Might I Suggest a Smell Test Next Time?

Over the week-end, we ordered in some food and ended up with leftover salad. My mom was poking around the fridge today and asked if she could have it. I told her to go ahead, adding that there was some really good leftover dressing as well.

She held up a small container and asked, "Is this the dressing?"

"Yes", I replied, not studying the container too hard, as it's size and shape were pretty obvious to me.

"It's really thick!", added my mom, while I buried my face in the computer, not really having any concern. "What kind of dressing is this?", she further inquired.

"Restaurant dressing", I replied robotically, becoming somewhat annoyed at the conversation that seemed pointless.

The next thing I knew, my mom had flown over the kitchen island to the sink, and was running cold water over her tongue, while she danced in what appeared to be pain.

"Oh yeah", I remembered. "There is also some leftover hot sauce for the chicken".

Masochist

I've just signed up for the torture that is Nablopomo. I don't wanna. I really don't, but I'm hoping that it's kinda like broccoli. Not in the slightest bit palatable, but good for me nonetheless. Stay tuned for a full month of brain farts!

While I'm here though, I hafta ask, who the hell gives a five year old kid one of those liqueur chocolates for Halloween???

As it Turns Out, People DO Notice These Things

If you are a female, standing in line at the drug store, waiting to pay for your box of Monistat, I doubt I will even notice. If I do notice, I'm sure I'll give you a secret, half smile of sympathy, and then be done with you.

If you are a male, standing in line at the drug store, waiting to pay for your box of Monistat, I'm definitely going to give you some thought, assume that you are a very good husband, and then be done with you.

However, if you are a male, standing in line at the drug store, waiting to pay for your box of Monistat, but in addition to this yeast infection treatment, you are also buying a container of Ben and Jerry's, 'Half Baked', well, I'm going to giggle for the entire five minutes that I am standing behind you.

My apologies, stranger.

Statistics Like These Make Me Feel Good About Myself

From an article I read in the Toronto Star:

Deep fried butter balls at the CNE

Numbers of butter balls sold: 36,000

Orders taken: 9,000

Balls per order: 4

Cost per order: $5

Pounds of fried butter eaten: 800

Calories per serving size (4): 315

This Post has a More Interesting Title than I Do

I have been finding it difficult getting Pumpkin to appreciate and understand the whole concept of my being a stay-at-home mom vs. a world where I could have been a working mom.

It started with her telling me that when she grows up, she wants to be a mommy. I explained that this was a great thing, but that she could be both a mommy AND have some sort of career if she wanted. The result of this was having her explain to me several weeks later, "Mommy, did you know that you could be a mommy AND a magician???"

Hey, it's good to have goals...

Fast forward a month or two later, Pumpkin asked, "Mommy, when you were a little girl, what did you want to be?"

"A doctor", I answered, not really being truthful, but figuring it was as good an answer as any.

"But you decided to just be a mommy instead?"

'Just be a mommy'. Ugh. I began lecturing her on how I am not 'just a mommy', and also how I could have been a doctor too, (as if!), but that I wanted to focus on my children and blah blah blah blah was all she heard as she tuned out to admire something shiny.

Fast forward another month or two, Pumpkin was asking why Daddy was at work.

'Well, someone's gotta pay for all this shit', was the gist of my reply. Then to revisit the discussion from the month prior, I got into how in some families, both parents have to work, and added how lucky we were that we could afford for me to leave my old job so that I could be home with Pumpkin and Chichi.

Pumpkin replied, "Well I think that you still have a job to do."

Beaming with delight that Pumpkin was recognizing the work involved in taking care of her and her sister, I asked, "And what do you believe my job is, Pumpkin?"

"Laundry", she replied matter-of-factly.

Sigh. Magician school is starting to look better and better.

Maybe it's Just My Ego, but Still...

It's amazing what'll prompt me to post. I just had a fantastic, week-long, family vacation and haven't been able to compose anything on that, but my trip to the mall tonight had me running to the computer to record an odd event.

First off, I bought some hawt shoes that I'll probably only wear once or twice a year, to go with my new skirt-suit, which I also will likely only wear once or twice a year, but whatever. It is currently that time on the Jewish calendar where I get to wear my suits and hawt shoes, and I should look good doing it, dammit!

