.

Last weekend I was at the library doing some research. When enough work had been accomplished to my satisfaction, I rewarded myself with a break to write in my journal. But upon cracking the journal open, the pages dropped to reveal a mural done by my 5yo.

Now while the mural she created was awesome, my head still exploded. It covered many pages and depicted a Captain Caveman type character who had many friends doing many things. Yet despite the awesome details: it was in the MIDDLE OF MY WONDER WOMAN WRITING JOURNAL. My Wonder Woman private thoughts journal had been violated. *sigh*

So it goes when becoming a parent.

*double sigh*

Anyway. That mural is not her renaissance contribution this week, her secret garden is -- or at least I think it's the entrance her secret garden. Like the Captain Caveman mural I mentioned above, it was found in a place that made my head explode: the walls of my 5yo's room.

Behind my daughter's bedroom door is a smaller door, done in Sharpie and highlighter (*double gulp* that door is permanent as permanent is) and where it leads? She won't tell me. I'm completely fascinated by this door and where she imagines it leads. She says I will never know because it's not a door for moms to use. *triple sigh*

Gigi - medium OUR WALLS and SHARPIE *faints*

I still love it even if I'm not allowed to use BUT my head still explodes at it's permanence and location. Plus I'm not sure our landlord will appreciate her artwork.

So have you created a virtual corner for your child's artwork on your blog before it's ~~tossed~~ filed away? If you have, please share a link with me in the comments below. I promise I will drop by and tell you that you are also raising a member of the future renaissance, because you probably are.

It's Like Amsterdam, But Cheaper And With More Wool

2011-01-20T07:00:00.002-05:00

When I headed back to work outside the home last November, one thing that stressed me out was my commute. The idea of wrangling my daughter out the door on time, catching the bus from her school to the subway, and then making my way downtown gave me the cold sweats. How was I going to get this done? I know millions do it daily but I have trouble getting myself out the door on time, much less a child full of resistance. Thinking about it gives the shivers.

Lucky for me, my husband started working from home so I pawned that struggle off on him and he loves it. Something about exercise and getting to know her school chums, yadda yadda yadda ecetera. Whatever he loves about it, awesome, as long as I don't need to do it on a regular basis.

I know, I'm damn lucky but of course that has recently changed. I'm working modified hours and there really is no reason I can't take her to school a couple days of the week. Damn.

My first foray into getting her to school was this past Monday. After getting her stuff in the cubby, I ran out the door and across the street to catch the bus. This bus must be timed just right or it's a looooong walk to the subway. I was early so I decided to do what most in my position do when given a few extra minutes, Twitter.

There was company at the bus stop and let me tell you, it's a rare event when I can feel superior to those iPhone users. Here I was on my Blackberry, it was -30 before the windchill, and I had my gloves on while I scrolled and tweeted away. Let's ignore the fact that my gloves caused me to prematurely tweet all over the place, I could still tweet without losing digits to frostbite. Those iPhone users at the bus stop were either going to need a new set of hobo fingers OR amputations due to exposure to cold. Blackberry 1 iPhone 0.

Anyway. The bus came and based on my totally non-scientific research, bus people are different than subway people. It's subtle but the difference is there. As I squeezed myself into a seat somewhere in the middle of the bus (seriously, squeezing my polar explorer gear into the seat caused me to sit the entire ride with my shoulders touching my ears -- winter fashion fail), a couple of teens stood in front of me. These two proceeded to put on a prudent but still live sex-show for me and because I was stuck in my polar gear with limited range of motion, I COULD NOT LIVE TWEET IT. I know, you are disappointed, but here's the visual. She was small, wearing tights and Uggs and barely had her lower body covered. He was goofy and was wearing hammer pants. NO LIE. They both had tongues. It was one interesting way to start a Monday morning.

It doesn't seem like that long ago that I was a silly girl wearing tights and short skirts in -30 weather, putting fashion before frostbite. *sigh* Those were the days. Never put on a live no-sex show on the bus though, even I had limitations.

Anyway. There is no point to this post other than commuting is hard, teens have tongues, and for once, I feel superior about my Blackberry over the iPhone. Booyah.

BTW, I'm also guest posting over at the lovely Emma Waverman's Embrace the Chaos about having an only child and the questions it brings. Questions that I throw back at people's heads if I just had a faster mouth and a lot more nerve.

Kids Renaissance: Week 3

2011-01-17T08:00:00.014-05:00

The following piece from my daughter's collection was a proud acquisition from back in November of 2010. I had just returned to work full-time outside the home and my 5yo was pretty much not speaking to me.

She didn't want to hear about my work. No way. Nuh-un. Not a word about it. Mommy's work was a non-starter.

So I didn't press it. If she wanted to know where I was all day then I'd just have to wait for her to come around to asking.

It was about two weeks into my job when she finally asked what I did during her weekdays. So I explained and she listened, then she was quiet. She then asked if my coworkers had kids (they do) and if they come to work (they don't). I let that sit for a while and it seemed like the conversation was over.

Then I remembered that most of my coworkers with kids had their children's artwork displayed somewhere on their desk -- or at least I hope it's their children's art work because if it isn't... well good for them for trying to draw their family. Anyway. I told G that most of them had pictures on their desk done by their kids. She nodded and that was what I thought was the end of the conversation.

The next morning I was presented with the following ink on paper drawing. She told me it was us on the day she sprouted her first tooth and it was for my desk at work.

First Tooth (medium: pen and paper)

I placed it with pride on my desk and it really does make me smile every day. Plus my Donny Osmond pearls make beam with pride.

So have you created a virtual corner for your child's artwork on your blog before it's ~~tossed~~ filed away? If you have, please share a link with me in the comments below. I promise I will drop by and tell you that you are also raising a member of the future renaissance, because you probably are.

Kids Renaissance: Week 2

2011-01-10T07:00:00.001-05:00

The second installation of Kid's Renaissance, aka: my daughter's virtual fridge artwork showcase, is somewhat creepy and totally fascinating.

For the record I have no idea where she gets her artistic inspirations from but as I've said many times before on this blog, I'm sure it will all come out in future therapy sessions (denial of Oh Henry bars? Her mother's constant eye-rolls over all the freakin' princess/barbie-related paraphernalia? Not enough television? Who knows, all I know is that therapy is definitely in our future.)

Anyway, here I present Two Sad Unicorns, a mommy and daughter, facing unknown hardship that my daughter was unable to expand on: 'They are just sad mommy, SAD'.

Behold the Two Sad Unicorns.

Two Sad Unicorns. Artist: Gigi, age 5 Medium: markers on newsprint

If do the same at your blog -- and I really do encourage you to create a virtual corner for your child's artwork before it's ~~tossed~~ filed away -- please share a link with me in the comments below. I promise I will drop by and tell you that you are also raising a member of the future renaissance, because you probably are.

Never Gonna Happen

2011-01-09T16:18:00.000-05:00

Conversation on the walk to our friend's birthday party today:

5yo: I want a poodle...

and a ... a... a... poma... pomara... a fluffy dog with a bow.

Me: I want an Australian cattle dog just like Mad Max had in the movies.

Him: I want a car just like Mad Max.

Odds are none of us will get what we want. Oh well, we all know groceries and a car seat would never fit inside the back of that thing and none of us would want to stoop to scoop poop in the city so yeah, it's never gonna happen.

Motherbumper: crushing dreams since 2005.

Kids Renaissance: Week 1

2011-01-03T11:27:00.003-05:00

It has turned into an annual event. Each year after Christmas, my husband and daughter take off to his parents place and momma gets some sweet, sweet alone time. And during that time (when I'm not deathly ill) a great purge takes place in our home.

For a family of three, we have far too much stuff and I'm sure this is an affliction that many of my fellow bloggers know too well. Most of the time the purge is fairly easy to execute but a wall is always hit when I get to my child's stuff. Sure it's easy to lob the Happy Meal toys and other ~~trash~~ treasures that will never be missed into the garbage bin but one thing I have a really hard time getting rid of is her art work.

The creative energy is strong with my five year old, I say. Always has been and hopefully always will be.
If we kept it all, we would have smothered to death under the weight of paper and be the focus of an upcoming A&E investigative special. But what should we do with the artwork we just can't toss? Currently all her extra special creations are filed away in a series of accordion folders which are only opened quickly once a week when her school file comes home, laden with more 'keepsakes'. But even those deemed special enough to keep are threatening to take over far too much precious shelf space. This begs the question:

For my daughter's inevitable therapy sessions, how much of her artwork should I keep in order to avoid any future discussions with regards to how awful a parent I was by not cherishing all her creative endeavors?

Right after I asked myself that exact question last week, I came up with this idea: why not showcase it here? I know that almost every parent thinks their child is a talented and creative artist -- because despite what anyone else says: THEY ARE -- and why not share it with the world? Kids are incredibly creative and there is something very humbling about the simplicity of a child's perspective of their world.

So here it begins on the first Monday of 2011, a piece from my daughter's gallery entitled 'Butterfly'.

By Gigi, Age 5. Medium: Markers and Paper.

Please do the same at your blog, create a virtual corner for your child's artwork before it's tossed -- I mean filed away -- and share a link in the comments below. I promise I will drop by and tell you that you are also raising a member of the future renaissance, because you probably are.

Come on now, share. Make these blog posts a virtual fridge gallery for the world to enjoy.

Fever Has Broken: The State Of Being Alone.

2010-12-29T11:53:00.000-05:00

Originally I had started writing a post about how much I love being alone but the topic was sidelined by my body. Good thing that both topics fit on the same page.

My family left me on Boxing Day to visit the grandparents and I stayed here in the city to get things done, those things that require no one under foot (purging closets and wardrobes), writing, and work.

Too bad my body didn't agree with this solitary break.

About two weeks ago I developed what seemed like a normal cold. I felt crappy, nothing horrible, just general yuck. So I took some daytime cold medicine and went on my merry way. At night I'd take lots of vitamin C and Cold-FX, drink my fluids and get plenty of sleep, just like momma ordered.

But I just couldn't shake it. My chest was heavy, an annoying cough developed and threatened to make me produce snot-bubbles in public, plus my eyes felt like they were on fire. It hurt to blink which was no exaggeration. It felt like sand and broken glass were under my lids so I consulted those medical types and started treatment for pink eye. Personally I haven't experienced pink eye in eons but our 5yo gets it at least once a year so I knew the drill. Wash all the pillowcases, keep the hands clean, and for the love of Pete, DON'T TOUCH YOUR EYES. Usually after a couple days of treatment it goes away but instead mine seemed to get worse.

The odd day was taken off from work, some days I worked from home, and honestly I really did take good care of myself yet nothing worked. Christmas came and I woke up sick as ever with family about to arrive on our doorstep for turkey time. I would have rather rolled over and stayed in bed but no such luck. Turkey won't cook itself yanno.

But I survived the day and that evening I crawled back to bed knowing full well that the family was leaving tomorrow and that all the sleep very much needed would be soon achieved.

Sleep I did not get. Instead I woke up with eyes worse than ever, swollen completely shut, so I made my way to urgent care in hopes that they had a miracle cure (ten years I worked in the hospitals and I still believe the myth that they can cure all that ails you. I'm such a glass-half-full person.) Quick exam after a long wait and the ENT specialist informed me that what I had was untreatable. The sound I made at that pronouncement sounded like a wounded animal death wail.

He obviously felt sorry for me and after some consultation on his iPhone app that I presumed was for difficult patients, he said he would write a script for a stronger antibiotic plus an antihistamine that can be applied directly to the eyes.

'You have a drug plan, right?' were his parting words.

After a trip to the pharmacy, I understood the last statement. Ouch, even with the drug plan.

Yet despite his negative nancy attitude, the drugs did work and lo' behold, days later my eyes were nearly back to normal.

But guess what? That very evening I developed a deep cough. A cough so deep and heavy that I felt like my chest was being crushed by an elephant. Then I felt cold, oh so very cold, yet my face was flushed. I staggered to the hall closet and found the digital thermometer and discovered my temp was 102. AWE. SOME.

I'm gonna get ya

So that's how you want to play it body? Way to show me who is boss. Uncle. You win.

To bed I went, getting nothing done on my list since the idea of just lifting my head seemed impossible.

As I lay there, too uncomfortable to sleep, pushing the cat away who kept sticking his paw in my mouth (no lie, why did he keep doing that?), I remembered what it was like to live on my own. For years I lived on my own, no roommates, with just a phone as my lifeline. I love being on my own which is why I look forward to this annual week alone event each year.

I am a solitary person, a loner if you will, despite the fact that I have many friends. Anyone who really knows me, knows that I'd rather be on my own any day. Sure, I love my family and friends so much so that if I could teleport them back right now, I'd do it, but it doesn't change the fact that I need lots of "me time".

I know many people who cannot stand being alone. They are constantly planning get-togethers, events, and making sure that every last minute is filled with friends and family. Good for them though I sometimes wonder if they are scared to be alone? Being alone means being alone with your thoughts (though in my case being alone means being with two crotchety old cats who like to stick their paws in my mouth when I'm snoring). Being alone allows for self-reflection and I could not, would not, trade those small epiphanies for anything. Self-reflection can and will change your life and keeping the time to do this at bay because of a fear of being alone can be detrimental. If you don't know yourself, how can others get to know you?

Trust me, I know this from experience.

Maybe you don't need a week alone to sort out life. But I do wonder how many people out there do take the time -- an hour, day, or week -- to find themselves, ground themselves, and set the ship on the right course? My body may have rebelled against me from getting things done this week but at least the alone time brought me some all important mental health.

Do you take this all important time for yourself? Do it. If you don't my cat will come over and stick his paw in your mouth.

For The Memory Box: Edition 1899

2010-12-20T08:00:00.038-05:00

File these two under moments I do not want to forget:

My 5yo asked me if she could listen to the song where 'the guy who sings like a girl but isn't. You know the one that ends with the squid.'

The blank star must have given me away because she then proceeded to make that 'ugh parents' exasperated sigh which she punctuated with 'you know, THE SQUID'.

Like yelling 'the squid' louder really helped.

This child is going to be the death of me during the teen years.

She then jumped off her bed, defying any protests from me for her to get right back in bed, stomped out to the living room, fished the iTouch out of my purse, and proceeded to locate the song by The Darkness I Believe In A Thing Called Love in 2.2 seconds.

Oh right, the squid.

You know, the squid that the lead singer -- who is a guy but sounds like a girl -- kills with a laser coming out of his forehead because it's attacked the band's space ship. A space ship that appears to consist of a band stand and a round bed with satin sheets that facilitate the writhing of the lead singer who looks like he hit every stick on the way down in his fall from the 70s tree twenty years too late.

Perhaps letting her watch that particular music video was not the best parenting decision to date. She absorbs way too much of the stuff I don't want her to absorb. Isn't that always the way?

Well I won't beat myself up, I'm sure we all have ~~a hundred dozen~~ one of those in our books. Right?

******************

Also for the virtual memory book:

Seeing her bounce out of her room -- after bedtime -- in a sparkly outfit with tutus around her face and announcing 'look Mom and Dad, I'm a flower!' and then dancing back to her room before either of can say 'getbacktoyourroomrightnoooooooooooow!'

Totally wish I had a video camera mounted to my head.

Can't lie: Also wish I had a way to keep her in her room after bedtime.

Be Your Own Barista (Tassimo T20 Giveaway!)

2010-12-19T23:53:00.007-05:00

This week I'm hosting a giveaway for US readers. Tassimo asked if I wanted to try a Tassimo T20 Brewbot and give one away to a reader. Since I consider myself a coffee junkie I figured why not, I've always wondered how these machines compare to 'normal' coffee makers. Not to imply that Tassimos are 'weird' but the fact that these machines can read bar codes does put it in a different category. We all know that inventions like this bring us one step closer to the robot uprising, don't we? (Tassimo is never going to ask me to review their stuff ever again so enter the giveaway while you can. Details below.)

First of all I need to tell you that the Tassimo T20 is not a robot despite the fact that it is a brewbot and if you go over to the Brewbot site, the first coffee machine you see on the screen goes all Optimus Prime on what I assume would be my coffee cup. I'm not fooled by that smile.

Anyway. It turns out there is no such thing as a real brewbot which took about four emails to clear up when I was discussing the product with the folks at Tassimo. Good thing they told me this otherwise I'd probably still be shouting at it to get out of the box and get to work because if there is anything I learned from The Jetson's, it's to never tolerate a lazy robot.

Now despite the fact that this machine will not serve me coffee in bed (unless I put it on my bedside table), it does serve me coffee faster than any other machine I've ever owned. It also has served me hot chocolate and it could serve me cappuccinos or teas or espressos or lattes which is something my 'normal' coffee maker can't do.

Poor inadequate 'normal' coffee maker.

Oh I'm kidding my 'normal' coffee maker, you do a great job every morning brewing my daily pot of lifeblood but this here Tassimo T20, you don't need to worry about her. She just makes those little one-offs, 'quickies' if you will, and they don't mean anything baby, nothing at all. Hush now, you aren't going anywhere.

While my 'normal' coffee maker has nothing to worry about, the Tassimo T20 is pretty cool. The Gelivia coffee discs that were included with the machine were perfectly measured to my tastes and if I was single again, this would be cover my daily coffee needs. These days I can see the advantage of having the ability to make a single cup of coffee at midday when I sometimes need just one more cup. It would also be great for guests since I could offer them a plethora of hot bevvys -- not that I ever have guests over but for this exercise I'd like to pretend there is an active social life somewhere in reach.

The drink discs were easy to find at our grocery store, and also priced well for a fast hot drink (around a buck a cup for the more expensive brands like Starbucks, less for others). So far we like the Gelivia coffee and Starbucks Cappuccino but the hot chocolate was meh -- it reminded me of the watery hot chocolate out of the machines at my university student union and that's not a a compliment. Mind you, my husband switched out one of the creamy discs from the Starbuck's Cappuccino and mixed it with the hot chocolate and declared it tolerable. I'm also surprised how much my husband likes the machine. He's really happy that he can fit his thermos mug in the well and brew a hot cup of something before heading out to the schoolyard for pick-up on those days when it's -25.

Overall the coffee drinkers of this household gave it two thumbs up even though we agree it doesn't replace a multi-cup brewing system. Yet the machine gets lots of bonus points for the multiple beverage choices plus ridiculous ease of use.

Now for the giveaway! I will pick one lucky comment via Random.org and they will receive a Tassimo T20 Brewbot (note: not real robot). One entry per email address, residents of the continental US over the age of 18 years, and must be able to provide a valid mailing address (no PO Boxes).

Leave a comment below and include which one of the different beverages would you want to brew first with your new Tassimo T20 if you win -- go here for a list of the of drinks. Contest Closes December 24th, 2010 at 5pm EST. Good Luck!

UPDATE DECEMBER 24th:
CONTEST NOW CLOSED. GOOD LUCK AND MERRY CHRISTMAS!

WINNER WILL BE ANNOUNCED SHORTLY.

FYI: I received the brewer and products at no cost for review and all opinions are mine own. Booyah.

It's A Wrap! And It's Giveaway Time!

2010-12-13T12:22:00.003-05:00

via lolcats.com

Holy blatant exclamation point abuse in that title Batman but I just love hosting Canadian giveaways so I feel justified in my excitement (sorry America but I do have a giveaway coming your way ASAP so stay tuned.) But back to this giveaway.

So who here has a cat? I have two of those little furry babies who are not so little and they aren't really babies either. Both are almost twelve years old and incredibly crotchety, rarely moving unless food is involved.

BUT they do move for something else, something that is often seen this time of year: WRAPPING PAPER! Those little dudes make wrapping Christmas gifts an exercise is frustration because nothing is more nerve wracking in the realm of wrapping when you must battle to keep a six-pound Chewabacca from stealing supplies. I'm not sure why they love to dive into the crinkly paper and don't get me started about what it's like if ribbon is involved.

And if you have kids to compound the issue, tape also becomes a headache because who has had a child steal the tape and then unfurl the ENTIRE ROLL leaving you to close off a package with plaster bandages and Dora stickers? Don't laugh, it's happened to me on more than one occasion (okay, laugh because it totally deserves mocking).

Don't even get me started on finding sharp scissors when needing to trim wrapping paper. 'Tis the season to lose all the wrapping supplies into the vortex of missing socks and the like.