So maybe I had a certain glow about me after making my frivolous purchase, or maybe the humidity has been working in my favour, but whatever the reason, I got stopped by a 20 something couple on my way to my car. The guy was a clean cut, bright eyed, pretty boy. The girl was very made-up and stone-faced. They were holding hands.

"Excuse me," began the guy, "but we were just noticing how amazing your skin looks!"

"Huh?" I asked, assuming that my hearing problem was leading me down yet another embarrassing path.

"Your skin!", He continued. "You have a great complexion! What do you use on it?"

So..., they were like..., discussing this? I wondered.

"Uh, Nivea..", I replied, wondering why it was the guy, and not Stone-Face, who was inquiring.

"Oh. So, uh, do you live around here?", the guy then asked.

"Uh, Thornhill", I hesitantly offered up, not sure where this was going.

"Ooooh, are you Jewish?", he asked.

"Uh, yeah"

"Right on!", he exclaimed.

(nervous laughter)

It was getting really awkward at this point. "So, are you guys selling products at one of these booths or somethin'...?", I inquired, figuring that this had to be heading towards a sales pitch.

"No, no. We were really just noticing your skin."

"Oh... well... thanks..." I said, giving a half wave and turing my body to walk in the other direction.

So do you think that I passed up a chance at a threesome?

Where I Boast About My Husband's Body

My husband, let's call him J, is a work-out fanatic. He sees a personal trainer twice a week for weight training, and does an hour of cardio in our basement four or five times a week. Periodically while I'm on my way up the stairs to get ready for bed after 10 pm, I pass him on his way down to the 'room of pain' in the basement. I respect this, but I sure as hell can't understand it.

When I ask him why he feels that he needs to work out so much, he usually mentions stress relief, but mostly it's the desire to not let himself go. That sounds admirable to me, but in the spirit of not being the only one sitting on the couch eating a bag of chips, I often suggest that he chill out a bit on his exercise regime.

My desire to curb his time spent working out is motivated by my own guilt for working out on a more sporadic schedule (read: NEVER!), and I'm quite certain that cutting back would also save him all the time he spends in physiotherapy. He isn't responsive to my attempts, and just sets his sights on getting down to his 'fish & chips' weight. That's the weight he feels he has to obtain in order to indulge in his favourite, junky meal.

You know what I find funny about all this? The only people who seem to notice that he's been working out regularly are men. I've heard my dad, my brother, and my friend's husband all remarking on the good shape that J is in. I never hear any comments from the women in our circle.

So J, is this the kind of attention that you wanted? Come watch some reruns with me while we discuss it over a bag of chips.

Pass the Gravol and let's have Fun!

Man, is it ever difficult to get motivated in the summer! I keep saying that I'll get some posts going as soon as something interesting happens.

*Crickets chirping*

Looks like I'm gonna have to put in some effort.

This past Saturday night, our usual date night, we opted for grown-up night at Canada's Wonderland, our local amusement park. We joined another couple and set out to ride the Behemoth, and some other roller coasters that we haven't been able to get onto since we started spending our time on the kiddie rides.

With just under four hours to execute our attack, we had to skip the Behemoth. It appears to be a ride that must be tackled as soon as the park opens. I imagine that there already is an existing mad dash every day for the early birds who don't fancy an hour and a half line-up. Those lines are generally only enjoyed by the horny teenage couples who manage to pass the time quite happily. I always hated (read: wanted to be) those couples when I was their age. The memory made me laugh as I watched my friend swat away her husband's attempt at affection while she tried to shake off her nausea from the previous ride.

Nausea. When the hell did this become the norm??? I thought it was just spinning, circular rides that did this to me in my old age, but it appears that it's all the metal roller coasters too. I think it has something to do with my head being smacked around between the shoulder bars. The wooden coasters just give me back pain. Oy!