So wouldn't it be wonderful if someone gave you a basket full of wrapping supplies that included pre-cut tape dispenser that you can strap to the back of your hand? And double-sided tape? And special gift-wrap tape? And Magic Tape? AND TITANIUM-INFUSED SCISSORS THAT CAN CUT ALMOST ANYTHING? Because I want to do that for you. Oh and so does Scotch Brand Tape who actually makes all of the things I just listed.

Anyway. Scotch Brand Tape invited me to host a give away -- disclosure: I received a gift basket of goodies in exchange for hosting this giveaway -- and I'm going to pick one lucky comment from this post to receive a gift basket of Scotch Brand goodies too! Contest is open to Canadian residents only and you can leave one comment per email address on this post between now and December 17th at 5pm EST. I will pick one winner via Random.org and contact them asap so you can hopefully get these goodies in time for Christmas. PLEASE LEAVE YOUR EMAIL ADDRESS in the comment.

Easy Peasy.

And because Scotch Brand Tape knows the cool home-decor specialist Lynn Spence (you know her from the pages of Canadian Home and Country or my fav Chatelaine -- plus she is often a guest on CityLine), she shared the Twelve Tips Of Christmas Wrapping with me to pass along to you. I'm a wee bit surprised that she didn't include how to make gift-wrapping into a drinking game but maybe she'll take that under advisement for next year:

Stock Up – Before you start wrapping, make sure you have all of the necessary supplies. Quality scissors and tape will make the gift wrapping experience a breeze (see proof points below):
Stay Sharp – Have a sharp pair of scissors, such as Scotch Precision Ultra Edge Scissors, for cutting paper and other materials. It will allow you to achieve greater precision with your cuts. And if tape on your scissors is a pet peeve, Scotch Precision Ultra Edge Non-Stick Scissors use non-stick technology that means no more sticky build up on blades.
One of a Kind Tags – You can make your own gift tags by using the back of old holiday cards. Cut pictures or words from magazines, and paste them on the gift card to make it festive. Voila! Your own customized gift tag.
Go Glam – Add luxury to your packages with glamorous materials such as metallic papers that will make anyone feel spoiled. Fashioned inspired animal print or sophisticated quilted paper will look luxurious under the tree.
Mix It Up – Move away from traditional wrapping paper by incorporating new textures such as rice, foil and matte papers into your wrapping repertoire. Mixed colours and patterns are also a great way to add visual interest to your presents.
Au Natural – For a more organic, eco look, use recycled papers or materials such as linen, Kraft paper, fabric remnants, burlap or a fabulous vintage scarf.
In Lieu of Glue – For tasks where you’d traditional use glue, reach for Scotch® Double-Sided Tape, a no-mess alternative for light duty attaching and mounting tasks.
Fit to Be Tied – Homemade bows are easier to make than you think. Simply tie the ribbon as you would a shoelace, and use fresh greens or other ornamentation to “dress up” the package. The recipient will surely be impressed with the “professional look” of the present!
Stay Seamless – Scotch GiftWrap Tape features a unique satin finish that disappears on most gift wrap papers. Makes all your gifts look great! Easy to dispense and sticks securely.
Make It Last – The joy of giving is always in style but before you start wrapping gifts, make sure you stock up on quality tape like Scotch Brand to ensure your packages stay sealed until its time to unwrap them.
Waste Not, Want Not – Get creative with scraps of paper, ribbons and other found items to add pizzazz to your wrapping and help the environment by keeping these items out of the waste basket.
‘Tis the Season – Before you start gift wrapping, put on some holiday music, relax and have fun! Remember – it’s the thought that counts!

Lynn also forgot tips on how to gift wrap the cat to get him out of the way for the rest of your gift wrapping session. Call me Lynn, I have tons more like this:

Good luck and Happy Wrapping!

Winner has been selected: Congrats to Skwishee!

What's That? You Want To Know What I Want? Funny You Should Ask...

2010-12-08T09:00:00.007-05:00

This Holiday post is
sponsored as part of the UrbanMoms Network.

So here's the thing about doing gift shopping and please chime in if you know what I'm talking about because I'm sure most of you do. The applicable Murphy's Law of Shopping for Gifts is:

thou shall not find gifts for thee intended but ye shall find many treasures to suit thyself

Why do we find all the stuff we want when we are shopping for others when we totally should not be buying for ourselves? WHY? We all know that when we finally get a chance to actually buy stuff for ourselves, the store shelves are as bare as Jacob's chest in 98% of Eclipse.

Why yes I do speak about myself as a 'we'. It makes me feel taller. And yes, I made a Twilight reference. Stop judging me.

Anyway. I was invited to share a smattering of the holiday gifts I'd buy myself if I could and these things would totally be on the shelf, all in the same store, and completely within my price range. Since I'm completely delusional, I decided to take this to the max: things that I would buy as holiday gifts for myself if the sky was the limit and my guilt for over-spending suddenly disappeared.

For starters, all these gifts will be wrapped in beautiful boxes with huge soft and flowing satin bows and then presented to me as total surprises by Viggo Mortensen. Because we all know that the likelihood of these gifts ever actually being in my possession is highly improbable so I might as well extend the fiction to include the ability to give myself totally awesome surprise gifts while including a total hottie.

So without further ado, this is what I would buy for myself if given a bottomless gift card to every store on the earth:

(1) Lots of these solar globe lights and let's ignore the fact that I do not have lawn to put these on. I'm sure my neighbors wouldn't mind if they roll down the apartment hallways endlessly roaming in search of light sources and taking down old ladies in the process.

'By golly Bertha, I think they are coming from 11A'

It would be like a real-life edition of The Prisoner but without the groovy outfits and confusing storyline.

(2) A super-sized king size bed that is soooo huge it might as well be called deity-size and it will come with Eygptian cotton sheets that have a minimum of a 8 million thread count and are softer than a baby's tushie. This bed would also have every kind of pillow known to man and is so far off the ground, not only do I need a ladder to get into bed, oxygen masks are available in case of sudden drops in air pressure.

(3) A washer and dryer. Wait, that's pathetic. How about a 24-karat gold washer and dryer? Still pathetic but I want them anyway. Might as well put a beautiful house around that 24-karat washer and dryer to keep it safe. You know, nothing much, just ~~three~~ five bedrooms, lots of closet space, lots of land, completely environmentally friendly, off-grid, mortgage and tax free, in a nice neighborhood with perfect schools. Not too much to ask, right?

(4) Vacation at a spot like this in the Maldives. After meeting two people who have vacationed there, I must, MUST go there some day. It's, it's, it's so blue.

The bird brings you mojitos with extra umbrellas.

Yes, yes I know it's really rustic and there is not one ounce of exotic or beauty in this place and it sure as heck couldn't be relaxing at all but it has a certain je-ne-sais-quoi quality about it and if given the chance to buy a gift of a vacation for myself, this would probably be it. Someone has to do it and it's for the economy, really it is.

For the record, this type vacation spot has been on my 'did you ask me what I want?' wish list for a long time though not as long as number five.

(5) A pony.

does this come in plaid?

Almost thirty years in the asking and I figure if no one is going to buy it for me then it's going on my holiday gifts that I'd buy myself.

All this talk of my ultimate holiday gifts is pretty selfish and look at you being so patient on your journey to the point of my post: How about I tell you something useful like that there is a chance to win a gift certificate to Old Navy over at Urban Moms? A chance to win a gift certificate that you can spend on yourself because no worries, I won't tell your family or loved ones if you win. You totally deserve it. Just go on over to Urban Moms to enter.

Full disclosure: I was compensated for this post by the Urban Moms Network who are a pretty darn cool. You should totally check them out.

As Long As She Doesn't Ask To Peroxide Her Hair, I Claim No Harm Done.

2010-12-03T22:07:00.003-05:00

One thing that has gone really well since my return to outside work is the significant drop in TV viewing hours in my girl's life. It wasn't overboard before but now it's severely restricted, well at least it is on weekdays. Weekends are mini-vacations from the rules (cut me some slack, I need to fulfill my inner lame anarchist) so the telly is on a bit longer but it's still less than before.

Since the reduction, our girl has learned to chose her shows wisely so it was a surprise when the expected background noise of Toopy and Binoo during the meal prep (her tv time) was replaced with something else. My daughter has fallen for a 'big kid' show and we have yet to find any reason to object to her requests.

No, no, Hannah Montana isn't back, that will happen over my dead body.

My 5yo girl loves Billy the Exterminator. Yeah, that's right, she loves watching this guy:


Billy is the one wearing sunglasses

For those not familiar with Billy. He kills pests of all kinds while wearing way too many spikes and lots of leather all-year-round in his homestate of Louisiana. With his somewhat tragic but intriguing hair (think Bret Michaels meets Limahl), he works with his equally strange-coiffed brother and parents in the extermination business. A business that has business logos and uniforms that make everyone -- even his mom -- look like Danzig fans. Sure beats The Duggers in my humble opinion. Anyway, as he explained in a recent episode (the one featuring an albino raccoon) the reason he wears leather and spikes all year round is for those times when his intended prey get the upper hand. Sounds reasonable though it still doesn't explain the hair.

Anyway. Billy strikes me as a pretty stand-up guy so we decided she could watch it. It's a science lesson for her - biology, zoology, entomology, and chemistry. Billy really knows his business and he does it as green and humane as possible. The inevitable swearing is all blanked out and I can't blame him for the occasional f-bombs, I can only imagine the profanities that would come out of my mouth if I ever pulled out a fridge with six-thousand cockroaches behind it. Trust me, it would make the hardiest of sailors blush like a school girl. My hatred of bugs is well documented on this blog and excuse me while a shiver goes up my spine.

So how do we feel about our daughter's viewing choice? The only downside so far has been those commercials for Intervention. Trust me: those commercials are totally not suitable for a 5yo unless you feel like opening the discussion about drug addiction to the kindergarten set. Not my cup of playdough thankyouverymuch. So far we've successfully made the grab of the remote to block out any potential hard-hitting questions but you just know she's going to pull out the 'what's meth?' question in front of my parents.

I figure as long as she doesn't ask us to peroxide her hair and wear it in a spiky mullet, no harm done.

How Festive. I Think.

2010-11-25T07:14:00.002-05:00

Netflix.ca offered me a complimentary membership to try out their service (thank you Netflix, please don't take it away after reading this post) and after signing up last night, I filled out a short survey that apparently would help the service recommend movies and television me and my family would enjoy.

So as we flipped through the personalized menu, movies that I actually would watch were popping up all over the place, it was a good sign.

Not a good sign though? When we got to horror - a favoured genre of ours - this is what we found:

While on their way home for Thanksgiving break, five college kids run afoul of a homicidal turkey that wants them dead. As the cursed bird hunts them down one by one, the survivors scramble to find a way to defeat the possessed creature. Will the bloodthirsty turkey make this their last Thanksgiving feast ever?

Happy ThanksKilling my sweet neighbours. Watch out for the revenge of the turkeys. Seriously folks, READ THE MOVIE DESCRIPTION.

I cannot make this stuff up. Save some turkey for me, eh?

Twelve Days of Giveaways! Ubisoft Video Games

2010-11-22T07:00:00.012-05:00

This post is part of a sponsored series from Ubisoft, celebrating "12 Days of Giveaways." See below for how you can enter up to 12 times to win fun and family-friendly video games.

Plain and simple: my family loves video games. My husband and I bonded over our love of Super Mario and on our first Christmas together we surprised each other with the SAME gaming system. It was probably at that exact moment that we began to think that just maybe we were meant to be together 4ever yo. On a total tangential note I'd like to take a moment to state that sometimes we totally miss the days of completely extravagant and over the top disposable income spending *sigh*. Okay, we miss that all the time.

Anyway, our five year old girl shares our same gaming passion. The first time we let her try a video game, she was hooked. Watching that girl on her Nintendo DSi, our Wii, or on my iTouch is fascinating. Kids these days take to games like ducks to water and personally I think it teaches them very useful skills in this digital world. Mousing 101 is part of my daughter's kindergarten curriculum and while her grandparents might think it's odd, we don't. We live in the computer age. The only caveat we have is: everything is fine in MODERATION (and with supervision.)

Obviously we don't let our daughter play just any old game. She is definitely not ready for World of Warcraft or Call of Duty but if a game involves dancing or puppies or dancing puppies, she's your gal! Now at this point I was going to share a video game review for a new kid-friendly game by UbiSoft that is now available at Toys R' Us but unfortunately the game didn't arrive on time (sad panda). BUT I'm still going to run the contest and then I'll share my review when the game actually arrives.

** updated to add review! **

Our game arrived (*shakes fist at general direction of Canada customs then immediately apologizes*) and my 5yo was rarin' to break out Petz Fantasy Sunshine Magic. That's right, Fantasy AND Magic (with sunshine of course). So we did.

This Nintendo DS game reminds me of a more interactive version of a toy who's name I forget that my sister sent me about 15 years ago. I had to take care of this digital pet and if I forgot to water, feed, and clean up after the little creature, the pixelated thing up and died. This game is the same concept but with cuter and way more interactive 'babies' plus there is no traumatizing death element. Which now that I think about it, thanks a lot sis. I still can't forget that fatal night at the Pizza Hut when I left it out in the car and it up and died on me while I gorged on a stuffed crust with extra pepperoni. Now I have a pizza complex.

Anyway. Back to the game: Basically my daughter is in charge of a little baby creature (could be a dragon, unicorn, mythical creatures that would appeal to young girls and boys) and she must take of three basic tasks to move forward in the game: hunger, fun, and hygiene. Don'tcha know that all baby unicorns must eat pink swiss cheese, catch bouncy balls, and bathe while being shot by a bubble spray to survive? Those are key elements when you're covered in stars, with super huge eyes, and make completely adorable noises.

The activities a player does with their creature really appeal to my 5yo but in general she needed to repeat games in order to acquire enough points. But that hasn't bothered her (practice makes perfect). The onscreen instructions are short and basic but my girl figured out the rules by trying things out -- intuitive play always gets a thumbs up from me. Older children would probably move through the levels a lot faster but the part that posed the most challenge for my girl is the medal round that comes up when certain goals are achieved. I even find them more challenging and so far I've had to do them for her. When those rounds are won, new creatures are introduced which is a major incentive to learn how to use each creature in these dexterity-dependent challenges.

Overall we are enjoying the game and it wouldn't be a total lie to say that I might have opened a few more creatures for my girl to use in the game AFTER she went to bed tonight. In fact I may be going back to play it right about now ;)

** end up updated section now read about the GIVEAWAY! **

Here's the deal: this giveaway is going to run from today until December 3rd which translates to TWELVE DAYS OF GIVEAWAYS! And I'm not the only one running this contest so you should check out the bloggers below and enter over at their sites to UP YOUR ODDS (that was said in my echo chamber voice just like on the commercials). Now this contest is only open to residents of continental US which I know sucks for Guam and Canada (sorry eh) but I'll make it up to my fellow Canadians by giving away some chocolate. No really, I will. US folks can enter for the game and Canadians can enter to win chocolate (I promise it will be really yummy chocolate that weighs the same as the game.) Guam for the record, still gets the shaft.

So here is the mighty fine dealio print my friends: Please visit these participating bloggers for more chances to win games, including Just Dance 2 (Wii), Battle of Giants: Dinosaur Strike (Wii), Petz Fantasy (DS) and Petz Nursery (DS). Want more ways to win great games for the whole family? Visit each of these blogs during our 12 Days of Giveaways from now through December 3. I'll be drawing a winner on December 3rd, just leave a comment on this post.

Rookie Moms

DaDa Rocks

Crash Test Mommy

Scraps of My Geek Life

Mommies With Style

The Fairly Odd Mother

All Things Fadra

The Lemonade Stand

Mom to the Screaming Masses

Beccarama

Romy Raves

I was selected to participate in this sponsored series by Ubisoft and Clever Girls Collective. I received a video game and compensation for my participation in this program. We believe in Blog With Integrity.

COMMENTS ARE NOW CLOSED.
WINNER: Lucky #13 selected by Random.org and that means it was the comment from Joyful Noise. CONGRATULATIONS!
Thank you to everyone who entered. More contests coming soon.

Change Management Is Hard, Yo

2010-11-13T09:53:00.003-05:00

When my little girl was born she was a sleeping angel that only woke to make little baby grunts, a sound that sent a current of thrill through my newly minted mom heart. This angelic state lasted all of 24 hours before it turned to electrocution.

Day two of parenting became more akin to The Exorcist than angelic. She screamed for hours and hours and nothing we or the very concerned nursing staff did, could sooth the roaring babe. Swaddling, snuggling, feeding, bathing, singing, silence, even g****mn tilting her crib for gas did not work. Eventually the nursing staff broke their own rules and took her away to the nursing station so we could get some semblance of sleep. It was scary.

Deep down I knew she was pissed off. Where was her human snuggie suit with the IV belly button feed and ambient lighting with accompanying soundtrack? Why had we thrust her into this cold, smelly world where she was forced to breath air and suckle with her own strength? WHERE WAS HER WOMB WITH A VIEW?

This was the first indication that my daughter did not like change. I should have taken better notes at the time but who had time to take notes while their nipples and nethers were being shredded? Uber mom, I was not.

Now here I am five years later and at least at this point in the 'resistant to change' juncture, I figured out what was up right away. My daughter is royally pissed off that I have returned to work and she hasn't used her big girl 'words' to let me know.

She's fighting fire with gasoline. She's returned to roots of expressing displeasure by her preferred method: parental sleep deprivation. Oh and with a huge dash of tantrums just to keep the torture going during daylight hours.

Awesome.

I started work outside the home two weeks ago and she stopped sleeping through the night at the same time. And guess who is the only one who can solve her issues at 3am? GUESS? That's right, this lady right here.

Now before you scream 'Hey mom, give her a break, her entire world just turned upside down.' Oh trust me, that is more important than my sleep but that doesn't mean I need to keep my feelings bottled up. Blogging is my outlet and writing this helps me (re)gain perspective when the parenting coping skills have been worn down to a nub. That's the magic of blogging: OUTLET. Though unfortunately not the kind of outlet that means you just snagged a pair of Jimmy Choo's for under $40.

Usually there would be (IMO) some witty wrap up to this post right about here but there isn't, so apologies all around. Sleep deprivation really kills the creative brain cells in my particular model.

All there is to say is... help? No that it isn't it... how about 'hope?' Yes that's it: hope that it gets better soon.

(it will, right?)

City Mouse In Da House

2010-10-24T12:33:00.002-04:00

The rain had just started when I saw the flicker of movement out of my eye. If it hadn't been raining more than likely I would have missed it but as luck would have it, my head was down and the sidewalk was my view.

The baby mouse was barely moving and no bigger than an acorn with grey fur but something he did caught my eye. Twitch? I'm not sure but when I saw him, he had almost just been crushed under the heavy boot of a man leaving the parking lot adjacent to the sidewalk path, a thought that struck terror in my mind.

Death by boot squish! What a horrible way to go. I must save him.

Now I'm a city girl but I was raised with some country sensibility. I'm a firm believer in letting nature take it's course but that is a hard belief to follow when the nature looks like a Beatrix Potter character on the verge of a painful death by squishing.

Kneeling down to the tiny mouse I saw his recent past underneath the bush about half a meter away from where he sat frozen. The bodies of his siblings were white fuzzy belly up and in the process of being consumed by ants. He appeared to be the soul survivor of a mouse massacre. Was it a drug deal gone bad? Had his parents borrowed money from the wrong people? Was he a little rodent version of Dexter and I was his Harry?

He was shaking and barely able to move but he appeared to have no injuries. Fleas (ick!) yes but no injuries.

What could I do? People skirted around me and Mr. Mouse, a few glancing at what was under the huge maple leaf I had fashioned into a mouse umbrella. But no one wanted to get involved -- it was a mouse for cripes sake. They obviously hadn't looked deep into his beady little black eyes because I saw life in there and I wanted to save it. He could be the next mouse prime minister for all I knew, or maybe he was going to lead the mouse revolution -- who was I to say that 'he's just a mouse'?

My heart strings are obviously easily pluck-able and I'm the first to admit it. *sigh*

I knew touching him would be very bad. If he had a parent left, they would reject him once they caught a whiff of my hair gel and Demeter perfume.