Nausea aside, we still had plans for dessert to cap off the night. Sadly, the longest line was the one for funnel cakes, so we decided to pass on that. This didn't make me too upset at the time because I knew of a new funnel cake shop that we could stop at on the way home! It was closed. Waaaaaahhhhhh! Not to be completely discouraged, we settled for coffee shop dessert as a final attempt at satisfying our cravings. Not nearly as exciting, but you've gotta respect our determination!

So that was date night. Definitely fun, but I'm thinking that a night of drinking would have killed fewer brain cells.

Round 2! (Just Like Round 1 with Less Rain and Better Food)

I took Pumpkin camping this past week-end. My friend, Jill, and her 5yo daughter, Abbey, joined us for our second annual trip to a spot all of 45 minutes out of the city. We figured that it was close enough that if things really started to suck, we could just head back home and call a babysitter to save us. This option did not have to be exercised as the week-end was a success!

Some of the highlights included:

Corn pops and coffee!!!

Visiting a nearby playground where both girls spent energy climbing up and sliding down a pole. This would count as a failure on behalf of both dads, who's job it is to keep our daughters off the pole. Nice going guys!

Bacon, egg, and cheese sandwiches! Nothing better than bacon in the woods. Mmmmmm....

Beach time!

Washing both cars with wet wipes, leaving streaks galore, but deemed an acceptable, time-filling activity for the girls to engage in while the mommies enjoyed a late afternoon fire.

Not bathing, grooming, or deodorizing for 48 hours straight! We did jump in the lake though. That counts, right? By Sunday morning, we mommies opted for hats instead of allowing our scraggly, Afro hair to fly free any longer. Seeing her mom don a hat caused Abbey to burst into tears. When asked why the hat upset her, Abbey replied, "Because you just look so ugly, mommy!"

Jill and I sitting up late by the fire having drinks and munchies, while the conversation slowly degraded. "Hee hee, Yurt! YUUUURRRRT!"

And the piece de resistance... my kettle portrait!

Just Give Us Ugly Candy From Now On

A few months ago, Pumpkin was given a large, chocolate Easter dog, which she tasted, but then deemed too cute to eat. She wanted to keep it instead. Grrrreeaaat. More crap in my house. Given that I fully intended to throw out the chocolate dog at the first opportunity, I implemented my usual system: Hide it for a fixed amount of time, then toss it when I am certain that it has been forgotten about. This is how I rid my life of Happy Meal toys and mounds of Pumpkin's art work, so I did the same with the chocolate dog.

I hid the chocolate dog well enough that I completely forgot about it myself. However, recently a visiting friend of mine was desperate for a junk food fix and stumbled across the chocolate dog, which I gave her permission to eat. She smashed it up, and satisfied her craving, storing the leftovers in a container in one of my kitchen cupboards.

Today while Pumpkin was instructing my mom on where to find a good snack, Pumpkin chose the cupboard where the smashed dog was hiding. It isn't a usual snack cupboard for Pumpkin, but I think she is now on to the fact that the huz and I have our own guilty pleasures tucked away in various compartments in the kitchen, and she wanted to check around.

Needless to say, Pumpkin was mortified with what she found. The waterworks turned on full force as she bawled, shouting at me for letting this happen to her dog. She was inconsolable.

I would have felt absolutely terrible about all this if it weren't for one fact. Between tearful episodes of Pumpkin mourning the death of her beloved chocolate dog, who was so cute, and is now gone forever, she was stuffing her face with its remnants!

I wonder if animals who eat their young ever get this emotional?

But the Dog Came Back the Very Next Day...

When I was 17, my mom went away for a week-end, leaving me in charge of the house while she was gone. She knew that I was going to have my friends over for a drink or twenty, but she trusted me well enough to keep it under control.

Overall I was a trustworthy teenager, but on that Sunday morning after a night of 'debauchery' with my friends, I opened the front door to find our family dog on the porch, waiting to be let in after a night of frolicking and who knows what else. Boy was he dirty! I have no idea how he got out, but I was ever so thankful that he decided to stay close to home. I only confessed this to my mom about ten years ago. I figured that I was too old to get grounded by that time.

Yesterday, Pumpkin couldn't find her favourite stuffed dog. I gave the house a pretty good once over in search of it, but it didn't turn up. I can usually find anything, so I became concerned that she dropped it somewhere in her travels, and that it was gone for good.