But I couldn't leave him here, in the freezing rain, to be squished by some absent-minded suit or shopper. Do I pluck him up with the leaf and put him in the bush near the scene of the crime? Do I call a vet?

That thought was quickly canceled out by my cheap-side who screamed 'Do you remember how much it cost the last time you brought one of the cats to the vet? DO YOU?'

I needed Google but it was no where nearby. Mouse and I would just need to go to Google.

And this is where all the nature lovers will start screaming at me:

I plucked up the mouse with the leaf and brought him home. OH YES I DID.

My husband -- who for the record grew up on a farm -- looked at me like I was insane but our 5yo was beside herself with joy. She quickly named the mouse 'Rosebud' and immediately started shredding tissue for a nest. I dropped Rosebud into an old sandwich container where he sat, shivering, and not moving. We didn't touch him. We could see the fleas (ewwwww) walking all over him but that didn't mean we fell in love with him any less. He was adorable.

After some Google-consulting we offered him some warm cream for lunch but he would have nothing to do with it. I knew I was delaying the inevitable -- his death -- so after some discussion, we decided he needed to go back from whence he came: The Death Bush. We all knew he was probably going to die, he was a lonely baby mouse, and it was cold, and he was alone in the big city. Death would probably be a good thing. *sob*

Why delay any more? My 5yo, in her surprising maturity, offered to take him back with me. She carried him in the sandwich container and sheltered him from the still falling rain. When we got close to The Death Bush my girl hunkered down to examine the scene of the crime. She clucked her tongue at the bodies and decided that Rosebud should be set free one bush over. So holding the container at arms length, I extended as far into the bush as I could and tipped it over to set Rosebud free. For the first time I saw this mouse spring into action. He hopped out of the container and immediately started climbing over the leaves and then just like that, he burrowed down and disappeared.

I'd like to think we saved him from hypothermia because obviously his adventure in biped land had warmed him up. That mouse was barely moving when we crossed paths but he definitely got his groove back after a sit by our hearth. Maybe Rosebud was going to make it afterall.

Or he's already dead.

Oh well, I know this is selfish but at least he spread a bit of joy -- and hopefully no fleas -- during his reluctant visit to biped world. It was nice knowing you Rosebud, go forth and do whatever mice do.

Rosebud, a Toronto Mouse

For the rest of the evening I was convinced I had fleas but every time an itch happened it just turned out to be a stray hair. Good thing, I don't want to be spreading fleas at Blissdom this week ;)

Time May Change Me But I Can't Trace Time

2010-10-14T14:34:00.001-04:00

Change seems to be my personal theme this month. In the past four weeks my life has been turned on it's ear and at first it looked all doom and gloom but lately, not so much. In fact lately my life has looked pretty damn awesome.

Oh god, did I just say that?

*turns to wooden coffee table covered in crayon marks and knocks vigorously*

About a month ago my plan to stay-at-home for one more year became, well for lack of a better word: complicated. When working from home without a steady pay cheque, trying to make any kind of life plan that involves money just becomes plain ol' difficult. It is pretty much akin to taking a high-risk gamble with a backer named Eddy the Shark. To put it mildly Eddy might break your kneecaps if things don't work out. We were occasionally treading water and it was getting uncomfortable. One more financial hiccup was going to make phone-sex operator my newest job skill.

Operation Get A Regular Pay Cheque was underway. First step in the mission, take care of child.

I called the daycare that had been my first choice waaaaay back when I had a regular job and asked if they had any spots open for my daughter. After they laughed at my request, they took my information and said they would call if anything came up. At least when they laughed at me they did it nicely and quickly followed it up with a virtual pat on the head that said 'oh hai naive lady, daycare spots don't grow on trees yanno but we'll let you know'.

Let me explain: Like most urban spots, daycare spots in our area are as rare as moon dust. It wouldn't be inaccurate to say that the only way to score a decent daycare spot in this part of the city is to roll over and dial immediately after being impregnated. Oh sure, we could find someone to take care of our offspring if we weren't choosey. The guy who lives in the bushes at the local park is affordable but standards, I've actually got them. But daycare was needed because I figured that in order for me to return to work I needed somewhere safe to store the child during working hours. Now before you jump on me, when I say 'store', I mean 'a loving environment where my kid will thrive and do all sorts of kid-centric feats of amazement without a lick of help from me.'

*sob*

*picks self up from sobbing heap in her own personal pity parade and sucks it up*

ANYWAY.

A few days later the phone rang at 7:30 am (!) (!!!) and it was the daycare. After explaining that they had found my original request for a daycare spot from over three years ago, I was informed that we had jumped the entire queue and they had a full-time spot for my girl.

Looks who's laughing now.

Actually there was no laughing and I almost fainted. 'Can she start Monday?' she asked. I gulped and quietly said yes.

Honestly I thought that part of the mission was going to take longer. Crap. Now I needed a job -- and fast. Something told me they weren't going to take witty tweets in exchange for child care. *double gulp*

So I made a new plan. Aim high, try to secure a job in my chosen career and if that didn't pan out in the next 8 weeks, start wooing the manager at the local Starbucks.

But I never got to the Starbuck's ass-kissing stage of the plan because serendipity arrived and without going into too much of the boring detail, the very evening after that 7:30am phone call I ran into someone who had said many moons before 'look me up when you are planning on returning to work'. It was cosmic. A few interviews later and all of the sudden I found myself employed.

And not just employed, employed in a wicked job in my chosen field and frankly IT IS AWESOME.

Life changes each and every day but some days it's like an earthquake. Seismic shifts in life are scary but I'm learning to roll with it.

I figure this is going to heavily influence my writing from here on out. An entire avenue of parenting concerns I never had to deal with are now mine to, uh... 'enjoy' and I sense flailing is in my near future. Work begins in a few weeks and we are currently working on our new daily routine with mediocre success.

Change is in the air and it's not just the falling leaves. Frankly I'm as scared as I'm excited. Hold my hand?

Please?

Let Them Eat Cake or One, Two, Three, Four, Five. Senses Working Overtime. Part II

2010-10-07T10:27:00.004-04:00

About a year ago my four year old daughter laid eyes on one of those 3-D doll cakes at the local bakery. It was Pepto-Bismal pink with a real Barbie stuck in the middle, giving a regal wave from her icing laden hoop skirt. My girl was beyond smitten.

'MOMMY WHEN I TURN FIVE I WANT THIS CAKE FOR MY BIRTHDAY.'

She spoke all in caps back then, everything was cranked up to eleven. These days she is able to modulate her volume thanks to her kindergarten teacher but back then we pretty much wore ear plugs all the time.

Anyhow, I figured I had a year for her to forget about it so of course being the chump that writes this blog, I said she could have it for her fifth birthday.

She didn't forget.

Have you ever priced one of those cakes? Well I had no clue how much it would cost but let's put it this way: when I asked the baker how much is that cakey in the window her answer made the back of my head blow off. Perhaps our daughter can have THAT cake for her wedding.

But our daughter didn't understand that her parents actually have a financial cap on iced confectionery displays of love and her request had just surpassed it by a long mile. No Barbie cake for you my dear.

She went through all the stages of grief over the cake:

Denial: I WILL have that cake.
Anger: Get me that cake or I'm telling everyone that you are the worst mommy in the world. BECAUSE YOU ARE.
Bargaining: Mommy, if you get me that cake you never EVER need to get me a cake ever again for any of my birthdays.
Depression: I guess I will have the worst birthday ever this year because *sigh* I won't have that cake.

Wait. She never made it to the stage of Acceptance.

Well she didn't need to make it to that stage of acceptance because today is her 5th birthday and guess what her mom did? No, I didn't buy the cake... I BAKED IT.

Now I'm no wiz in the kitchen but a friend had the pan (thanks Elisa!) and in a moment of insanity I thought 'how hard can this be? I'll make it myself.'

And you know what? It turned out fine. Sure, sure, it's not Barbie and it's far from perfect and she kinda looks like a pink hooker in a hoop skirt because her icing bustier keeps melting off leaving just a few modesty dragees over her nipples but hey, I MADE IT and she will love it. I hope.

For an extra twenty she'll let you do body icing shots.

Today my girl is five years old and I love her more than this keyboard can ever express.

Happy Birthday Little G, mommy loves you more than cake.

Part 1 referred to in the title is here.

One, Two, Three, Four, Five. Senses Working Overtime. Part I.

2010-10-06T11:56:00.002-04:00

October 4th, 2005 was my last prenatal appointment. My belly was measuring 39 weeks which in itself was a major accomplishment for a completely incompetent cervix. Referring to any body part as incompetent is demoralizing so the fact that my little pink doughnut proved them wrong? Well that made me proud. Way to go cervix.

Anyway. The doctor said my little-cervix-that-could was 1cm non-effaced and as he helped me roll my unwieldy body off the examination table he commented that the baby was going to bake for at least another two weeks.

TWO WEEKS???

'I beg to differ doc, this belly of mine is dragging on the ground and my newly minted spidey-sense is telling me it's all systems go.'

'That baby hasn't dropped so don't expect anything for a couple of weeks.'

'If this baby drops any lower, it will be tying my shoe laces WHICH for the record I cannot tie on my own. Did you know I had to have my husband trim my toe nails the other night? I cannot reach my lower half doc, and this shit is insane. I can feel the baby knocking at my girly parts, it hurts and I fully expect an arm to shot out of my woo-ha at any moment. Please explain to me how our species survived because I cannot believe this is how we propagate as humans. I can barely put my legs together and I'm like a slow moving target, HELL I AM a slow moving target. Sabre tooth tigers would have me at snack time. I can't even run for potato chips dammit. So yeah doc, this baby cannot drop any lower, TRUST ME.'

'Who has the medical degree in this room? I know babies.'

'I've never actually seen your medical degree doc, or should I say 'sir'?.'

*sigh* 'Get dressed and I'll see you in my office to go over your birth plan again.'

*******

Like a really messy Charlie Horse at 5am, five years ago today -- October 6th, 2005 -- my body woke me up a split second before my water broke. A smile spread across my face as I muttered a 'told you so' to the doctor who wasn't there.

In just over 24 hours we were going to become parents.


Ignorance Is Total Bliss. Check Out Those Cankles.

Holy crap balls.

Vacation Is All I Ever Wanted... And Apparently I'm Alone In Planning It.

2010-10-04T09:02:00.002-04:00

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'If we could go anywhere as a family for vacation, where would you want to go?' I asked my husband while we both sat in front of our computers.

'Wonderland.'

'Seriously? You'd want to go 30 minutes up the highway to Canada's Wonderland?'

He shrugged.

Have I ever mentioned that my other half would rather 'staycation' than go on vacation? I know, I know, how can someone who loves to travel as much as me be married to a home body but yet it happened and we are happy. And it's not like he isn't traveled, dudes done the tropical route and Euro dealios, he just doesn't crave it like me.

So I moved on to my usual travel-partner in crime, my 4 year old daughter. 'If we could go anywhere as a family for vacation, where would you want to go?'

'Paris.'

Now that's more like it, I thought. 'Why Paris?' I asked.

'So we could visit Barbie's fashion house.'

Did I mention my daughter's favorite DVD right now is Barbie's A Fashion Fairytale which takes place in Paris and features in the soundtrack the beyond annoying ear-worm of 'Who Let The Dogs Out?' The back cover promises that you will 'discover your inner sparkle' and if that's what my inner sparkle is all about then let me be dull forever.

Anyway. I'll take Paris under advisement. Obviously it's going to be up to me to plan a fantasy family vacation which is something we have never actually done because trust me, visiting our childhood homes still inhabited by our parents does not count.

So where would we go if we could go anywhere in the whole wide world? I'd like to pick a place my husband and I have never visited before and some place exotic. But not so exotic that snake bites and bugs the size of dinner plates are the norm. Actually let's scratch that 'exotic' component because exotic usually equals shots and there is no way I can hold down my daughter for more needles this year.

Wow. I never thought this would be a difficult task. Shouldn't picking a vacation be relaxing?

What did we used to do for vacation as a couple before we became a textbook family? Oh right, camping. How about the ultimate family camping vacation? YES! Except less camp, more comfort because I've had it with roughing it.

So here it goes:

The three of us would take go to Jasper Park, Alberta and make our way to Banff while taking in the Canadian Rockies. I vote that we stay at Jasper Lake Lodge and Banff Springs (*cough* SPAS *cough*). We can hit the trails, the ice fields, and there is no way I'm missing a hot tub visit. Hey, don't harsh my mellow: it's our ultimate family vacation and I want to be in the lap of luxury thank you very much. Sure, we can camp one or two nights but why rough it all the time? Camping is fun but spa visits are funner.

Husband, this is what you get for leaving the planning up to me.

Don't forget to enter the “Do What You Love” Sweepstakes, for a chance to win your own ultimate family vacation. I was selected for this sponsorship by the Clever Girls Collective, which endorses Blog With Integrity, as I do.

Falling Into Place

2010-09-21T21:57:00.002-04:00

Dear god, why is she still awake?

She started daycare yesterday and when I woke her up at 6:15 to get ready she berated me for waking her up during sleep time. Figuring that she had a point, assumptions were made that she'd crash early that evening after a full day of daycare and senior kindergarten plus a couple of hours at the playground. But no, she was wide awake until almost 10pm last night.

Today she woke up a bit later but was still at the daycare by 7:30 and again she had a full day that ended with us dragging her kicking and screaming from the playground at 6pm. Now here it is, almost 10pm and she is still wide wake.

Why does my child defy sleep physics? This makes no sense.

This is our first foray with daycare and so far, so good *knocks on wood for good measure* -- save for my suspicions that maybe my child might be dabbling in caffeine. Anyway. When I got the call for a full-time daycare spot at the most perfect daycare in our neighborhood after being on the wait list for three years AND it coincided with my decision to return to that other kind of work, I figured it was a sign of some kind that this spot was meant for her and maybe things will fall into place.

Here's hoping they do.

Coming Soon To Germy Hands Near You: Flu Season 2010

2010-09-20T11:11:00.002-04:00

First up, I must clarify that this post was inspired by an event I recently attended where they (the PR Firm Edelman) didn't set any expectation as to what they wanted in return for free latte, free babysitting, a chance to quiz celebrity doctors Dr. Marla Shapiro and Dr. David Greenberg, plus lots of well researched information, but as luck with have it, the topic did inspire me.

Now that I have that out of the way, let's talk about *cue sinister music* THE FLU.

I really shouldn't make light. Last year's flu season was nasty, scary, and frankly downright confusing. Flu and H1N1 chatter was everywhere and one minute people were screaming 'GET THEE INTO THESE LOOOOOOONG LINES TO BE JABBED', and the next moment the same harbingers of ill are saying 'those shots don't work for *this* flu or *that* flu and you need two shots, or one shot, or I'm just going to fill you with misinformation blah blah blah.'

My head spun around and I swear that my husband and I debated the flu-shot question for the entire season. For the record: we did not get the shots but I did pull my girl out of school for almost a week when her classmates looked particularly droopy and drippy. This was an option in JK but if she had been in grade school? I'm not sure it would have been that easy a choice. Also FTR: it's hard for me to admit that I took health concerns lightly so please don't attack my choices, I'm being open and honest here.

So why didn't I force my family to get the shots? In no particular order, here are the reasons:

My kid hates needles (not a real reason because she is immunized but…)
There was too much confusion and misinformation and I'm suspicious of media at the best of times. I didn't understand how they could be protecting against a flu strain before it strikes (more on that later.)
Ignorance is bliss

Will we be sticking our heads in the sand and rubbing our lucky stones again this year? No. We were lucky that no one got sick during a particularly virulent year and nasty strain. We had a friend who contracted H1N1, we read about the children who died, we were struck hard when the reports about the flu deaths of elderly and babies hit the news. I hate fear mongering but the flu is serious business and it does strike Canadians down. So I feel better being a spreader of facts because knowledge is powerful and here are some cold, hard facts:

Influenza spreads through droplets from someone with the flu, who coughs or sneezes into the air 1*. Therefore wearing a mask does not help like it did with SARS, the flu isn't turned off by no stinkin' mask, those f'ing germs will go right through a mask.
Infection is spread when these droplets are breathed in via the mouth or nose or eyes (ew). 2*
The flu is often transferred via the hands and on surfaces those germy hands have touched 3*. Teach children (and lazy adults) to wash hands properly: warm water, soap, and sing Happy Birthday while rubbing those germs away yo.
Influenza remains the most common vaccine-preventable disease in the developed world 4* and in Canada, an estimated 10 to 25% could contract the flu any given year 5*, and based on our population that it a whole lot of sick people.

And like I said earlier, since I can't seal my family into hermetically sealed plastic bubbles with their own clean air supply, we will be getting protected this year which brings me back to my confusion about how Health Canada knows which flu strains to fight each year. How do they know?

In a nutshell: WHO identifies which top three strains are most likely to strike based on data collected from observing countries like Australia who start their flu season earlier than North America and Europe. Then they add the vaccines for these three strains to create the flu shot for the year which obviously means they can predict it incorrectly but hey, it's the best bet we can get. Some years it's partially correct, some years it's completely wrong, and some years it hits the target but at least the steps for prevention are in place.

So why did Edelman invite me to have an informal chat with Dr. Marla Shapiro and Dr. David Greenburg about the flu? New product of course! This year there is a new alternative to the flu shot that is finally available in Canada: FluMist. Up the nose with a rubber hose.. er… I mean plunger. For a parent of a child who goes absolutely ape-shit when the word 'needle' is uttered in her presence (no really, she is to needles as I am to clowns: terrified), having a non-needle but equally effective treatment is awesome. But here's the thing: you need to pay for it because OHIP (or your provincial plan) won't. Yet. But it's not that expensive (probably around $20 depending on pharmacy mark-up) and you can get it yourself, without a prescription so you can have your doctor or nurse administer it. This is important, it must be given by a health care professional. It's a suitable and effective flu-shot alternative for ages 2 through 59 and this is what my daughter will be getting this year.

Anyhow. The evening was very informative and I could go on much longer because there was a lot of great questions posed by the group but I'll spare you more germ and vaccine facts for now. If you have questions, please ask in the comments and I'll do my best to answer them or point you to more information.

Thank you to Drs. Marla Shapiro and Dave Greenberg for the most interesting coffee clutch I've attended in a while and a huge thank you to Lil' Bean n' Green cafe n' play spot on Queen East for entertaining my child in such an amazing space. We are definitely coming back for another play date.

At least this year I won't feel so confused when the harbingers of flu-confusion start spouting off.

***********

I has footnotes:
1* 2* 3* 5* Health Canada. Influenza (the “flu”).
http://www.hc-sc.gc.ca/hl-vs/iyh-vsv/diseases-maladies/flu-grippe-eng.php. Accessed August 12, 2010.

4* AstraZeneca Annual Report 2009. Influenza virus.
http://www.astrazeneca-annualreports.com/2009/directors_report/therapy_area_review/infection/index.html. Accessed August 4, 2010.

I has FluMist facts:

The influenza virus strains in FluMist are the same virus strains as those contained in the flu shot. The vaccine contains the strains recommended by the World Health Organization (northern hemisphere) for this influenza season. 1
FluMist is the first intranasal influenza vaccine to be approved by Health Canada for protection against seasonal flu. This is the first time that FluMist is available in Canada, although FluMist has been used in the United States since 2003.
FluMist is a gentle mist sprayed into the nose, one of the places where the influenza virus can enter the body.1 Those receiving the vaccine can breathe normally while FluMist is being given, and there is no need to actually inhale or sniff. 1
FluMist uses live virus strains that are weakened so as not to cause the flu. 1
FluMist is a safe12 and effective11h, 3 option to prevent seasonal flu, and clinical trials have demonstrated that in children ages two to 17, FluMist significantly reduced the number of influenza cases compared to the traditional flu shot 1 :

In children two to five years of age, FluMist significantly reduced the number of influenza cases by more than 50 per cent, compared to the injectable vaccine. 2
Clinical studies have shown that, compared to the injectable vaccine, FluMist demonstrates greater effectiveness against matched and mismatched strains in children two to 17 years of age and guards against late outbreaks of infection. 2, 3,4,

Like all vaccines, FluMist can cause side effects, although not everybody gets them. The most common side effect seen in clinical trials is nasal congestion in recipients of all ages. 1

More footnotes:

1 Flumist Product Monograph, 2010.
2 Belshe RB, et al. New England Journal of Medicine, 2007; 356:685-696.
3 Fleming DM, Crovari P, Wahn U, et al. Comparison of the efficacy and safety of live attenuated cold-adapted influenza vaccine, trivalent, with trivalent inactivated influenza virus vaccine in children and adolescents with asthma. Pediatr Infect Dis J 2006; 25 (10): 860-869.
4 Ashkenazi S, Vertruyen A, Aristegui J, et al. Superior relative efficacy of live attenuated influenza vaccine compared with inactivated influenza vaccine in young children with recurrent respiratory tract infections. Pediatr Infect Dis J 2006 ;25(10): 870-879.

Post-Op

2010-09-13T00:00:00.046-04:00

Her surgery was exhausting.

We have decided that as a couple watching our daughter go under -- we were asked to hold her hands by her side because she was going to struggle -- was one of the worst experiences of our parenting gig. That makes us pretty lucky but it was still difficult to watch. She struggled like the fighter she is, she looked so scared, and so very, very small on the table.

It. Was. Hard.

We were both incredibly fidgety in the wait room. My phone chose that exact moment to crap out on me and leave with an endless rotating hourglass when trying to open distractions like Twitter or email. Distractions that were full of support. Distractions that were keeping me sane. Smartphone FAIL.

Looking at my husband I could tell he was listening as hard as me for any noise to emerge from down the hall. We had heard the patient who came out before our girl wake up and it sounded very unpleasant. And puke-filled. There was no way of knowing how G was going to react.

Thankfully the surgery went smoothly and even if it did run a little late, it went just as planned according to the dentist and doctor. That's always a good thing when it comes to any invasive procedure.

Waking up was extremely unpleasant for her. She punched, she screamed, she flailed, and she just couldn't keep her eyes open. When she finally said something, it was a very clear and loud declaration

"I'M THIRSTY!"

Can't blame the girl, it had been half a day since her last gulp of water. Then she explained she couldn't open her eyes because it made her dizzy. I figured that was okay because if she saw how swollen her mouth was or *shudder* the blood, she'd be dizzy AND pissed off.

SB held her while our 4yo rode her bad trip. Meanwhile I tried to believe that it was a good thing our girl was yelling at us like a mean drunk. Or at least I think that's what the nurse had just said about our kid screams being a 'good thing' because it cleared the gas out of her lungs. It was hard to hear over the mayhem to be sure that's what she said.

Gotta say: oh the guilt. We should have covered her in bubble wrap and fed her only wheat grass in Listerine to prevent this.

When G arrived home and was able to examine the damage herself, she spent a longer than usual time in front of the mirror. Which you need to understand is a looooooooooong time because my 4yo? She can spend hours singing to herself and trying out lines on her reflection.

Anyway. After a good long stare at the space where her tooth used to be and the caps that protected her back teeth she declared "I love my new shiny teeth!" Then after a beat "but why didn't you get me gold teeth momma?"

Dream on kid, dream on. Maybe next time.

No wait, scratch that. Silver is cool and there better not be a next time.

*********************

I can't express how much the support everyone gave my family via comments and on Twitter meant to me. You all rule and I owe you a lot of people cookies, beer, and wine. Thank you just seems inadequate but I mean it when I say 'thank you, I'd totally lick you if you standing right here.'

Scared.

2010-09-09T09:47:00.002-04:00

I'm never good at the serious chatter, it just doesn't roll of the fingertips as easily as the other stuff but here's the thing: I'm kind of scared of an upcoming situation and it's pretty much permeated my every thought.

And since the majority of my thoughts go onto the internet, it's kind of silenced my chatter which for someone who tweets whenever she farts, is pretty amazing. Perhaps you are all glad for my preoccupation since it's cleared up your Twitter stream.

Whatever. Anyway.

My four-year old is going under general anaesthetic tomorrow for surgery (well duh, it's certainly not for entertainment purposes) and it's wigging me out for a number of reasons.

For the record, my girl is healthy but her teeth took a bad turn recently and some previous injuries due to some hard play -- an unfortunate incident involving a jumping contest and a bed post -- resulted in death to some teeth, a whack of nerve damage, and gosh darn it, a cavity. Which was probably brought to her by sugar more than the fake veneer of her bed post but who knows. After her dental exam so many procedures were listed that general anaesthesia was decided to be the most prudent route. This was only decided after a long discussion with her fantastic dentist. I *heart* the guy and dentists hold the same charm as clowns in my opinion so that is really saying something about the man.

Hospitals and surgeries are familiar territory to me. I grew up running the halls of medical building because my parents worked there and also I was a repeat customer for a plethora of medical incidents. Then my twenties found me working in those same halls and you learn stuff when you work in a medical environment. Lots of stuff. Too much stuff. Like all the stuff that can go wrong.

There I go, freaking myself out again.

Anyway. Sedation is not taken lightly. Or maybe it is. Heh. Anaesthetic is somewhat voodoo science that involves someone suspending life and blocking out pain with the aid of drugs and machines. And they are guessing based on some random survey of possibly inaccurate facts on how your body will react to the drug cocktail.

*shudder*

And I'm not hip on doing this to my daughter but the alternative is letting her teeth rot out of her head like a hillbilly.

*sob*

And I know I sound like this is about me but it's not: I'm scared for my daughter who as far as she is concerned is getting a tooth or two removed followed a few days of eating ice cream and popsicles (forbidden fruit of our freezer.) Doesn't faze her at all. We've been straight up about everything and how it is going to hurt but they are going to let her 'sleep' through the procedure so it hurts less.

Ignorance is bliss.

Knowledge sometimes sucks.

Still scared.

Give The Guy A Lozenge.

2010-09-02T00:00:00.008-04:00

Well, it's September now and not much has changed since I first saw this video in July.

Gotta wonder if this guy is going to be proven right or wrong? Basically in a nutshell: ATTENTION PEOPLE AND TELEPHONE POLES of California, Oregon, Washington and Van-coooo-ver British Columbia. Give the guy a lozenge!

Weird Guy's Bizarre Earthquake Warning - Click here for the funniest movie of the week

Glad I saw the Golden Gate Bridge before the big one struck (oh please don't make me eat these words.)

Have a nice day!

Perhaps The Early Years Were Spent In A Cave Sequested By Luddites. Or Not.

2010-08-29T20:07:00.001-04:00

If memory serves me correctly -- and trust me, sometimes it doesn't -- this subject has been covered before on this here blog but for some reason cannot be found in the archives. Maybe the post was just one of those phantom posts that never saw the light of a RSS reader, never to shine in the unending light known as the blogosphere, doomed to only exist inside my noggin, languishing with all the other pearls of wisdom of which I selfishly do not share. Or maybe that's selflessly. Sometimes it's hard to tell.

Anyway. A motherbumper list of unbelievable-to-me things: Movies I have never seen in my 40 *cough* plus years on this mortal coil.

Footloose
Dirty Dancing
Gone With The Wind
The Wizard of Oz
Ghost
Bambi
Pinocchio
The Karate Kid
Dances With Wolves
Risky Business

Why? My parents took us to movies they wanted to see, end of story. So while my friends were at the cineplex watching Footloose, I was at the rep theatre watching Brazil. For this I say thank you to my parents but at the same time the shame of not getting pop culture references makes me feel a wee bit like an outcast.

Not sure if this makes up for anything but The Sound of Music? Seen it at minimum, twenty times end to end. Also I was the only kid in grade four who had already watched Force Ten From Naverone, Animal House, and The Spy Who Loved Me. Actually that kind of explains a few things. Like my uncontrollable urge to start chanting 'TOGA' anytime while in the presence of a university dean. It's any wonder that a degree was achieved without being put on double secret probation. Or maybe it was because you know: double secret probation.

A San Francisco Treat

2010-08-25T21:20:00.003-04:00

Went to San Francisco for the weekend because as we all know in motherbumper`s map of the world, California is right around the corner from Toronto and not three zones away. Motherbumper thinks time zones are for pussies and are a device of the man to keep us all tired and confused. Jet lag is just an illusion that we all buy into and it works dammit because I'm still recovering from my jaunt to the Pacific.

Anyway. This time time in San Francisco, unlike my first visit in 2008, the camera was packed and pictures were recorded for posterity. Because last time I only came home with some salami that wasn't even from that trip and a shattered illusion about California being hot. San Francisco is decidedly not hot or at least they turn the thermostat down low whenever I come to town in a probable attempt to keep me from staying long. Wow, paranoid much?

Anyway, this time more ground was covered (last time I made it two blocks) and sights were seen.

Haight-Ashbury was trippy, full of hippies who still haven't found their way home, and lots of funky little shops. Dreaded heads and Dead Heads were openly smoking up on the street and my non-trippy trip was complete when a man on a bicycle almost ran over Catherine while yelling 'I GOT NOT BRAKES AND I'M HIIIIIIIIIIGH'.

Man, I wish I had snapped some pictures of the sushi bar we stumbled into on Saturday night where the hostesses glared at me while still smiling -- she was that good -- because I was drunk and dropping chopsticks all over the place. The third time a set was dropped, I quietly and very drunkly (is too a word) got up and took another off a table to spare the hostess another trip to out back. Odds are she was probably using my dirty chopsticks to gouge holes into a crudely drawn picture of me in the kitchen because on that particular evening? I was THAT customer.

Face it. You can barely dress me up and it's ill-advised to take me out anywhere but at least when you do? I'm entertaining.

Hey did you know I slay alarm clocks? True story: At 3am after the sushi bar, we were both fast asleep probably dreaming about how wonderful it was that no little people were trying to implement their favorite form of torture on us, aka. sleep deprivation. Children have no Geneva Convention or need for human rights. Anyway. For no reason other than someone or something paranormal hates us, the alarm clock in our hotel room went off. At 3am. So it was promptly shut off. Then 5 minutes later it went off again. This time it was ripped out of the wall by Catherine who used a lot of swear words.

Five minutes later it went off again.

At this point the clock was declared a demon and all buttons were pushed while screams of 'IT'S UNPLUGGED' were heard around the entire Bay Area.

Five minutes later -- you guessed it -- it went off again. This was my cue to take it across the room, turn on a light, only to discover it had 4 (FOUR!) alarms, and no obvious way to disable any of the time settings. Dream machine my ass. No really, it was a Dream Machine alarm clock or so sayeth the label. Not wanting to break hotel property I dismantled it's heart and brain, threw some holy water on it, and shoved it under a throne in the corner of our room. No really, we had two thrones in our room and I don't think either of us blinked at this fact. Why thrones? No idea but I firmly believe all hotel rooms should have them.

That last detail has nothing to do with anything but isn't that the point of most of my posts anyway? Me tired, San Francisco beautiful, and alarm clocks hate me. End of story.

(thank you Virgin America for the ticket on your new route from YYZ to SFO and LAX -- more on that to come on my review blog)

Hannah Montana Syndrome: Don't Let It Happen To You.

2010-08-19T07:00:00.004-04:00

My four year old daughter just fell head over heels for Hannah Montana and it was completely my fault. Don’t worry, my punishment is something that won’t soon be forgotten. The constant impulse to stab myself in the eyes and ears with a fork or pencil or any random object each time my daughter says that character’s name is just one of the many pay-backs currently being allotted for the crime.

The pop princess has been on auto-repeat in Little Miss Mind's Eye Jr. since early this past Wednesday and so far it seems my child can work her into any conversation.

Add that to the horrified look on Dad’s face when our beautiful child started spouting off on her imaginary mobile phone about [said in an exasperated, huffy tone]

‘MEN!’

That moment pretty much nailed that I had gone did wrong. Done wrong bad.

Hmmmm… I wonder what kind of imaginary phone my daughter owns? Even though it looks suspiciously like our digital ear thermometer, all indications show it’s actually an iPhone. Awesome, we have matching mother-daughter imaginary iPhones.

Anyway. How did this Hannah Montana exposure happen? Let me plead my case. Basically in a nutshell, it was an absolute moment of weakness where all bets were placed on predictions that had been based on out-of-date information and trust me, the price is being paid.

The Weakness: Promises were made for a midday movie from the library this past Tuesday and this time it could be the 4 year old’s choice. It’s usually a safe gamble because there’s always something in the children DVDs section at the library that is age appropriate and in English or French [broken translation supplied par moi.] Oh how I laugh at that ‘always’ because ha! I should know better.

So, no such movie was found and disappointment was imminent when suddenly my girl pulls a Hannah Montana dvd off the shelf that had multiple episodes, plus some Jonas Brothers. As she thrust it forward innocently saying ‘this one please’ with a smile, the voices in my head screamed:

‘nooooooooooooooooooooo! Don’t do it.’

[sidenote: The only thing really ever learned via Oprah by this particular writer is ‘always listen to the little voices telling you that you are in danger, your impulses are usually correct.’Guess who didn’t listen to her Oprah instinct? That right, this lady right here.]

Clearly the next action to be taken should have been a responsible adult stating ‘why don’t we check back tomorrow for something suitable’ but that’s not what happened. The day had already already been very trying, we were just broaching that long stretch of the hot daytime hours when indoor downtime was best, and she had set her heart on watching a new show after a really active morning. A meltdown was in the cards and weakness won. I. Said. Yes.

The Bet & Prediction: When we visited Disney World this past March, episodes of Hannah Montana were watched out of desperation and my daughter dismissed them as ‘silly’. The relief that provided me was immeasurable but like all things related to my child tastes and interests; fickle is as fickle does, always unpredictable. Who knew she now would Love Hannah Montana with a capital L? Anyhow. Figuring that she’d turn up her nose again at Ms. Miley Cyrus and her teenage ways, promises were made about how we could return this movie tomorrow because she probably would ask for something different after a few minutes.

The Price Paid: Let me start this by stating at one point during the Hannah Montana Siege, I thought that renting Fatal Attraction would have been a better choice.

"Sure sweetie, I think this one has bunnies in it."

To be completely honest, at first it appeared that Miley Cyrus had made no impact whatsoever. Sure, a couple of Hannah Montana episodes were watched but nothing remarkable happened immediately after consumption, save for her new obsession surrounding the procurement of a marshmallow gun like the Jonas Brothers used in the episode called “Me and Mr. Jonas and Mr. Jonas and Mr. Jonas .” Oh my god I wish I did not know that factoid.

Wednesday morning the dvd was returned and a more suitable collection starring Curious George was procured. As of yet we have not watched that loveable primate and Man with the Yellow Hat because somewhere between putting that Hannah ******* Montana dvd in the return slot and our walk home something switched on inside my child.

And it was not pretty.

She became a teenager. Well at least a teenager from a 4 year-olds’ perspective, a 4 year old who doesn’t really know any teenagers, like, at all.

Suddenly Hannah Montana was her new imaginary friend and O.M.G! My little girl became a teenager with a mobile phone glued to her face having an absolutely inane, horrific conversation. It was like she was possessed. It was obvious she didn’t really know what she was saying because the conversations didn’t really make sense. Or maybe she nailed it, who can really tell? But it doesn't matter because the most disturbing part was the tone, oh the teenage tone. Flashes of our future came from every direction, a future we really could wait a whole lot longer to see.

The apex occurred right before bedtime during what was thought to be a successful distraction from the *whispers* Miley thing. Hannah appeared to have left the building when a sandbox diversion was deployed on my girl. Next thing you know we were cooking for a tea party, making sand cakes, getting water for the tea, and all the usual trappings. My daughter was directing the project and giving suggestions on how things should be done.

Then out of nowhere:

“Hannah Montana wants us to use these eggs to make the cakes. We’re going to invite the boys… oh wait, Hannah’s calling me”

and her hand came up in the universal sign of ‘can’t talk, on the phone’ as she lifted the digital thermometer to her ear.

It’s hard to describe what it felt like to be dismissed by a four-year old possessed by a teenager, my 4 year old possessed by Miley Cyrus. It’s true, flashes of the future years have been witnessed many times before, but those are glimpses, not hours and hour on end. Trust me, parts were hard to bear, especially the part about boys.

Plus I think she has a better mobile phone than me, real or imaginary.

The recovery might take some time, the wounds are still too fresh. For now all that can be said is that age-inappropriate children’s programs will be the only standard from here on out so momma don’t end up in the corner rocking in the fetal position.

Reprogramming and rehabilitation has taken on a whole new meaning in our household. First step, Dora The Explorer Methadone.

The Girl With The Mom Tattoo

2010-08-18T09:11:00.001-04:00

My 4 year old claims she'd like a real tattoo one day. Instead of shuddering I choose to hope that it looks just like the one she put on her arm the other night. Oh right, this is supposed to be wordless wednesday...

Do You Know What I'm Thinking?

2010-08-15T20:23:00.004-04:00

Do you know what I'm thinking? Recently I had a brush with reality (it happens) and I'm assuming (hoping?) the answer to 'do you know what I'm thinking?' is 'no' because I can say with most certainty that I have no idea what you are thinking. Actually I *might* have a clue what that guy in the back is thinking, the one who keeps muttering to himself and is generally creeping me out. Yeah, I'm pretty sure I know what he's thinking and really wish that I didn't.

Anyway. I have no idea what you are thinking but why do I always assume that you know what's going on in my head? This is something I'm guilty of most often in blogging and it's something that really needs to change now.

Assumptions are dangerous, just as jumping to conclusions is a fast way to get kicked in the teeth. If memory serves correct, a few years back a man who was speaking to a group of bloggers -- including myself -- stated that he just knew that we had no idea about raising a child in city since we all lived in the affulent suburbs and were stay-at-homes with regular childcare. There wasn't one woman in the group that even vaguely fit that description and trust me, he knew it after that ~~confrontation~~ conversation. I'm surprised he lived to see another day actually.

So from this day forward I'm going to stop assuming that you know what I'm thinking or feeling because that just isn't fair. Please do tell me, am I alone in writing with assumptions that readers know me when there is no possible way that they could?

Well I suppose readers could know more about me but only if they are total stalkers, and hello! I do not need anymore stalkers in my life, once was enough thankyouverymuch. And there, you just learned something about me. I was stalked once in my twenties by a crazed man I barely knew who when innocently rebuffed by me, proceeded to mail me threatening letters, leave endless voicemails that filled my machine daily, and basically let me know as often as possible that he knew what I was doing all the time. It was terrifying, embarrassing (seriously, I know this shouldn't be embarrassing but it was), and it made me even more wary of new people than ever before. If I hadn't worked up the nerve to contact his family directly and threaten them with legal terms, I don't know what would have happened. I made sure that his story was recorded somewhere so that if he ever did it again, I'd be able to help have him castrated or however they treat these things in a court of law... oh wait, you mean they usually just get a wrist slap? Shit, can I do the slapping with barbed wire? No? Well that's hardly fair.

So yeah. No more assumptions (but seriously, do you ever just assume your readers can read your mind?)

Say What To The Dress? BlogHer NYC Edition

2010-08-03T12:31:00.005-04:00

I told myself I wasn't going to write a BlogHer '10 post because there are already so many out there and what more could I have to add? But then I went shopping to grab just 'one more thing' for NYC (like they don't have stores or something in that city) and while browsing the racks I found it. I found the dress. The dress I was going to wear to The People's Party (are you going? I hope so, I'll be there and happy to see you) and this was the dress that made me write a BlogHer '10 post.

It was black (a requirement of mine) with a big ballerina pink satin bow (Hello! I'm a girl) and had a really girly lacey layered bustier (okay, I'm making this dress sound hideous but it really wasn't, it was perfect, albeit a bit short but hey, I'm not scared of a little hemline.) It looked like a tutu (another requirement because of my love for Tanner) and it was like a dress from 1985 that I wouldn't have had the kuhoonas to wear back then as my insecure teenage-self but somehow my 40-something insecure self would say HELL YES because it was 1985 done to 2010 perfection.

I tried it on and *deep breath* it fit and while it was kind of shorter than my norm, it was still complete Love with a capital L. It also was affordable which just made the Love deeper than ever possible. Cartwheels were almost done in the aisle of the change rooms but weren't because my 40-something body knows it's limits and gymnastics are not a good idea the week of BlogHer.

So I took it up to the register, holding it up by the hanger to admire it like a lovelorn teen who just unearthed the perfect prom dress while waiting in the long line-up. It swayed like a charm, it was soft, and girly, and just perfect. If I was susceptible to public squeeing this would have been the time. It was also the last one left on the rack [insert sense of impending doom here] and it just seemed so lucky that this dress just appeared like magic.