This morning when I opened the door to take Pumpkin to camp, we looked down at the front step, and there was her stuffed dog, waiting to come in! I don't know how it got out or how it found it's way back, but I was once again very grateful for yet another locked out dog staying close to home.

I immediately turned to the huz to recount the story of my mom's dog that I locked out all those years ago. He laughed, but there was this unspoken overtone in his demeanor that let me know that it wouldn't be funny if I had done that to his dog. Whatever. I'm not a drunk teenager anymore, so why even think about it. Right?

Later this very same day, after poking my head out the front door to grab the mail, I found myself experiencing the weirdest sensation of not being followed by my shadow dog, Lucky. It was the absence of tripping over her while I puttered around the house that alerted me to something being off. I called out her name, but she was a no-show.

'When I grabbed the mail???', I wondered, as I ran to the front door. Guess who I found on the front step when I opened the door?

I Would Have Paid Extra for Delivery

Whenever my dad visits from Montreal, he brings along a stash of smoked meat from Schwartz's. This is an essential part of his visit, without which I probably wouldn't bother to invite him over. No, not really, but my point being is that I really REALLY like Schwartz's smoked meat.

My dad and I have been discussing his trip to Toronto for this week, basically working out the likely timing of his arrival and departure, as well as the quantity of smoked meat he had to bring along. We were going to have a family member joining us for dinner on the night of his arrival, so we had to make sure that there was enough smoked meat to go around. The added bonus is that dinner would already be made, and I wouldn't have to do any work.

Dad arrived via carpool with a fellow Montrealer, who dropped him and his luggage off at my front door, then took off for his own destination. Upon rifling through his many bags in my kitchen, Dad asked, "Where's the smoked meat?"

'G-d damn, mother f-ing, son-of-a, f*ck, F*ck, F*CK!!!!!', is what I thought, but I managed to just sit there breathing deeply while Dad walked around kicking himself for his error. He didn't know his friend's cell number. So we began to sit and wait, hoping that his friend would look into the depths of his trunk for something that we and he would undoubtedly prefer to find sooner rather than later.

Knowing that I didn't have a chance of putting together any sort of edible dinner given that it was already dinner time (not that having extra time helps much), I resigned myself to the idea of pizza or Chinese food. I actually heard my taste buds start to cry and dry up in the anticipation of such a let down. Then Dad remembered something.

His friend's home phone was being forwarded to his cell! We made contact! It was rush hour, so I did a cost/benefit analysis of driving through Toronto in our usual gridlocked traffic versus not having my beloved Schwartz's that I had been thinking about all day.

I've gotta tell you, that was the longest drive I've ever taken to pick up dinner.

Maybe it's Time for a GPS?

I'm notorious for forgetting to carry along necessary papers that I have set aside for various purposes. I often make grocery lists, then find myself calling home from the grocery store, asking whomever is home to read me the list that I inevitably left on the kitchen counter top. I often print out maps to destinations, only to find myself trolling along through foreign neighbourhoods, trying to recall what was on the map which undoubtedly still resides next to the printer.

About 15 minute ago, I took Pumpkin to a birthday party. I didn't bother to print out the map because I'm fairly familiar with the area, but I did manage to forget the invitation with the house address on it. Meh! How hard could it be to find a court, beginning with the letter S, in such a small neighbourhood. I didn't know the house number, but I anticipated that it would be the house with all the cars parked outside.

I found a court, beginning with the letter S, off the street that it was supposed to be off of, where I saw a house decked out with streamers and balloons. Without a doubt that I was at the right place, I pulled in to the driveway and got Pumpkin up to the front door, ready to party.

Too bad that Pumpkin doesn't know eight year old Jordan who is celebrating his birthday at that particular house today.

We had better luck on the next street over. A little variation on the street naming please!

It's Not About Me???

We were at a Bat Mitzvah this past Sunday. Typically we don't bring our kids with us when we attend formal events (not that we get invited to too many), but a Bat Mitzvah party is actually kid oriented, regardless of the black tie optional designation, so we decided to bring Pumpkin along, who is now old enough to appreciate a good time.