Should have known it was too good to be true.

dun-dun-dun-duuuuuuh

Once it was finally my turn at the cash, the dress was handed over to the customer service lady who was super sweet and made the appropriate 'oh what a cute dress!' face and noises. My smile was huge, my pocketbook was ready, and the dress was to be mine.

She went to remove the hanger and that's when all the perfection started to unravel. Literally.

The hanger hooked the lacey bustier and it started to unravel at an alarming rate... and rip... all on one side. The look of horror on both our faces was disturbing to say the least. She immediately stopped and we both assessed the damage, treating the fabric like it was a ticking bomb ready to go off.

It was worse than first thought. Rows of the lace had caught on the hanger and it was a lopsided mess. For what seemed like an eternity (but probably only 10 mins) we debated how bad it looked and how it might be fixed. I wanted this dress so bad. If it had unraveled evenly, or even just in the centre, it might have been passable but the only suggestion that seemed possible in the time allotted was to try to unravel the other side the same way to make it looked balanced and that was an option neither the store nor I wanted to risk.

They offered me a discount which was nice but not enough to save the dress even if I had the time to take it to a miracle-worker / tailor so I sadly left with the other things I had found, leaving that dress to languish on the 'damaged' rack.

I know in the whole scheme of things this is insignificant -- hello! first world problems or what? -- but it still sucked large.

BUT the important thing is, I'll be at BlogHer wearing something tutu-like most of the time and I hope you are there to join me. And if not, I hope you have a great week doing whatever you will be doing. Trust me, you will be missed. Just like that dress. *sigh*

What Is It? No Really, What Is It?

2010-07-25T20:29:00.005-04:00

Once again it was too hot to venture outside lest we melt into puddles of goo so we stayed in and made our contribution to global warming by running our AC during peak-hours while making a weak cry that it was all in the name of survival.

Despite the Arctic air that was being forced directly into our living space, we were completely wilted from an earlier foray into the hot, cruel summer for sustenance and such. And since our AC is far too loud to allow us to hear a murder next door much less the television in our living room, we decided to be more creative and you know, create stuff.

See? See how much the heat has effected things? I can barely write a coherent sentence and that right there is a direct result of my brain getting fried in this heat. True story. Mah brains are cooked.

Anyway, back to creating stuff: out came the play clay and all the accessories.

Because of my uncontrollable urge to strive for play clay perfection, I tried my hand at using the pre-made shape moulds to render the smoothest uni-coloured food shapes as humanly possible. The food shapes were found on the handle of 'ice cream' shaped scoop that came with one of my 4yo's phonetically-spelled favourites Play Doh.

The first to be created was the strawberry-shape followed by the peach. Both turned out divine. Next tried were the small unidentifiable circles which produced flat bottomed petite pears much to my surprise.

Then I moved onto the last shape and instantly became confused.

What the heck is that shape? Is it a pecan?

My daughter suggested a hotdog but that didn't seem right. Still have no idea what it is but it did remind me it's time to make my annual gynaecology appointment.

You'll Hear The Secrets That I Keep, When I'm Watching You In Your Sleep

2010-07-17T15:32:00.002-04:00

Hi Kid,

Hey it's your mom, though I guess identifying myself isn't really necessary considering this is my blog. Anyway, it's me and I have a confession to make: I watch you while you sleep.

OK. That sounded way creepier than I meant it to be but for the record it's not really that creepy at all. And while I'm sure that's what all the stalkers say, trust me that in this particular case it's true. Truth is I've been doing this since the day you were born.

In the beginning the reason was two-fold. On your first day post-womb you slept like a lamb. It was wonderful and magical and obviously drug-related but you really did lull me into a sense of 'I can do this thang.' But on your second day post-womb you decided enough was enough and that sleep was for chumps. You screamed for hours on end, so much so that the nurses came and took you away in order to give your rattled parents a break. I thought you were broken and that I had done something to cause this so instead of following the sage advice of 'sleep when your baby sleeps', I watched you like one might watch a ticking time-bomb strapped to their breast; one never knew when it was going to go off. This nagging fear of 'the end of sleep is nigh' was the main reason I watched because Murphy's Law dictated that the moment I allowed myself to sleep, you would wake screaming.

And for the record: any time I tested that theory, you woke up screaming. Coincidence? Who knows.

The other reason was rooted in something much deeper, engrained, and somewhat sinister, a type of which I never share in this space because this is an arena where I want only the silliness and smiles to exist. But the truth is I felt I didn't deserve you and while I suspect post-partum depression had much ado with that something, I still to this very day sometimes feel that wash over me. Albeit these days it's a tiny lapping ripple as opposed to a tsunami. But back when you were poppin' fresh from my loins, I watched you to make sure you were still there, that no one was going to come claim you, and that you were still perfect in the way that only you can be perfect. And for the record that would be you just being you. Trust me: you = perfect.

Anyway.

Before you scream the pretty much accurate accusation of 'Mom, you're a freak', I know for a fact that your dad watches you sleep too and I once caught you Nana and Poppy doing it, so please, please spread the accusations of weirdness around if you find this news alarming. I have no idea why they do it. Maybe they are freaks too.

But the truth is you are just so completely amazing that I cannot believe that I had a hand in creating you and those moments of peaceful slumber are just perfect for drinking you in. It's much easier to watch you in that sleeping state because it's the only time that you aren't operating at a level that is akin to a crackhead hummingbird on meth who just got the latest fix from the trailer park. Full truth: watching you when you are awake can cause whiplash but it is a lash I gladly endure.

So please, please my child, don't think this is all really weird because one day I really hope that you might understand why I do these strange things. Parenthood -- despite my bitching and moaning sometimes indicating the contrary -- is frankly amazing (to say the least) and I hope you experience it (but not too soon please).

Also please don't freak out if you wake up to find me standing over your bed. I am not the boogie man but just your freak mom who still can't believe you are here, and so perfect, and for at least a third of the day, completely still.

love,
mom

P.S. I'm a freak.

Frankie the Rock Lobster

2010-07-11T11:42:00.000-04:00

We went to the Museum of Natural History this weekend where we saw the remains of one of the largest lobsters found off the shore of Nova Scotia. His (her?) name was Francis and he obviously had a stay of execusion from a fate of boiling water and melted butter since his (her?) shell never turned rosey red. I'm not sure how they knew the lobster's name was Francis considering every lobster I met was just called 'dinner' or the more reverend 'church supper'. Perhaps it was tattooed on one of those massive biceps? How about I just refer to it as Frankie from now on? Yes. Frankie it is.

Anyway. My daughter frankly didn't give a sh*t about Frankie and was not impressed that I used her for scale.

Gee, I wonder how much Frankie would cost at the current market value for yummy crustaceans? I also wonder how much my head would cost if it was made of veal? I have The Kids in the Hall to thank for that one. Heck I've been wondering about that veal question for over 20 years. Sometimes I wonder if these are the thoughts I shouldn't share with the world? Oh well, too late.

At first I was melting, then there was a flash.

2010-07-05T21:19:00.005-04:00

It was about 50 degrees in the city today (that's about a million degrees F) and not to be all cliché-ish but not only could you have fried an egg on the sidewalk this afternoon, you could have also sautéed some home fries with onions on the side without much effort. Though the effort it would take to stand over some eggs and potatoes frying on the sidewalk whilst a zillion degrees outside would be enough to make you drown in your own sweat because that's how hot it was today

Anyway, our building has an outdoor pool. Nothing fancy, just a rectangle of blue oasis that is tenants-only which makes me a happy renter on days like this. A dip in that pool really cools us to inner core and it feels great for hours afterwards. Plus it really helps with the inner cranky monsters that are less shy during this kind of oppressive heat. And I'm talking about my inner cranky monsters in addition to the ones my four-year old harbours beneath her skin.

So yes, I love our pool. Except I don't. I don't because I lost my favourite bathing suit, the plain black classic tank maillot that I've owned for years. The one that never wore out and that I procured for next to nothing at the Eaton's going out of business sale. How I miss Eaton's *sigh* and all the other high end Canadian department stores of yesteryear.

Anyway. I have no decent swim suit and this makes me sad.

I first realized I was missing the suit when we drove down to Florida this past Spring and could not find it to pack. So while on the road and during a coveted Target stop, I grabbed something that look decent off the rack, did not bother to try it on, and now guess what I'm wearing? The worst possible tankini put on this planet. Ever. EVER. Trust me on this. It does not cover correctly and it's just wrong, wrong, wrong.

It's a crime that's how bad this suit is really but do you think I've done anything about that fact? Nooooooooooooo because that would require swimsuit shopping -- HELLO NIGHTMARES -- plus I know that somewhere in this godforsaken apartment is that perfect black bathing suit. Or at least I think it is. I guess if I really knew, it wouldn't be lost eh?

Yes so. I've been wearing the tankini that should be illegal in order to cool both myself and my child off and OMG it is so *what's the word I'm looking for?* -- that's right: IT'S WRONG. Yet up until today I just told myself to stop being so worried about the fact that the bottoms don't fit great and my butt is kind of revealed more than I prefer and that the top kind of shifts around easily because I'm not trying to pick up at the pool and holy crap, everyone's butt hangs out of their suit a little bit (right? RIGHT?)

Oh who am I fooling? My bottom was neatly packaged in that black suit that HAS FORSAKEN ME.

*ahem*

Anyway. Today in the pool while wearing the tankini from hell my 4yo started getting super clingy. Like clinging to me while twisting around kind of clingy, where she's silly and doesn't realize what she's doing... LIKE TAKING MOMMY'S TOP OFF IN THE PROCESS.

I flashed a few people in the pool today and we all tried to pretend it didn't happen. Or maybe that was just me.

God I wish I knew where my black bathing suit is hidden *sob*.

Oh Canada

2010-07-01T17:17:00.005-04:00

If you had been that fly on the wall in our home earlier on this lovely Canada Day (no humidity! I *heart* no humidity!) you would have seen a mapletastic and bacon laden pastoral scene of A Canadian Family.

The child on the balcony dressed quasi-appropriately for the unpredictable weather known as summer in Canada (fleece leggings because the wind is really frickin' cold, t-shirt because it IS July 1st after all, and a hat because that sun is blazing hot), the husband with beers following free-agent day, and the wife scouring YouTube for Littlest Hobo, Beachcomber, Degrassi, Mighty Hercules, Rocket Robin Hood images and videos, not to mention getting nostalgic over Heritage Moments, and tearing up over Tom Brokaw's video on Canada from Vancouver 2010.

No denying we are Canadian.

Happy Canada everyone and I'd like to know: Am I the only one who cries during beer commercials? Seriously folks, this one gets me teary every time because apparently I'm a patriotic freak.

Big and Small Inspirations

2010-06-12T19:27:00.008-04:00

Big and Small is one of the few children's programs where I think I might like the characters more than my child does. Big is one of those very zen-like bearish creatures who likes to take life slow and think things through while Small is some kind of biped orange rat who appears to be on high on life. Or meth. Take your pick.

They are a more tolerant Odd Couple for a wee generation who probably will never know the names Felix Ungar or Oscar Madison. Wow. That's sad that these kids probably won't know that classic show that peppered my childhood tv diet. A diet that also included liberal doses of Gilligan's Island, Three's Company, and Alf. Syndication: it's a good thing. Oh great. Now I have the Odd Couple theme song stuck in my head.

Anyway. We bought the first five episodes of Big and Small on DVD recently (the first season if you will) and sat down to watch it together. Obviously I discovered something jarring while watching the very first episode of the show otherwise I wouldn't be writing this post (or would I? Perhaps my intention is to bore you all to death. Mwhahahahahahahaha.)

Anyway.

During the very first episode of the show I couldn't help but find it totally freaky that Small, who did not even know Big, just turned up on Big's doorstep one day with suitcase, stuffed giraffe, and a u-haul full of other stuff in hand, and just the moved the f*** in under the guise 'didn't you get my postcard?' -- a postcard he admittedly NEVER SENT.

Now just to back track a little, in the beginning of the episode Big exclaims that something is missing from his home in this totally angsty way that lets you know that what's missing is probably something more philosophical than physical missing from his life but hey, the intended audience doesn't really care. So. Out of the blue comes this Small character who totally encroaches on Big, thrusting himself into his life, and then somehow convinces Big that he is what was *missing* from Big's life.

Holy crow. Small is by all appearances a grifting con man of epic proportions. WHO KNEW? Wow. I cannot wait to see how the writers and producers end this season. Will Big be taken for everything he's worked so hard to get? Will Small's dark side be revealed? I wanna know.

Now in addition to this totally weird story line that is reminiscent of Pacific Heights (not really but if it was Small would be Michael Keaton and Big would be Melanie Griffith), there is an episode where Big builds Small his own door so he can have more independence around a house that was obviously built for bigger creatures.

So while Big is testing the new small door out, he gets his head stuck in the frame. While watching this (and trying to figure out if Small would use this opportunity to rob Big blind and kill him for the insurance while Big was totally incapacitated) I blurted out to my daughter that I once got my head stuck in a fence.

She was totally fascinated. I hadn't really meant to tell her that story but it just came out so I decided to stop right there. Of course she asked me questions.

How did you get your head out mom?

I stayed calm, held down my ears by putting my arms through other parts of the fence, and slowly removed my head without a scratch or hurting myself.

Where did this happen mom?

Um. In London. At Buckhingham Palace.

I stopped the story there in hopes that she would go back to watching her show. Which she did. After a few minutes, Small helped Big out of his bind with some butter (I think Small was making himself a hero so Big would feel his loyalty and trust - DON'T BELIEVE IT BIG, DON'T BELIEVE IT FOR A MINUTE) and the episode ended.

This is when my daughter turned around and said 'Momma, were you big or small when you got your head stuck in that fence?'

I paused, coughed, and quickly said 'Big' and left the room.

She doesn't need to know I was thirty when that happened does she? For the record, the fences around that place really look a lot bigger than they really are. Liz should really put up a sign or something.

A Trip To The Zoo & Cranium Goo

2010-05-30T11:19:00.003-04:00

Last week I volunteered to be a responsible parent on my daughter's kindergarten class trip to the zoo.

Yeah. I don't know what I was thinking either.

In fact, it didn't really sink in until a few minutes before leaving to catch the big yellow limo to certain insanity.

Proof:

And truth be told -- and boy oh boy I love the truth -- most of the time I don't know what I am thinking. Not that I'm blank in the head. In fact my head is chock full of amazing illuminations (some illegal in Tennessee) and I often struggle to turn my mind off just so I can concentrate on the here and now.

Which I know doesn't make much sense to those who don't find that statement familiar but there is something to be said about mind noise and instincts. While instincts alone cannot guarantee survival or success, it is a huge chunk of what keeps me going day to day. Some days more than others. Sometimes it's just mind noise and the instinct is no where to be found. It's just a lot of loud noise and those days aren't so easy.

Come closer, I have poo to throw at you.

*sigh* I know this isn't making that much sense except to those who also have the noise in their head.

I was trying to focus on the leaves but the damn tiger kept getting in my way

Would it be inaccurate when I claim that I really have no clue what I'm doing in this parenthood gig? Not really. That said, I'm not doing a horrible job -- she's proof of that. She's an awesome human being though trying to quantify how much of that I'm responsible for is difficult.

Smiling turtle knows your secrets

She's headstrong. She's smart. She's daring. She's never killed a hobo (or at least hasn't been caught). And on top of all that awesomeness, she's also very talented and omfg, she's always singing. She marches to her own drummer but is simultaneously obsessed with people understanding that she is a GIRL not a stinky boy (her words.) Apparently this can only be achieved by adding a princess touch to each and every aspect of her life. There are days I want to gouge my eyes out with a blunt instrument over this entire pink princess business but when I see her practising ninja kicks while wearing a tiara, I put the butter knife down.

And sometimes I just think the pink princess business is the noise in her head. Way to pass the torch momma.

For those wondering how the zoo trip panned out: we came back with the same number of kids we had in the morning. Now I can't claim these were all the SAME kids we went in with but hey, stop being so damn detail oriented.

Wordless Wednesday: California Rolls

2010-05-12T10:58:00.003-04:00

Dinner last night: Sushi Bar at Desert Springs Resort (Palm Desert, California)

View from my room at 6am this morning. Breathtaking.

I *heart* California.

Could MacGruber Win You $100 Dollars? Movies, Money, Oh My.

2010-05-10T10:15:00.044-04:00

mmmm RDJ fortified with iron

This past weekend the babysitting gods sat around and laughed heartily at and openly mocked me and my husband while around our fair city Iron Man 2 opened on many, many screens.

Obviously we did not get one measly glimpse at the uber hot Tony Stark, save for passing a poster at the theatre on the way to the grocery store -- which for the record DOES. NOT. COUNT. Yes, I'm not bitter at all, not one drop.

Instead we watched a perfectly good movie on our TV that had Viggo Mortonsen who is a totally acceptable replacement for Robert Downey Jr. Plus I must admit that watching a movie at home is a heck of a lot more comfortable and efficient than going to the theatre. For starters I don't need to put on pants.

But even that excellent reason cannot stop my inner movie snob from pouting because certain movies *cough* Iron Man 2 *cough* were made for the big screen. Please don't get my inner movie snob started on the absolute mandatory requirement of surround-sound or I'll never finish this post which is about both movies and the possibility of winning real money (you, not me winning money SO PLEASE DO HANG ON).

Anyway.

Movies: I love them and when they are seen in an actual theatre, all the better. Of course now that I'm a responsible parent who also has no real babysitter, seeing a theatre movie with my preferred date is a very rare event. Needless to say when the opportunity arises I like to see a movie from my must-see list. Can't have a rare event marred by a stinker movie.

Which brings me to the possibility of winning real cold hard cash part of this post. All you need to do is answer the following movie-related question over at BlogHer and you might win $100 dollars in cold hard cash (cash may or may not be hard but trust me, it still feels good.) So what is the question?

What are your must-see summer movies for 2010?

For the record, mine are:

Iron Man 2 [Three words: Robert. Downey. Jr. Need I say more?]
Eclipse [Yes, I'm a Twilight Mom. Stop judging me.]
Toy Story 3 [This selection is a direct result of being a parent. Parenthood: it changes you in ways you'd never imagine or even care to admit.]
George A. Romero's Survival of the Dead [I'm an unapologetic horror movie lover]
The A-Team [Again stop judging me. I could have said MacGruber.]

.... but because of those fancy-schmancy rules, I cannot win. But that doesn't mean you can't. So go on now and get. Share your summer must-see movies over at BlogHer. Trust me, entering to win the money is way easier than finding a babysitter on a Saturday night. Word to this mother.

Good luck!

There Are Some Things About Adulthood That Really Suck.

2010-05-08T17:12:00.002-04:00

photo: sassyradish flickr

There are some things about adulthood that really suck. Like paying taxes. Or shelling out full fare on transit. Or not being able to throw a tantrum anywhere, anytime, for any or no reason whatsoever without being called an asshole. Or the one that has really been bugging me recently: not being able to leisurely dismantle a sandwich cookie in a public setting using fingers and tongue without more mature adults thinking your soft in the head.

In my observations when sharing something like a bag of Oreo or Fruit Cream with a group of kids and their tagalong parental units, inevitably all the adults will eat their ration like it's a regular single layer cookie; two or three bites with no particular plan of execution, only a singular focused goal of digestion. The shame.

A sandwich cookie needs to be savored and dissected in order to fully appreciate its cookie greatness. The top layer serves as an appetizer to prep the palate for the upcoming cookie extravaganza, next is jelly removal [if applicable], then the slow, deliberate savoring of the cream-filled centre, followed by a crunch aperitif of cookie bottom.

Yet for some reason, one that I don't really understand but am bound to, adults do not eat their sandwich cookies this manner when in the company of other adults [spouses and best friends excepted.] Children may do so in public though cantankerous adults may chastise a child during one of the stages of the junior connoisseur's cookie appreciation, usually citing it as outlawed food play. One might wonder if the chastiser wishes she could be eating her cookie just like that [something I may or may not be guilty of in the past.]

And maybe even during one of those such past events I was driven to visit the local grocers after being forced by my inner voices to eat a sandwich cookie 'like an adult'. And during that store visit I may have bought one (or two) boxes of sandwich cookies to eat in the privacy of my own home, where the voices can be silenced and the four year old never questions my method of cookie disposal -- as long as I share.