The last time we attended one of these, we were still a childless couple, and I remember not quite getting why these parties were orchestrated in such a way. Once again, it was black tie option, and everyone was in their formal wear. The DJ was going nuts, riling up all the kids, who were going crazy dancing, screaming, and trying to get their share of the toys and paraphernalia that the DJ was flinging off of the stage.

I remember looking at my FIL, who was clearly annoyed by the loud music, sitting there with a frown, in a tux, with a glow stick wrapped around his head. I decided then that this type of party was the most ridiculous thing going, regardless of any cultural significance.

This past week-end, I figured it out. I guess I had to actually bring my own kid to realize that the party was actually FOR kids. Duh! THEY like to get dressed up and have a fancy night of celebration. We adults are just extra! We weren't even in our right to tsk tsk at the gaggle of twelve year old girls who were all scantily clad in short, tight, sequined black dresses! It was THEIR night. (Eeeek, nonetheless!)

Despite my realizing that the night wasn't about me in the slightest, I had the most fun that I ever had at one of these. Pumpkin was a hoot! She felt so special in her 'fancy' dress (cough, $16 at Winners, cough cough), and danced around like she was the belle of the ball. I ended up getting my groove on too, as we had to get up to the stage and boogie if we wanted any of the t-shirts, boas, pillows, and inflatable junk that the DJ crew was doling out.

This was purely for Pumpkin, of course. I wouldn't have been jumpin' around to Lady Gaga in a crowd full of tweens otherwise. I'm much too s'phisticated for that...

First on the floor, dancing like no one was watching.

'Cause Everyone Wants to Know how it Turned Out

Since you've all been waiting for it, this is what Ma's hair looked like styled after enduring three days of Bieber Hair:
As the week wore on, her hair got flatter, which is not what straight-haired people generally like, but is actually quite desirable when you've got straightened, curly hair. As you Torontonians are aware, this was a particularly humid and rainy week, which usually causes frizz, but in my mom's case caused a tendency back towards 'The Bieber'.

I guess it's fair to say that the keratin straightening treatment works. Hurray, if that's your thing.

This is in no way an endorsement for the straightening of curly hair. EMBRACE THE CURL!!! (unless you want to be on TV, in which case it seems that straightening is the only option. Oh, and if you have a Bat Mitzvah to attend this Sunday night and your hairdresser doesn't work on Sundays, rendering you to live with a 'do' that will carry over from a Saturday appointment. But those are the only allowable circumstances!)

She Just Needs to Master the Hair Flip

I have curly hair. Up until about 7 years ago, I was quite resentful of it. Throughout high school and years after, I did my best to straighten it, or tie it back, or braid it, or imprison it in a banana clip, but I can't say that I ever liked it. In my late 20s, the curls and I made peace. I figured out how to work them to my advantage, and now I have strangers approaching me on the street, asking me how to obtain the same curl definition. I'm so proud.

My mom, on the other hand, hates her curly hair and has always had her hair done by professional stylists. Every week, her hair is straightened and set, such that most people are unaware of the pent up curls hiding within her perfectly styled coif. This has presented her with the problem of avoiding humidity, sweat, rain, wind, sneezing, spicy food..., you get the picture. It now appears though that there is finally a method for dealing with this affliction.

There is a keratin treatment that is all the rage, which is more or less a reverse perm, that truly keeps hair straight for 3-6 months. It may not leave hair looking like Jennifer Aniston's, but apparently any remaining curl will only manifest itself in the form of smooth waves, and not some Brillo pad that has scoured one pot too many. Oh the 80's were painful for me!

So back to my mom, she decided to bite the bullet and cough up the bazillion dollars required for such a treatment, hoping that she can go out for a walk this summer without coming home looking like Roseanne Rosannadana. There is really just one catch, unless you consider the bazillion dollar fee a catch.

Once the hair is treated, it must be ironed flat against one's head, not to be styled, covered, washed, or touched for three days. Consequently, my mom now reminds of a segment that I recently saw on The Tonight Show titled, 'Too Old for Bieber Hair!'