Yup. There are some things about adulthood that really suck.

The Grammar Nazi Came To Visit

2010-05-07T12:00:00.001-04:00

The Grammar Nazi would go ballistic in my blog archive. Reading some of my stuff makes my inner Grammar Nazi twitch like a lunatic.

I swear that parenthood stole my ability to successfully proof my words. That's my excuse and I'm sticking to it.

Best. Commercial. Ever.

2010-05-01T21:33:00.000-04:00

I'm dead serious about that title and he's dead serious about his mobile homes.

Enjoy.

found via The Consumerist

Did This Rat Die For Your Sins?

2010-04-22T14:38:00.004-04:00

We were barreling down the highway with our windows up and the music cranked, both bobbing our heads in unison to Lady Gaga's Telephone. Mind you my head bob was adjusted for safety reasons as driving dictated that I be a bit more focused on the road than my heart on the dance-floor.

We love the cranked tunes, my girl and I. We are cut from the same cloth. In the car we both know the best way to drive is with the stereo cranked to eleven. She smiles, I smile, and we let the music take over our brains. Sometimes when we arrive at our destination we sit in the car until the end of the song because you know, we have to close the show properly.

So needless to say interruptions in our musical reveries are few and far between but on this particular evening, after a hard day of play-dating, something made my daughter yell out from the back seat mid-tune.

'I SEE IT!'

I was confused as I snapped out of my harmonizing with Beyonce moment. We weren't discussing much less looking for anything. What is she screaming about from the backseat?

'I SEE IT! I SEE IT MOMMY! RIGHT THERE!'

I glanced in the rearview to see what she was pointing towards. Her body leaned towards the right of the car as much as her car seat allowed and her eyes were wide. My eyes set towards her pointing finger and all I saw the usual landscape of strip malls, restaurants, and megaplexes. What on earth was she so excited about?

'I SEE IIIIIIIIIIIIIIITTTTTTTT! Do you see it mommy?' she asked in a more muted but concerned tone now that I had turned down the music to figure out what the fuss was all about.

'Uh... no? What exactly am I looking for?' was my response.

She made that exasperated, exaggerated sigh that she reserves for mommy-stupidity moments and slapped her sweet chubby judgmental hand to her face to emphasize her disgust with me.

'Chuck E Jesus Mom! He's right there!'

And she was correct. There in the wasteland of strip malls and chain restaurants, the rat had risen and he was beckoning to all the small children to sit at his paws and learn how to become disciples of the big old corporate overlords.

Glory be, my daughter recognizes Chuck E. Jesus *cough* I mean, Cheese without any guidance from us. We're doomed. My turn to sigh and slap the forehead.

The Big Tease

2010-04-12T12:30:00.058-04:00

Okay, if you came here from Oh, The Joys, WELCOME! But if you didn't come from there you must go visit The Bloggess in order to make any sense of what is going on below so go read her post first (that is, if you are going to BlogHer this year -- if not, you probably won't care to read the rest.)

Because only someone who has followed the yellow brick road, uh I mean teaser trail, understands why I'm screaming out just one random-looking word, like this one:

NOW GO HERE ASAP: The Velveteen Mind

Why are you still here?

Momma Said 'Remember to Share': Brett Domino, Justin Timberlake Medley

2010-04-11T19:20:00.000-04:00

There are two things that make me happy when well executed. One is the difficult art of cheesy montage, the other is the rare talent of K-tel melody and this by far is the best Justin Timberlake medley ev-ah. These guys make me look like I got my sexy back. Of course it's the only Justin Timberlake medley I ever heard but don't let my lack of experience prevent you from pressing play.

Enjoy.

A Weekend With Dallas

2010-04-11T13:38:00.000-04:00

Each time I try something new, I see small improvements in my photog skills. *pats self on back*

Dallas -- the black mink catboy of my menagerie -- has always been impossible to photograph. His silky coat reflected (or is it absorbed?) the light and he just looked like a huge fuzzy ball. Which, yes he is a huge fuzzy ball but in photos he was more huge, more fuzzy, and less ballsy than usual.

But yesterday I whipped out the camera and figured out how to capture his silky look without being a slave to the automatic setting. Here he is in his natural habitat otherwise known as the 'kitchen' waiting to be fed.

Meet Dallas. He likes long walks on the kitchen counter, candle lit bowls of kibble, and endless petting sessions. To leave a message for him press 7486 followed by the pound key.

I'd tell you where I was registered but that seems gauche

2010-03-30T00:28:00.001-04:00

According to the gift ideas for a four year anniversary, linen & silk or fruit & flower are more traditional, while modern suggests electrical appliances.

So basically what this vintage photo of the little lady means: where is my motherbumpin' fruit & flowers, linen & silk, or gosh diddly darn new Cuisinart? Of course I kid, you can send your gift later. It's just I couldn't ignore the fact that today is my four year blogoversary.

Four years ago this image was part of my original banner because this is the person who inspired it all. Hard to believe it's been four entire years since winding my way into this virtual coil of I don't know what.

Many friends have been gained, much sanity has been found, and even more so, insanity just oozes from every crevice. Yet despite that last fact, I stay around. Must be because of you. So thank you -- no really, I mean it: thank you.

It's either because of you or maybe all those free drinks I've been promised over the years. Both reasons do seem plausible.

Pack Rat Barely Covers It

2010-03-28T22:46:00.000-04:00

I've talked about my 4 year olds 'treasure' collecting before and I know many others also know the curse of the garbage treasure -- a pirate mystery that sadly neither includes Johnny Depp or me looking like a well-corseted damsel who totally kicks everyone's butt. So far I am winning the battle of keeping nature where it belongs which is not, no matter how much my kid protests, anywhere in or even near our living room.

Behold My Whirling Dervish & Her Art

But a bout of recent insane and pointless stabs at 'Spring Cleaning' has brought on a whole new type of treasure collecting -- G is stockpiling from the clothing bound for the charity boxes or other fates as determined by me.

Yesterday I caught her trying to shove her feet into her tiny knock-off Uggs that she wore when she was two. These boots had made it to the recycle box and destined for another child's feet via a long-overdue cleaning of the front closet. A closet that threatened to avalanche if I ignored it for another weekend.

G did not agree with my assessment of these lightly-worn but too small boot's purpose. Standing on her tippy-toes in order to walk in them, when she caught me looking she yelled 'SEE! I told you they still fit.' This was punctuated with a disgusted huff-like appropriate noise.

And see these roses that we purchased in a fit of 'I feel so pretty' last week? She's trying to convince me to keep all the petals now that they are wilted. All I can see coming from keeping the petals is a huge mess in the near future that will probably involve me picking crushed rose petals out of either the couch, her bed, our bed, or all of the above. I'm going to need to pull a fast one on her and dump them after she's gone to bed. How I'll justify it, I don't know (suggestions in the comment section greatly appreciated).

Though I did draw the line quickly after a recent re-acquisition of her crossed my personal comfort line. Sitting on her bed, I noticed a familiar nude coloured strap peeking out from a pile of her own clothing. After tugged on it, out slipped a bra that had recently been thrown out. It had ripped wide open -- cups separated from the centre -- which I'd like to think was from my heaving damsel bosom bursting forth from it's chains but was more than likely due to the fact that particular bra was way past it's prime. I guess I have a thing for not being able to let things go either. *ahem*

Anyway. This I had to confiscate, despite her protests. Don't need her bringing that in for show and tell at school. I'd like to call that repo: a crisis averted.

She gives me this look no less than forty times per day. Apparently I deserve all the sass in the world.

2010-03-10T11:15:00.000-05:00

More photos of Their Bad Road Trip to the Tiarathon (thanks to GM Canada) can be found over at The Bad Moms Club but my favourite personal princess sass snapshot had to appear here for the benefit of family and friends.

This girl means business. Word.

snapshots from the road: Georgia Is Always On Our Minds

2010-03-04T13:02:00.000-05:00

Jasper Joe

Southern Motherbelle

Miss Gem

It's a Fact: Kids and Animals Always Steal the Show

2010-03-04T12:42:00.000-05:00

My friend's husband made this video for a contest and I want it to win so I'm shamelessly sharing it here. Mostly because he promised me free chips if he wins. And my favourite kind of chips are free ones.

The Flight Of The Rainbow Unicorn.

2010-02-24T11:57:00.000-05:00

My four year old daughter's most recent project at school proved she's way cooler than me.

BEHOLD HER PAPER AIRPLANE!

Named The Rainbow Unicorn.

She's far too cool for elementary school.

Going for Gold Tiaras

2010-02-23T15:15:00.000-05:00

Oh look! This is what my baby looked like during the 2006 Winter Olympics:

Future Skating Champ? Yeah right Nana (who sent her that onesie) way to set the bar high. Kid couldn't even sit up at the time. Babies are so lazy. Two seconds after I snapped this photo she was laying down again. *rolls eyes*

Anyway.

I'd show you a picture of what she looks like during the 2010 Winter Olympics in her Olympic themed gear but she won't wear the outfit long enough for me to snap something. Seriously: what is it with four year olds and their incredibly relaxed stance on public nudity? Heathens, all of them. Also: feral with finesse. That's how I describe my four year old after a tantrum.

Soooooooooo what's new with you?

Uh hun. Yup. Oh my goodness! How frustrating. If I was you, I'd blame Bob Marshall because he deserves it.

See how I just assumed your life was filled with frustrations? That's because most of you are parents. Parenting = Frustration 93.4% of the time during the winter months with a significant decrease in percentage during summer months due to increases in serotonin levels from natural vitamin D absorption. For the record: I conduct a ton of questionable research from my quasi-lab slash glittermobile unit and I stand by NONE OF IT. Yet I share it with everyone. Go figure.

Anyway. Enough about me and my research. Let's talk about you. So what do you think of my research?

Oh really? That's what you want to know? You want to know what a glittermobile is? (work with me people, this is how I make segues) It's a term I lifted from TwoBusy and refers to the device I will be employing this weekend as Catherine and I embark on yet another insane roadtrip. This time we are packing the kids up and leaving the husbands in the dust as we make our way from Toronto to Orlando for the Tiarathon (read more details via that link). We are doing it to raise awareness about Duchenne's Muscular Dystrophy and Catherine's mission to do 100 miles For Tanner (see the cute roadsign on my sidebar?)

So. We obviously are insane and have issues but that isn't really anything shockingly new or even innovative for that matter. Bloggers = Insane 100% of the time.

Does that answer your question about the glittermobile? I hope so.

Anyway. Next week I'll be writing from the road and trying to establish exactly why I abuse the word 'anyway' so much. Motherbumper out.

Red Tape is a State of Mind

2010-02-17T00:16:00.001-05:00

Rarely a day goes by where I'm not amazed by something a child has done. Be it my daughter not throwing a tantrum over something she usually deems fit-worthy (sing it with me: 'she's growing up right before our eyes') or the simple act of a toddler giving a crying playmate a hug to make everything all right: children amaze me.

I know, I know it's not revolutionary thinking but honestly, I never noticed how amazing they are when I was a selfish singleton in the sea of Bridget Joneses.

But now that I've had my eyes opened by the ankle-biting set I wish I could capture their enthusiasm and determination to just do the 'right thing'. Scratch that: I wish WE could capture their enthusiasm and determination to just do the 'right thing'.

So often adults just see the bureaucracy, red tape, and all the exhausting obstacles and plum just give up before getting started. Hey, I'm not pointing fingers, I've worked for the government and the private sector and have had the rah-rah-sis-boom-ba sucked right out of me.

Case in point: I worked for a large corporation and my team asked me to represent the group on the charity committee for the year. I was honoured and really excited to get things done. Then I sat in meeting after meeting trying to get just one thing done; one thing that barely happened. We ran into walls built of 'well if our team doesn't get top exposure, we won't participate' and 'we must appease this group's demands or they won't provide funding/support' mumbo jumbo and it smashed my enthusiasm.

What ever happened to focusing on the task of raising funds instead of concentrating on grooming egos? Who cares who's name is boldest on the poster? Would people feel all warm and fuzzy if they knew it took twelve well-educated, certified up the ying-yang knobs six months just to agree to hold a bake-sale in the office lobby?

It is a child's naiveté about navigating the sea of bureaucracy and corporate exposure that reminds me that to get from A to B just requires a straight line.

When the earthquake and aftermath happened in Haiti a few weeks ago, a nine-year old girl walked into the principals office at my daughter's school and said 'we must do something.' Together with the principal they rounded up 300 small envelopes and printed up 300 labels that said 'Change for Haiti'. These labels went on the envelopes and she made sure that each child brought one home that Friday afternoon with a note explaining why.

The following week she had raised over two-thousand dollars and didn't expect a word of thanks. She just wanted to make sure that the people of Haiti received the funds. And they did.

Helping others also means checking your ego at the door and children just seem to know that. We have so much to learn from them *sigh*

***************************************

Katie, aka motherbumper, blogs at The Bad Moms Club by day and fights crime at night. Not really but she thought it sounded better than doing laundry. She also has a personal blog called motherbumper where she sometimes posts but not as often as she should.

Posted via web from Mommy Movement

The Evolution of Her Happy Face

2010-02-09T11:09:00.001-05:00

The potato people of my daughter's artistic days of yore are experiencing an evolution baby.

The eyelashes on her heart people are making me swoon.

Posted via email from katie doesn't have time to post anymore

Automatic to Manual: Baby Steps

2010-02-07T17:31:00.003-05:00

The camera was purchased over a year ago but it was only recently that I sat down and actually tried the things I've learned. Ali and Mishelle inspired me to sit down and start using something other than the big ol' automatic setting crutch on the dial.

Truth: I just want an excuse to get a lens as big and fancy as Mishelle's, I definitely have lens envy. And if learning how to use this thing to justify that purchase (which isn't really going to happen unless they become Happy Meal toys) then learning to use the camera properly is the way I'm going to go.

BTW: who ever selects upcoming Happy Meal toys --> lens for DSLRs would guarantee an unprecedented run on the sales of Happy Meals. You're welcome to act on that suggestion. You don't even need to credit me, just act on it, m'kay?

Anyway. So Manual, it's so nice to meet you. Go easy on me okay? I'm just learning how to use you to my fullest advantage.

Woah, wait, that sounded a bit rude. I mean, yes Manual I'm going to use you but trust me, it will benefit us both. Not that that sounds much better. I just hate for you to think I'm 'using you'.

After all, it's not like you haven't been taunting and teasing while intimidating me for over a year. You are a camera-tease, there's no doubt about that.

So here we go Manual: a fast subject under horrible lighting conditions. But I was patient master. I don't think your grasshopper failed.

*hisses* 'Manual, I will make you my bitch soon enough.'

I suppose that didn't sound any better than 'using you', did it?

*sigh*

Don't take it personally my sweet inanimate object that I think cares about what I think.

*sigh*

I need to get out more.

In The Middle Of The Night

2010-02-03T15:04:00.001-05:00

I arrived home late on Sunday night to the welcoming arms of my very tired husband. He did an almost three day stint alone taking care of our little whippersnapper and all without one piece of broken furniture or trips to the ER. Huzzah!

It's always difficult for me to go to bed right away when returning home -- no matter how tired I am -- and Sunday night was no exception. Kicking around on the internet, catching up on Twitter (oh the curse of no data plan on my phone meant I was tweeting into a void all weekend unless someone DM'd me directly), and watching a bit of the Food Network made me tired enough to attempt sleep.

It's nice to sleep in one's own bed even if the accommodations provided by her, her, and her were more than luxurious. My trip to Atlanta brought a lot of peace to my mind even if it did return me to Canada with a borked sinus that seems to still be filled with quick dry cement. Winter colds: I hate thee.

But sleep I did, even if it seemed I woke up to blow my nose every forty-five minutes.

Then at 4:00 am, I heard the door to our room. I listened to the knob turn and the shuffling feet before I opened my eyes. When I finally pried open my gunked up eyes (thanks to my snot factory of a head), she was standing right in front of me, inches from my face.

The smile that lit up her face was so bright, it seemed like she had her own spot light to focus on her beautiful smile and shining eyes.

That look said it all: "Mommy's home."

We didn't exchange any words, I just drew her in under the duvet next to me (winter cold be damned) and held her close, letting her know for every ounce that she missed me, there is a more than ample weight to balance that longing on my side.

Mommy is home.

Wordless(er) Wednesday: Hello Barbie, Let's Go Party Edition

2010-01-13T09:16:00.002-05:00

Meet the newest members of our family. I'm not a Barbie fan per se, but they are imagination sparkers so I tolerate their existence. Reluctantly. I'd rather see them hacked into jewellery but that's just me.

It's all about ponies, princesses, and a Ken-esque dolls around here. She christened her Ken doll 'Jacob'. Strange thing is I almost bought her an Edward doll but his sparkle creeped me out so, Backstreet Ken it was! Why she named him Jacob is beyond me because I'm more of a Team Embry lady anyway.

Anyhow, I'm totally convinced they all drink too much because almost every party seems to end like this so.

I'm pretty sure they are a bad influence of some kind.

But trying to take them away results in reactions like this.

So tolerate their presence is what I do.

Sigh.

Barbie is in da' house. Whimper.

Monday's Child is Full of Meh

2010-01-04T10:35:00.000-05:00

For a while now my 4yo has had me on edge over the alphabet. At an early age she could recite it perfectly but whenever I tried to sneak letter association in with the alphasong she would turn up her nose at textbook knowledge. She's a smart one. She recognizes surreptitious learning when she sees it.

When her nursery teacher taught her to spell her name (something I had been trying for ages) she still refused to point out which letters corresponded to what she was saying. Umprompted she would point out the letters of her name within other words but pressed to identify, she clammed up.

This monkey refuses to dance when asked. She so much like her mom. *sigh*

Anyhow, the nursery teacher and I were confident that she was just screwing with us and I was able to let go of some of the hand-wringing over her language/learning skills.

But now we are in kindergarten and it's all about letters, writing, and reading. No pressure because she's JK but I work in the classroom and I know how much is dedicated to the basics. *sigh*

The edge of worry was creeping back up under my butt and again I was back to the hand wringing over her knowledge. The back of my head was screaming "she's f'ing with you" but the paranoid, never-turned-off side of my brain was shouting "you never really know, right?"

Then G presented me with something that pulled me back from the precipice of parenting obsession:

At least I know my daughter understands what Monday is all about.

Meh indeedy my child.

And when the heck did you learn to write? I swear she is screwing with me and I love her even more for it.

Farewell 2009

2009-12-31T21:59:00.002-05:00

While overall the decade was amazing, 2009 kinda sucked just as much as it didn't suck and when dealing with suckage ratios, one wants the number of suckage versus didn't suck to be in the low range.

What I really mean to say is 2010 has a lot to live up to so hop to it 2010, let's do this thang.

Happy new year to you and yours. May your year be a safe, healthy, productive, rewarding, chocolate-filled, and slightly raunchy one because I hear those are the best ones, the best ones indeed.

I Want A New Drug* (This was supposed to be a decorating the Christmas Tree post but it's not)

2009-12-22T13:29:00.000-05:00

Yesterday at 4:45 am, I woke up in unbelievable pain. Pain that didn't seem like it could get worse yet it did. It was right under my ribs and at first it was like the worst runner's stitch ever but while I was describing it to the Telehealth nurse over the phone, it became stabbing. She said "get ye to an ER posthaste" except not in Ye Old English because that would have been weird.

So I walked back into our bedroom and said "dude, I'm going to get me some good drugs at the hospital." That woke him up fast. He bundled me out the door into a cab, with hugs and kisses and promises not to worry about the home front.

In the ride over I was trying to decide if it was a twisted ovarian cyst (been there, done that so many times but each time I'm reminded OMFG THIS IS PAINFUL) or a ruptured appendix (haven't been there or done that but I imagine it's painful). By the time we pulled into the ER, my skin colour was a mix of grey green and I was pretty much in tears. I staggered into triage like DRAMA was my middle name and I figured I must have done a great show because I didn't have to wait. I was immediately banded and told to stagger down the hall to follow the yellow line.

Yellow line in internal medicine, blue line is orthopeadics, green line is xray... can you tell I've been to this hospital many times? Thanks kid.