I've gotta tell you, I'm having so much fun with this! Every time she walks into the room, I point and shout, "Bieber hair!!!", while laughing maniacally, as mom raises an eyebrow at me in annoyance. It's totally been the highlight of my day!

I Rule!

Yesterday as I was heading out the door with Chichi to her usual Wednesday program, I ran into the hot guy who installed our irrigation system last year. When I say hot, I mean hot, and not just someone who is 'not bad' under the conditions of spending all of my time with children, longing for the company of grown ups. Since I was heading out, I was going to miss out on my opportunity to observe him at work, which was the first of my series of unfortunate events.

Just before I jumped in the car, I realized that I hadn't yet turned on the water supply to the irrigation system this year, which meant that I had to run back into the house with Chichi, which ignited a tantrum that set the mood for her entire day.

Next, I zipped down the stairs to the basement, where I quickly opened the valve to the irrigation system, stood there for a minute to make sure it worked, and then ran back up to gather Chichi, and took off, leaving hot irrigation man to tend to his business, with no one there to offer him a glass of lemonade. Sigh.

Upon returning, I heard the vacuum running, which meant, praise the universe, that it was cleaning lady day. Sadly, the vacuum obscured another sound that would have been a good thing to actually hear. That being said, I made no notice of the sound even after the vacuum had been shut off. The cleaning lady had heard the non-vacuum, mystery sound, and attributed it to the furnace, since it was coming from that direction. Due to my hearing impairment, I am prone to tuning out such background sounds, figuring that it was a neighbour's lawnmower that my hearing aids couldn't seem to tune out.

It wasn't until the cleaning lady pointed out some weirdness going on with the water pressure that I finally made the connection to the rumbling sound that had been playing in the background of the house for several hours. I ran down to the utility room to check out the valve that I had opened for hot guy earlier that day. Somehow, in my hurry to stop Chichi's previous tantrum, I missed that the bleeder valve for the irrigation system had been open. Water had been spritzing into the utility room for about 4 hours, which was evident by the ankle deep wading pool that I had created. Pity the drain in the floor had been plugged up with lint.

So today I spent a couple of hours ripping out saturated carpet and under pad, and convinced myself that I was being productive.

And You Thought it was Important Just to Wear a Clean Pair!

Friday, Pumpkin surprised me by being fully dressed when she woke me up for the day. Usually I need to make a few wardrobe modifications for her when she does this, but yesterday she looked pretty cute. She had on a peach skirt with white capris tights, and a colourful, sparkly t-shirt with a peace sign on it. The ensemble had a 'material girl' quality to it, and was weather-appropriate, so I didn't make her change.

Yesterday, Pumpkin had a washroom 'accident' at school, which is very rare. It's just a little unfortunate for me that this happened on a day when Pumpkin dressed herself. The teacher had to help Pumpkin change into her spare clothes. If I wasn't concerned before about being judged by the way I dressed Pumpkin for school, I certainly became concerned about being judged for having sent Pumpkin to school that day without any underwear!

Maybe next time I'll do a spot check.

Mysterious Second Language?

Chichi isn't speaking yet, at least not in English. The doctor doesn't think that this is anything to worry about, so I'm not worrying, but I do take great rejoice whenever I hear her speech attempts resemble an appropriate word. Mostly she babbles though.

Yesterday, as my mom was doling out some crackers to the kids, Chichi said a word! My mom exclaimed, "Chichi just said, "more"!"

Pumpkin added, "And she said "please" in Chinese!"

Apparently Chichi is more sophisticated that I thought. Pumpkin too for that matter.

Girl's Weekend Redux

Wow, it's hard to get started again after a couple of weeks of laziness. I'll give it a try anyways.

Not this past week-end, but the one before, I had the whole week-end off! By that I mean I did not have any mommy duties, nor wifely duties (whatever those are) for 48 whole hours while I did a repeat performance of a girls-only, shopping week-end. 48 women, 48 hours, an outlet mall, Target, and a room crawl. Do I even need to say more?

Fortunately, or unfortunately, the group remembered my table dancing from the year prior, and did their best to get me loaded up enough to give it another try. I guess I've matured a bit over the past year and managed to keep my feet on the ground. I'm so proud.