Anyhow, I walked down into that area and there was a young guy at the desk. I handed him my chart and he said "I'm putting you in a bed right away." Well that's not the first time a random guy has said that to me but this was the first time I was grateful to hear those words. Then he said "I'm ordering an IV right now and then we can figure out what's wrong with you". Oh my word, he was a doctor and I wanted to french him despite the searing pain that riddled my body and my devoted love of my husband.

Well I didn't french him but he made me delirious once he ordered that morphine drip.

After a brief exam, a zillion questions, and poking that resulted in me pretty much slapping him, we were both stumped. The pain was in a strange place -- maybe my gallbladder was about to blow. An ultrasound was pulled into the room and revealed nothing except my insides are way pretty.

So another ultrasound was ordered, this time with radiologists attached to it. You know, the folks who can tell me more than "you've got real purdy insides lady". But that wasn't going to happen for a while so I was allowed to wallow in my opium stupor and grab some zzzzzs.

Then I thought I need to give my family an update. I had no idea what time it was and as I fumbled for my phone with the one good arm I had left after being attacked by the bloodletters, I asked the staff member left in the room "Can I make a call?"

For the record, he was standing right by a HUGE sign that said "NO MOBILE DEVICES TO BE USED UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES" and it had a picture of my particular model of phone right next to the huge RED glaring words. All it needed was "This means YOU motherbumper" to drive the point home. But it didn't say that and the dude said "I won't tell".

So I called my husband and gave him the lowdown. After speaking for a few minutes -- I was kind of shocked at how crappy I sounded -- I decided to send an email to Catherine to let her know where the hell I was. Then I noticed that there was a whole bunch of "where the f*** are you emails in my inbox" and I felt overwhelmed. I couldn't answer these all.

Then I suddenly felt really alone plus overwhelmed.

So I tweeted.

"I'm in emerg on a morophin drip for mysterious pains. This must mean one thing: it must MONDAY. Mondays suck hard. Bah."

Grammatically incomplete but still, I got the point across. Anyone who knows me on Twitter knows I hate Mondays so it just seemed fitting.

And suddenly DMs and beautiful messages started pouring in. The feeling of alone and overwhelmed started to dissipate. My love of Twitter was once again renewed since it's been bashed beyond recognition for me by recent events.

Twitter CAN be filled with love and this renewed my faith.

I tweeted because I needed my friends and they were there.

For that I say thank you more loudly than you can imagine. Actually I will say it softly because I'm still in pain.

Oh yes, back to the pain.

Eventually I had the ultrasound where it was discovered that among other things, I had a kidney stone the size of a Buick that couldn't be treated except with drugs to facilitate it's exit and dull the pain. *sigh* They are giving it seven days to leave my hallowed halls which means knowing my luck, it will arrive just in time for Christmas.

OH JOY, IT'S THE CHRISTMAS STONE! GOD REST YE MERRY, STONE!

So now I'm home, afraid to go far for fear I'll be birthing a fire-baby stone in the streets, and taking copious amounts of boring drugs.

I love how the last one says "May Cause Dizziness". In truth it should say: Take this and fall over like a drunk kitten ALL THE MO'FO TIME. Because that would have been more accurate.

Anyhow, this is my long-winded way of retelling what happened yesterday and believe it or not, this is barely a tenth of what happened. I'm saving the funny part for another post - one that I can write when the freaking DIZZY SPELLS END. I don't do dizzy well.

* I'm quoting Huey Lewis and the News which must mean the morphine hasn't worn off just yet.

blink

2009-12-15T15:13:00.001-05:00

*blink*

*blink*

That would be the non-existent cursor on my computer screen.

It doesn't actually blink... in fact half the time I don't know where the little f**ker is until I hit a key but despite the fact it doesn't blink per se, I still hear it loud and clear.

*blink*

*blink*

Writing in this space has become a luxury I cannot afford and that makes me sad. BUT! I am writing. Just not here.

I'm proud of my writing elsewhere (namely:

plus a whole bunch of other stuff over at The Bad Moms Club, Aiming Low, and MamaPop). But the writing I'm proud of is just not here.

And these are things I wanted to write about in this here space but haven't:

The fact that I was going to stab my husband in bed the other night for suddenly getting up, going to the kitchen, and bringing back a bunch of Triscuits to eat in bed. AND I swear he used a megaphone to consume them and really drive the point home that he was EATING LOUD CRACKERS IN BED AT 3AM. Sadly I did not stab him because that would have made a better blog post (picture it, the prison diaries of a motherbumper -- I can hear the movie proposals already)
That I've been reading recipe books like it's porn but have no intention of creating any of the delicious smut that tantalizes my eyes.
The conservations that I'm having with my four-year old are comedy gold. Nothing is sacred in her realm and I LOVE IT. And I'm not writing any of it down because I'm a half-assed mom who likes to live in the now.

BUT! Yeah. Well... I haven't written any of those posts.

I also could have written about how proud I am that we decorated our Christmas tree this past weekend. Of course it's pretty easy to do that when you just pop the sucker out of the storage closet where you shoved it last year and then stick all twelve ornaments that survived the half-ass packing you did with the disclaimer "I'll repack this properly later..." which actually means sometime later in 2012 when I actually MIGHT HAVE SOME TIME. Bitter? No, not one bit.

We are all so damn busy. And by we, I mean you and me, and you over there in the corner, we are all so damn busy. Time is more precious than moon dust and moon pies these days. So what to do, what to do?

All I can do is keep my head down and keep on slogging.

Next time I'm not going to leave so much time between posts. That *blink* makes it really hard to form sentences much less coherent thoughts.

where in the world is motherbumper?

2009-11-23T05:00:00.003-05:00

Care to join me in the Bad Moms Club? That's where you'll find me.

Anissa

2009-11-18T00:36:00.002-05:00

This post just won't start. Everything I write down just sounds wrong.

And I think that's because the whole situation is wrong.

Yesterday Anissa had a stroke, putting her in ICU, and I keep trying to write a post mainly to tell people if they are looking to help out or find out what's going on, to head over to her baby Aiming Low or if that is overloaded go directly to the contact sheet to find out how friends can help out.

But I just can't write the post I want to put out there, a post about an awesome friend. This doesn't happen to a friend I just spent a week with, sharing a hotel room and lots of obscene laughter with. No. That just doesn't happen.

Everything just sounds wrong.

Anissa and her family need our thoughts and prayers right now and even though I didn't say what I wanted to say, I know this will be one of those posts that I will come back and read sometime down the road and totally kick myself for being so melodramatic. And Anissa will totally kick my ass for doing that.

They got it wrong: Sunday's Child is Full of Face.

2009-11-15T11:06:00.000-05:00

pink isn't always cute but is always dominating

2009-11-03T14:54:00.003-05:00

@TheCaffeinatrix and Moi in Central Park, as it should be

Last week I had to pleasure of escaping the routine of my life and wreak some beautiful havoc with friends new and old. Yes folks, the AimingLow crew blasted through Boston and New York and the recaps are gathered over yonder.

Anyhow, on the last day I was lollygagging around my hotel room -- because I'm really good at lollygagging, so much so that I should go pro -- and my phone rang. Now that in itself is not astounding: I own a phone and on occasion it rings. I usually ignore it because you know: phone = talking with people = things motherbumper does not like to do. But this time I noticed it was my child's school.

Before I could finish applying a proper panic face, it went to voice mail.

As helplessness set in, I dialled 98 to hear my child's fate.

Hello G's mom, we know you are away but we thought we would call to tell you your daughter is fine but... she has pink eye.

Way to give me a heart attack school admin (but joking aside: I do appreciate their attention to detail, they are good people at that place).

So after I phoned home to scream "BURN THE SHEETS, DON HAZMAT SUITS, BUUUUURN THE TOWELS! DAMMIT!" I braced myself for yuckiness. We've battled pink eye in these parts before and it ain't pretty.

Now I don't know about you but pink eye makes it sound so cute. But it's about as cute as string cheese served over snot.

So short of long: my daughter went from dressing as Snow White for Hallowe'en to doing a frighteningly eerie Jack LaMotta a la DeNiro from Raging Bull.

Obviously Hallowe'en was also a bust which meant: NO BAG OF CANDY FOR MOMMA TO STEAL FROM. Don't panic though, I rectified that ticktyboo. Sale candy tastes even sweeter.

So the daughter was bummed to miss the trick or treating and not one to keep quiet, she demonstrated her sadness in one of the most moving self portraits we've seen in these here parts:

Portrait of an Young Artist with Pink Eye

She is all healed now which is a great relief to all. None of us want to do those drops ever again (*knock wood*). We have the bruises and partial deafness to prove it.

ANYHOW - lots of mail waiting for me when I got back and the coolest thing in the pile by far is this t-shirt:

The Mominatrix book will be out in the new year so I can finally get that all important guide to sex. About damn time and maybe it will explain a few things to me, like where the heck did that kid come from and why so sticky sex, I mean, is it that hard to be mess free? Seriously though, I love it when friends do amazing things like publish books or go to the grocery store with their pants on. I like to celebrate many accomplishments in life so three cheers for Madame Mominatrix, Kristen Chase.

Anyhow, the apartment is a disaster and I've got a ton of reading to catch up on so I've really got to get back to ignoring the dust bunnies because if I don't do it, who will?

Verified as Complex in Nature

2009-10-21T10:21:00.001-04:00

Yesterday we went to the doctor and sure enough they confirmed what we suspected: Gigi is four.

I'm not sure how it happened but it's true. She is four.

FOUR.

One, two, three, four.

Overdone sentiments about wrinkles in time will be skipped and I'll just go directly to screaming with a generous helping of denial.

We sat in the office for almost an hour discussing complex issues like nutritious food versus heaven sent candy, good touch/bad touch, empathy, and quantum theories of time. For the record, her physical reality is totally molecular and based on how many sleeps until Christmas.

But the important thing in that last paragraph is we discussed these complexities. We. Two doctors, Gigi, and I discussed her milestones and development.

No chasing her around the room, no prying medical equipment out of her hands while I tried to answer their questions, no bribing her to get on the scale and stand up straight (still bribes though to get her double arm jabs because HELLO! NEEDLES! I still need bribes to get needles and I'm four plus a zero). But basically four very complex individuals sat in a room discussing very complex issues and everyone had input and opinions.

Everyone.

Because she is four.

Coming to a city near you... it's MOTHERBUMPER LIVE!

2009-10-18T16:39:00.001-04:00

Do you live anywhere near the following cities?

TORONTO
BOSTON
NEW YORK CITY

Yes? You do? AWESOME -- check these awesome tidbits out:

TORONTO
Catherine of Her Bad Mother fame and I are leading a course called Hands On Small Business (HOSB) over the next few weeks and there are four opportunities for you to join in. In a nutshell this is a course put together with the lovely ladies of Kirsty and the lovely techie folks of Microsoft for entrepreneurs to learn more about free online and social media solutions that can help their small businesses.

The course is FREE FREE FREE so register today. Hey, did I ever mention that in a former life sans enfant I was a Microsoft developer? No? Well I was and I'm lending my expertise to those who want it. Booyah.

BOSTON & NEW YORK CITY
Next weekend I will be leaving my poor family behind for an entire week so that I can party in Boston and New York City with YOU, HP, and the Aiming Low crew. But in order to party with us you must register and space is really limited so do it now, like RIGHT NOW.

Did I mention we will be giving stuff away in addition to the booze and chance to touch my left breast (which is like my favourite breast and I just don't offer it up to anyone - you have to register to touch it, just ask my husband)? We will be in Boston on October 26th and New York City on October 28th so get ye self registered post haste.

Seacrest out.

For those outside of this geographically specific post, my apologies, I'm working with the powers to be to appear in your home as soon as possible, when you least expect it, whether you want me to or not. BOO-YAH.

Battle of the... oh just plain Battle, m'kay?

2009-10-13T14:20:00.000-04:00

This past Thanksgiving weekend made me thankful for good brakes, baby wipes, and reality television.

First up: good brakes and baby wipes. I saw more vomit this weekend than anyone should have to in a seventy-two hour period. Unfortunately, most of it was from me.

Saturday we went to a big shingding and just as we sat for dinner, the sudden realization that I was going to lose it all over Great Aunt Siobian and the centre piece came to a head.

Thankfully it didn't really come to my head but oh my holy, as soon as I made my way to the ladies I was throwing up like a frat boy during his first kegger.

After cleaning myself up with some baby wipes, I proceeded to grab my well lubricated husband and make a beeline for the parking lot where I added to the composting of the beautiful gardens with my insides. FUN TIMES.

Hey, did you know when wearing a "foundation garment" that puking hurts? You do now. I was begging my husband to cut me out of my clothing while driving -- which in normal circumstances sounds sexy but when I'm hurling and hurtling down the highway, not so much.

Anyhow, I recovered just in time for turkey and then proceeded to put my feet up with my mom-in-law and sister in-law to watch some reality television: Battle of the Blades.

Oh you wonderful Americans, deprived of great Canadian reality television programming. Where else can you find former NHL players paired up with the ladies of figuring skating to have their butts kicked in uncomfortably tight pants? Only in Canada eh? Pity:

You know, I just realized that Canadian reality television seems to focus on putting men off kilter. Maybe we are on to something. First there was that "The Week The Women Went" when all the women of a small town take off and leave the men to struggle on their own, now they are f**king up the NHL players with toe picks. Hmmmm... I think this will require further examination.

Anyhow, yes that was my weekend. For the record, I wasn't the only one to puke. My daughter decided that getting car sick while stuck in bumper to bumper traffic would make her just like mom. That's my girl.

So my Thanksgiving was a battle of the barf, bulge, and blades. I really need to find better post topics. Or stop barfing. And bulging. Or both. Or all of the above.

Yup: all of the above.

Yup, It's Monday

2009-09-28T09:38:00.002-04:00

It's raining like it's Noah-time, my coffee isn't strong enough, and Mount Laundry has reached new heights.

Plus my so-called "baby" is turning four next week. This shocks me.

So I spent some time this weekend looking for a gift.

Do you think she'd prefer the Sir John A. Macdonald Canadian Legends action figure?

Or the Sir Wilfrid Laurier?

I guess it boils down to if she wants to pretend to be a prime minister who could actually form a majority government versus being the first French prime minister. Both had funky hair styles so it's a hard call.

Anyhow, this is the long way of me saying: I'm not really here... I'm at Aiming Low today talking about naughty stuff.

Drained

2009-09-22T11:29:00.009-04:00

"YES, we must go NOW."

There is a pause in the exasperation.

"Yes, I mean it: NOW."

We have new neighbours but I'm not sure exactly which apartment they have rented but I can hear them loud and clear through my bathroom drains. Loud and freakin' clear.

Ai, the joys of apartment living.

These new neighbours obviously have offspring which is unusual in this building full of decaying folk. Oh, that was slanderous ageism there -- bad motherbumper, bad. But seriously, the majority of the peeps we pass in the hallway are totally bench pressing a hundred - easy. Many of these octogenarians and octogenarian-wannabees are nice, many are nasty, and many smell like they've been attacked by an Avon rep; most days, walking through our lobby is like running a rest home gauntlet.

For the record I love old people, in fact some of my closest friends are old people.

*sigh* I miss how the elder locals used to ignore me before I became a parent. Now I have to try to outrun some of them and their unsolicited advice -- or worse, their poking fingers that try to touch my child in what I assume is an attempt to steal her youthful pixie gold.

Anyhow, new blood in the building:

For the past week, whenever I'm in the washroom, I can hear the new neighbours. A yelling child and a sometimes-sounding-exasperated woman. Their voices come up (down?) through the drains and temporarily distract me from the swarm of fruit flies around my head.

It's weird hearing a child's voice instead of an extra-loud episode of Law and Order or Lloyd Robertson reading the national news. I swear that who ever lived in the pipe-amplifying apartment before this family, had one of those reverse Whisper 2000 units attached to their television. Or maybe they had the telly in the bathtub. All I can say is that idiot box was loud.

But back to the new child: Sometimes I wonder if this kid is around G's age. Maybe I should try to seek them out to see if they are playdate material? Maybe the mom is my kind of people. It would be nice to know someone in the building who isn't rushing to knock off a few points on the bucket-list.

But then I remember my crippling shyness and general all around awkwardness and realize that even if I found them and they didn't think I was stalking them, I'd probably alienate them somehow. Blurt out something inappropriate, make offensive small talk, fart.

So I'll just keep sitting around, swatting the fruit flies away while wishing I could get my head out of my butt long enough to demonstrate to my child that making friends isn't really that hard at all. Because it isn't, is it?

Don't go forth and multiply

2009-09-17T10:02:00.008-04:00

He sat on the edge and for a few seconds I thought he was a goner. He seemed frozen but then suddenly, he turned around placing his back to the mix below. He wasn't going anywhere fast.

It was disappointing; his previous lack of movement made me think he was either intoxicated or hypnotized by the fumes and he was going to take the plunge. It was hard to tell which way he was going to go.

I blinked again and he descended backwards, down towards the inviting concoction.

"Go" I screamed in my head while trying not to move.

I was afraid any movement would break his reverie.

"Just do it" I hissed over and over again inside my noggin while doing my best not to flinch.

He was hesitant. Maybe he was wondering why all his comrades below weren't moving. Maybe he noticed that they hadn't moved since he arrived at the edge.

Maybe I'm giving a fruit fly too much credit and he's just acting like a regular damn fruit fly.

*********************************

It's Day Five of Operation Obliterate Fruit Fly and it's hard to tell who is winning. She in charge of Dutch Blitzing sent me a link to her favourite method of destruction and bowls of her concoction sit around the kitchen and bathroom.

Why the heck do fruit flies like the bathroom? There is no fruit in my bathroom, no food whatsoever. Yet there they are, hovering around like tiny drunk planes to my irritated king kong on a porcelain throne.

The kitchen makes sense -- we have the fruit technology they want to steal, erhm... eat? I open the garbage and the latest platoon emerges, seemingly built over night to replace the fallen troops.

"Damn you" I hiss while shaking my first towards the cloud of kamikaze pilots. I hiss because to open my mouth wide enough to say these words might result in consumption of a troop. They really have no sense of direction.

*********************************

"Mummy, mummy, come quick... I've done something bad!" She is yelling this while running into the bedroom. I admire her honesty but I'm also bracing myself for something really, really bad.

"It's in the kitchen mummy, I'm so sorry..." she trails off while leading me to the countertop by the fridge.

"There." She points to the counter. All I see is four black flecks. I lean in for closer inspection.

"They are fruit flies mummy... and I squished them." She said this to her chest, ashamed of her slaughter.

"You've done good grasshopper, done good." I tell her.

Now to figure out how to explain to her when it's okay to squish the life out of something and when it's not. *sigh* This parenting stuff is hard.

Pssssssssst I'm over at Aiming Low today because I fit in there, fit in far too well.

Mean Green Salad Machine

2009-09-07T15:56:00.001-04:00

Not the black ones!

That's what everyone just loves to hear screamed out in public.

But she still yells it.

Mind you, she is not quite four years old and she is just talking about lettuce.

But it still shocks me every time I present a transgression on her plate.

The latest offenders were the benign Oak Leaf and the equally gentle Lollo Rossa.

Rejected only because of the colour of their leaves.

My daughter will only eat salad if it is 100% green. Cucumbers, green peppers, green lettuce, celery -- c'est toute.

Only an almost four year old could make salad complicated. Complicated because of the royal pain the ass it becomes when eating out. Picking apart salads has become the norm and I hate it.

Hate it.

Mind you I'm eating more salad these days since all the offending non-greens make it to my plate instead.

But why can't she be this fussy about ice cream?

I'd rather eat her ice cream rejects than salad.

garboil

2009-08-26T09:38:00.000-04:00

Not Very Wordless Wednesday Series this week featuring:

Men's underwear that made me giggle. Right after I snapped this on my phone, an old man wearing a fedora came up and started gingerly feeling the leg elastic with two fingers. I covered my daughter's eyes and backed out of the store.

Yes, I let my three year old give me a pedicure, why do you ask? I think she did a pretty damn good job. Just wish she hadn't switched colours when she switched feet. I don't like pale orange with sparkles. FACT: I wore this for a week because she was so proud of her work. ANOTHER FACT: I often wear sandals and now all the momma's at the playground treat me like I'm kinda simple.

PARENTING PRIDE! Obviously it's a cat. She's got talent folks.

PARENTING PRIDE MIXED WITH ANNOYANCE [click to enlarge]. Obviously it's a potato person about to be hit by a meteor (no seriously, that's what it is -- she told me) -- do you see the terror in Potato's eyes? -- you may also notice it's ON THE WALL NEXT TO HER MIRROR.

Fin.

Misinformation: I never learn

2009-08-24T13:16:00.003-04:00

Seriously, I bitch about someone I don't even know on my blog and karma comes and kicks my ass with a cold in the middle of a humidity heat wave. THANK YOU KARMA - just what I needed to remind me that payback is always waiting with his scythe to mow me down BIG TIME.

Payback is so unoriginal, he doesn't even pretend to not be ripping off the reaper, he just hangs out in a dirty bathrobe with a piece of rusty old school farm equipment waiting for whiny schleps like me to f-up and complain about something so trivial as lost "me" time just so he can slash me from behind.

Colds in the summer time ought to be illegal. Cold sweats while simultaneously feeling the relentless humidity of Sourthern Ontario is cruel, cruel, old skool. Mix that with quick dry cement in the sinuses, achey joints that rival my 100 year old neighbours, and a cough that also rivals that same crotchety codger and you have one pissy blogger.

Hell, that codger and I could have had a codge-off this past weekend if I could have lifted my head off the pillow long enough to whine in his direction. He'd probably counter that with a "Pillow?!! When I was your age, you were lucky if you got a bag of rocks to sleep on - AND THAT WAS ONLY IF YOU WERE ONE OF THOSE ROCKERFELLERS". Glorious Basterd.

ANYHOW -- the only joy I found this weekend besides watching this wonderful slice of Swedish Vampire Låt den rätte komma in (<-- that's me being all pretentious and referring to it by it's original name because I'M A TOTAL FILM SNOB, Y'ALL) was spreading misinformation to my child -- which is a family tradition of sorts.

This weekend my daughter stuck an unarmed ratchet driver in her belly button and when I lunged at her screaming "NO!" she assumed it was because it was dangerous.

But no... there was no imminent danger from this tool in her umbilicus, I just saw a golden opportunity to screw with her head because it's not often I can do it without repercussion.

So when I told her DO NOT DO THAT in mom-caw screech, she asked in a hush voice "why?"

And like my Father before me, I told her you never EVER unscrew your belly button lest your butt falls off.

Her eyes widened, my smile brightened, and all was well with the world of misinformation.

And so the torch is passed.

****

Today I'm over at Canada Moms Blog vexing over Junior Kindergarten and I'm also over at MamaPop hosting a Harry Potter Contest so get yee muggle butt still attached to your belly button over and enter now.

It's All About Me: A Selfish Rant in less than Four Hundred Words

2009-08-18T16:44:00.004-04:00

This morning I had all my "me" time taken from me by a ruthless mom.

Okay, to be completely fair, she didn't know she was stealing all my "me" time but did she really have to talk the entire time we sat in the bleachers "watching" our kids in swim class?

From the moment I sat my butt down and gave my polite daily "howdy" nod to all the other moms and dads, she started talking about this, that and the other thing.

For the record, I have never exchanged more than my polite daily "howdy" nod with her. Yet today she suddenly felt the need to tell me about her commute, her living situation, her plans for the new school year, and what's she's making for dinner -- all without the benefit of telling me her first name or even asking for mine.

Oh and there might have also been the obligatory weather talk interlaced in there somewhere but hell woman, yes it's all "Oh the humidity" in a total Hindenburg way so let's just all agree to shut up about something we can't change without a few more years of using fluorocarbons and feeding those damn cows.

Damn. I didn't even get a #brokebackswimmingpool tweet out today.

Yeah I know I'm being a bitch but when you get just twenty-five minutes to yourself each day, one falls in love with each and every second of those twenty-five minutes and makes them count. I make them count by doing things like answering really overdue emails, composing post outlines, hashtagging tweets about how my daughter's swimming instructor looks like Jake Gyllenhaalhoweverthefuckyouspellhisname, plotting taking his photo without being asked to leave or labelled the weird mom, and my by far favourite thing to do: numbing the mind with BEJEWELLED (drool.... my IQ just dropped 40% but I'm still able to make three -- sometimes five! -- jewels match in a row without the benefit of brains, precious, precious brains).

Anyhow, I now feel punchy over a lost twenty-five minutes so if my husband is reading this post, don't panic tonight when I lock you and the sprog out on the balcony for a while -- like twenty-five minutes a while - m'kay? Mama needs her Bejewelled.

/endrant

P.S. I don't even like Jake Gyllenhaal but there is no denying this kid looks exactly like him. It's FREAKY and completely fascinating.

whine, cheese, and home reno

2009-08-12T22:00:00.007-04:00

SB and I revisited the great "should we keep the digital box?" debate since as a family, we watch sooooo little tv and yet we pay all those heaps of important monies to maintain -- monies we actually rarely see and only appear as numbers on a screen somewhere.

Hey - do you ever think about your money and how it doesn't really exist and then you get scared because OMG what if the computers take over and cancel all your money because you just know they will hate the humans that built them. And then you freak because there is no more physical money save for the forty-eight cents at the bottom of your purse and then -- JUST IN CASE -- you might run over to the local ATM and withdraw as much as you can and stuff it under your mattress just because, you know, WHAT IF THAT REALLY HAPPENS? No? It's just me then?

Okay - back to business as "normal"

ANYHOW - we aren't really watching enough tv to justify the price. But the shows we actually DO watch we want to hump and make babies with.

So pretty much each time I get my moneyknickers in a knot, out comes the great finger to punch the buttons on the phone to cancel the damn digital box.

Then I instantly get the cold feet.

Arctic dogs and my finger goes limp.

So I do the only thing I can do. I take those sniffling pups over to the couch to watch HGTV and exercise my digits on the remote control magic wand.

Seriously folks, I know I can live on just the internet, I know I can. I don't need no stinkin' cable box to satisfy my need for A&E, HGTV, and *drool* FoodNetwork.

I think I can do it.

*sob*

Or maybe not.

Hi, my name is katie and I'm a home reno/design/real estate junkie and this is something like my sixth billionth self-inflicted blog style intervention on my inability to give up the friggin' digital box and omg, I want to punch myself in the face because this is the stupiest thing to get hung up on.

But on a lighter note: my daughter obviously has my home decoration addiction. Isn't that so cute -- in a co-dependence and potential strange mother-daughter issues kinda way?

Anyhow, Gigi, at the sage age of three, decided that we should swap the kitchen with her bedroom and she actually pitched the entire idea to me on the way home from the grocery store.

Then she proceeded to start the reno as soon as she got home.

Acting as foreman ~~by doing nothing but barking orders from the sidelines~~ I koboshed the whole "moving the stuff out of the kitchen" thing. That actually saved her a lot of time on the project plan so she moved to phase two: moving the bedroom into the kitch..

BEHOLD! The great kitchen / bedroom swap:

What's that? The fact that I drew an arrow towards the sink full of dirty dishes made you notice those dirty dishes? I'm new to this real estate business so forgive me. So let's move on.

Believe it or not, this used to be an apartment size galley kitchen.

I KNOW - it's hard to believe.

Notice the Italian gate-style door detail. These are made from recycled dining room chairs and lovingly fashioned into the perfect entrance to a dream bedroom.

Let's go in.

This room has everything you could dream up on your wish list -- from a bag of fruit to ... well what more do you need than a bag of fruit? Let's hear it for vitamins! No scurvy sleeping here. Fruit flies maybe but definitely no scurvy.

The room remained this way until dinner time when I discovered the gas hook-up she advertised in the bedroom-flip-kitchen unit was made of playdoh and lego blocks.

I filed my grievances at the local court house this afternoon.

He expects to hear our case sometime in November 2011.

Seriously, I have no idea when the cat went to law school.

It's Monday and I'm Bejeweled

2009-08-10T08:13:00.000-04:00

This is where a post would appear if I had actually sat down and written one last night instead of becoming hopelessly addicted to Bejeweled on the iTouch and losing all track of time. I actually fell asleep while clutching the game between my little paws and SB woke me up by laughing at my latest addiction. I certainly hope you are pleased with yourself MamaTulip -- I squarely place the blame on your shoulders for telling me about this game.

So pretend there is a post here right now and maybe it was funny, m'kay? Thanks.

[insert funny post here]

Anyone have any iTouch/iPhone games they are addicted to and care to share? Because I'm sure this will wear thin in a couple of weeks and momma needs a new form of escape.

Also, I've got a follow-up review on my night out with the Estée Lauder team in Chicago. At least I got that done (obviously done before I started matching jewels on an alien landscape). Photo shamelessly stolen from IzzyMom's twitpic account. She got to stand next to me while I gotz prettified.

Partner in Crime

2009-08-05T08:47:00.000-04:00

Like I said, who gave her permission to grow up while I wasn't looking? I will never be able to resist looking into these eyes and wanting to give her the moon. Good thing she doesn't know to ask for it.

Yet.

Yup, this is my wordy Wordless Wednesday.

Because Growing Up is Hard To Do (for everybody involved - EVERYONE)

2009-08-03T23:09:00.001-04:00

After a brief hiatus from parenting (me BlogHer, she Grandparents), we are back to being a family unit. Truthfully, it's reeking havoc with my new found sloth sleep habits.

Oh my word I could sleep all day and work all night if being a parent would let me. Sun tans never suited me and vitamin D comes in pill form, right? They wouldn't put it in pill form if it didn't work, right? Not sure who "they" really are but I know they are everywhere. Obviously my paranoia-meter is registering on high right now and I'm totally getting off topic.

So yes, I'm back in the parenting/chain gang full time and I just want to know exactly who gave my daughter permission to grow up so much during the week I was away. I demand answers right now.

This morning she set about playing by herself, -- which in itself is a miracle of sorts -- telling me she had to set up her dollhouse. I walked away picturing us watching HGTV matharons of decorating shows together in a few years, sharing our tastes, trashing those that obviously have none -- you know, the bonding stuff.

A few minutes later she summoned me (because trust me, there is no other way to politely describe how she demands my specific attention and we are working hard on that one) and asked my opinion on her set up.

After taking it all in, I told her it was reminiscent of Charlie Bucket's set up in Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory which still is one of my all time favourite films. That is some sweet and seriously, seriously f'd up movie making there and I ate it up every last morsel with a spoon.

But yes, I loved how the majority of furnishings in her four room house is crammed into the top bedroom, right down to the milk jug and flower vase. Usually my impulse would be to rearrange the furniture and set it up "correctly", but this time I didn't even feel the urge flicker. She was proud and she could explain to me the purpose behind each placement and decorating choice. And she did.

The only items not included in the room were the ninjas warming their toes next to the fire place in a rocking chair. Ninjas. Oh how I love my child, she makes me burst with pride.

A little Tarintino in da' house

After the presentation, -- where if she had been selling, I would have been buying -- we spent some time together, quietly talking and playing and before long she obviously was off in her own imagination.

So I sat back and tried to figure out, who the heck let my little girl grow up so much when I wasn't looking. Because sometimes I just don't think I can take it and I need to tell them it's not okay. Seriously, not okay.

**********

I'm over at Aiming Low today and it's my inaugural post. You may be disgusted by it, or maybe you will love my mad housekeeping skillz, or be dazzled with my relentless run on sentences. Regardless, you probably will feel superior somehow. Read it now.

This isn't a BlogHer Recap (alternate title: Viva La Siesta!)

2009-07-28T17:33:00.007-04:00

Random lines from posts I've started but failed to finish:

(1) Hi. My name is motherbumper and I'm a "booyah" abuser. As in, I use the word "booyah" to punctuate too many thoughts in a "yada yada yada" kind of way.

(2) My deep-dish and uncomfortable thoughts on free stuff. When it comes to free stuff, I don't go looking for it but don't get me wrong, booyah! I luuuurve free stuff. Hell, if swag lands in my lap and it's of use to me, into the bag it goes. In fact, I pack light going to BlogHer because so many generous sponsors and party hosts give tokens of appreciation for attending their party. Attending being a very key word in that sentence. It is never expected but damn it's nice and I know it's going to happen. But if it didn't happen, it wouldn't change my weekend.

Anyhow, the swag thing at BlogHer was weird this year. There was a very small number of the generally awesome population acting like freaks. Freaks as in committing blackmail over shoes or like in my personal experience while working the door at The People's Party where I witnessed something small but strange. This incident kind of set the tone for me on the subject of free stuff over the weekend.

Let me explain it the best way I can: As a hostess of The People's Party, I was handing out drink tickets and big welcoming smiles and/or hellos to everyone I could reach as they surged (literally SURGED) through the doors. When the surging had died down to a well-heeled stampede, I witnessed a woman come in, make a beeline to the swag bags, grab four (!) (as in two on each arm), and then promptly turn around and march out. The only reason I remember her so specifically is she totally didn't make eye-contact with me when I tried to hand her a drink ticket -- she put her hand up in a blocking / dismissive way and marched on by. So I watched what she did because I was taken aback (what can I say, I'm sensitive). When she breezed on past me after her bag scoop, I stepped outside the door to watch her leave and she proceeded to walk away from the party crowd towards what I'm not sure... the elevators? Her friends? They weren't anywhere near the party, that's for sure.

I told myself, she's probably just grabbing it for other people and bringing it back to the room. I seriously tried to convince myself that she did because I didn't want to get pissy at my own party like my name was JLo or something. But then I thought about all the people who were here, not getting or caring about bags, and staying because they were there to meet people. Because you know, that's the purpose of The People's Party.

But my observations are full of total conjecture and it was just odd to watch. I could be totally wrong. Maybe she had already had her free drink and her friends had sent her in to grab the swag they didn't get the first time around and ten minutes was enough time at the party for all of them.

Yet I couldn't help myself and felt compelled to record this encounter because regardless of her reason / plan of use with the bag, it was somehow appeared more important to her to grab the free stuff than to just come to the party and meet with other bloggers. Instead she appeared to be doing a free stuff recon pre-party attendance. Because the free stuff is just a nice perk, not the purpose. It left me with an icky feeling.

(3) BlogHer is a mindfuck.

(4) Can't wait to do it all again in New York.

(5) Damn everyone looked good at BlogHer this year. Especially you.

(6) All Hail the Unicorn Cake from the planet MamaPop!

(7) This week during my BlogHer detox, I had grandiose plans to clean and reorganize this entire home while SB and G were out of town but after making a mental list of everything I needed to do I took a nap.

Then I woke up, decided to add doing an internal cleanse while eating nothing but fruit and veg because I don't have to prep any meals for others all week, and felt proud that the nap gave me such clarity. Viva la Siesta! Then I promptly sat on the couch, ordered a pizza (online! no human interaction! if I could have shoved an envelope under the door with the money, I would have!), and after eating more than half of the damn thing, I fell asleep.

So to recap: this week I've accomplished nothing but a post about Joe Jonas having his heart smashed in seventeen places by Camilla Belle (which I first read as Camille Paglia and let me tell you, I was very confused) and also I managed to go pee. Oh and I also managed to make myself into a Mad Men avatar (what do you think - did I get it right?)

(8) BOO-YAH!

well heeled women make strange post fodder

2009-07-20T12:43:00.001-04:00

For the past three hours, I've been wearing my high heels that I recently purchased. The reason I have been wearing them to do the dishes, play tea party, and do the laundry is due to a life-lesson learned back in days of yore.

Once many moons ago I procured the most excellent of fancy shoes - stacked suede clogs embroidered with dragons and flowers -- and loved them like no other (well, at least since the most awesome of cowboy-boot shoes that I ever owned -- deep red with black flames -- remember those cowboy boot shoes? Oh the ninties were strange indeedy). Well those dragon clogs had only been worn in the store and privacy of my own apartment for all of two minutes, before I jumped in a cab to a fancy-schmancy party on-board one of the Tall Ships.

Upon arriving at the dock, I made it up the gang-plank only to discover something horrible - FOOT SWEAT. My feet were sweating like little raging bulls and I COULD NOT WALK in these shoes. If I tried to move, the sweat from my feet felt like I was trying to navigate on ball-bearings and I'd fall backwards. These shoes didn't allow my feet to breath (serial killer clogs methinks) and the sweat was beyond belief. So I only wore them when standing still slipping them off and leaving them on the floor next to my friends while tip-toeing over to the bar/buffet, while praying no one noticed my huge social faux-pas of being bare-foot while on-board a dignified ship full of dignified people. What did I think this was? A hedonism cruise?

Of course we were taken on a tour of the ship and some smarmy sailor had already taken a liking to me (I think it was because I was least mobile - due to feet - and it was like the weakest of the herd kind of love) and trying to maintain protocol while not being rude, I hobbled around best on my geisha-killer shoes with that seaman dude trying out his weak English on me. For the record, I hate the ladder steps in all ships - so undignified. Gotta say tho', the disco on-board this ship was impressive. Also made me suspicious since there was no women stationed on board. Must get lonely at sea, eh Billy?

Anyhow, ever since that miserable experience all new shoes are road tested before the actual racing event. So today, I do laundry, dishes, and dusting while wearing these:

So far so good but if you see me hobbling around at BlogHer, take pity and DON'T HIT ON ME. Bring me slippers and alcohol and I will love you forever (right down to taking a ladder and sneaking into your home in the middle of the night to sing while skulking around your bedside - NOW THAT'S LOVE).

You there?

2009-07-20T09:17:00.000-04:00

Holy crap, how did it get to be THIS WEEK ALREADY?!?

This Thursday night, with the help of some very special sponsors and some super beautiful ladies (The Bloggess, Green Mom Review/ IzzyMom, Mrs. Fussypants, Playgroups Are No Place For Children, Velveteen Mind, and me), The 3rd Annual People's Party is kicking off in Chicago and this is my way of saying "you coming?" and thank you to those special folks that help provide the uber important things like a room, music, and drinks -- not to mention free stuff for everyone -- the night of the festivities.

So if you haven't said, I'M THERE yet, click on the party button to add your name to the list. Last chance for Blogmance.

Brought to you by:

Wordless Wednesday: Fulfilling a Dream Edition

2009-07-15T11:36:00.000-04:00

Finally I got to see the Pacific up close. Stanley Park, last Wednesday, with my daughter and beloved friends. Can't think of a better way to complete a life long dream of making it to British Columbia.

for more Wordless Wednesday Participants

grunt click whistle?

2009-07-13T10:11:00.000-04:00

I think I forget how to blog... or is that blaaaaaaa-gah?

All I know is we left Toronto for two weeks and we came back to the same piles of garbage. What's say we torch the place and all pick up and move 100 kms to the to the right? If we all do it we can plead ignorance. This is a group effort folks, you in?

Just dropped this at camp and I'm still trying to get my head out of BC time. Share your jet-lag remedies pleeeeeease and thank yous.

finally I can say something!

2009-06-27T14:53:00.002-04:00

Holy crow, finally I can say something about this because OH MY WORD, what started as a pipe dream (ed. note: not actually achieved by pipe) is now a reality:

This lady and I are driving across Canada (well, skipping parts but not because we didn't want to go there, we wanted to go EVERYWHERE but because that pesky thing called reality got in the way and dictated that we must break it up.) And we will be blogging all the live long way over at the Summer Road Trip 09 site like a marauding duo of bloggers (don't worry, we leave most things intact).

Actually regarding leaving things intact as we whirlwind through provinces, I cannot promise that our cohorts won't make some kind of lasting impact where ever we go.

Oh wait, did I mention we were both bringing the kids? My husband swears he will be crying into his pillow at night from loneliness but I think he will get over it fairly quickly, like "two beers in peace" quick, or "I just finished two books in four days" quick, or "no one is demanding PBandJ while surfing the net" quick.

Anyhow, if you want to follow what is going on and / or you are in Canada and want to join in on our meet-ups, I will be posting regularly over at the Road Trip '09 site (I haz videoz there todayz) plus here (but not as regularly because I'm lazy like that yo' AND because internet on the road is apparently harder to find than hitch-hikers that look like Brad Pitt AND not Brad from Kalifornia but Thelma and Louise).

So yeah... if I don't go insane in the next two weeks, I guess I'm stronger than I thought. Oh I know what you are thinking "isn't she ALREADY insane?" - well yes I am and don't mind if I do!