I can't say that I found myself the slightest bit well rested after a week-end like that, and my feet were ready to leave me by the end of it, but oh I can't wait until next year!

I was much to busy trying on jeans and counting pockets in purses to have remembered to take any shopping pictures, but here are a few party shots to compensate for the thousand words that I haven't written:

Cheers!

Bizarre Shooter. The Headline might have read: 48 women found dead in a cheap hotel after simultaneously choking on a Hershey's Kiss

We were outta control!

So that's the gist of it. It took me a whole week to recover, but I'm coming out of my fog now so I should be back to posting semi regularly.

Random Marriage

I thought I was taking the week off, but I just got shit from an anonymous commenter who really wants to hear from me. Ok creepy stalker, I'll try to come up with something just for you.

This week in Pumpkin, she was working out the idea that my mom and dad used to actually be married to each other. She found this somewhat odd. It's not that she has a clear idea of what marriage is, but is quite certain that it does not apply my parents who don't live in the same city or spend any time together. I joked that I found their union odd too, not elaborating on my perception of two people who were nothing alike by the time that I was old enough to remember living with both of them at the same time.

Pumpkin then came up with a theory. "Maybe there was this wedding, and they needed a boy, and Grandpa was there, so they asked him to be in the wedding, and so they got married."

Wouldn't that be great for singles who are looking to get married for the sake of it? Just plan your wedding, and let the organizers pick your bride or groom while you're standing there at the altar.

I bet the existing 50% divorce rate would still hold steady.

Not a Good Sign

This morning Chichi and I went to her usual Thursday morning gym class. One of the activities in this class involves lining all the children up at the 'air log', where they proceed to bang on it with maracas in tune to music. This air log is a giant, colourful, inflated tube, about 10 children long, and about 2-1/2' in diameter.

The children who have been in this class before are quite familiar with the routine, and obediently line up to receive their maracas, and then line up along the air log where they wait for the stragglers. While I was leaning over, helping Chichi, who was waiting to receive her maracas, there was a little boy behind me who had already received his.

The little bugger started banging on my ass with them!

Alternative Therapy

The other day, my friend's mom and I were discussing the all important topic of pistachio nuts. I was focusing on the insanely high calorie count per nut (don't ask), but she had information about the supposed therapeutic aspect of pistachio nut consumption. Apparently the whole fiddly process of cracking open each nut, shell disposal, and actual eating offers focus, stress relief, and of course, an edible reward. I though that this was a nice, but unlikely theory until a memory of my childhood was triggered.

Every summer, my brother and I would spend a week in small town Quebec at my dad's trailer. We amused ourselves there somewhat with swimming, biking, and goofing around in a rubber dinghy, but much of that week was spent at the patio table, listening to top 40 tunes, while working our way through a bag of sunflower seeds.

The mindless task of sucking off the salt, cracking open the shell, eating the seed, then spitting out the shell made for what I would consider a nice outdoor activity. It sounds silly, but the memory of munching through a bag, waiting for the radio to play the latest release by Huey Lewis, soaking up the sun, and feeding the occasional chipmunk really does give me a warm fuzzy. Those were quality afternoons.

Calories smalories! Whaddya say we all trade in our anti-depressants for a sunny afternoon and a bag of unshelled nuts?

Bad Cop / Good Cop

It has occurred to me that a huge chunk of the behaviour of 4yo Pumpkin is designed to test my ability to not cause her any physical harm. It's hard, but I figured out long ago that I could cause her a fair bit of grief by taking away her favourite toy of the moment. Combined with a time-out, toy removal seems to cause her enough pain to gain her begrudging compliance.

This morning was no different than any other. Pumpkin refused to put on her own shoes, insisting that she needed my help, which she didn't. Sometimes I robotically put her shoes on just for the sake of getting her out the door, but today, I was a hard-ass. I really REALLY hate babyish behaviour when it's being performed by someone who isn't a baby, and I guess that my fuse is exceptionally short today.

"That's it! I'm taking away Mousey!" It's hard to believe that uttering such a stupid phrase gives me such a feeling of power, but hey, if Mousey works, then Mousey it is! Crying, Pumpkin had to put on her shoes and also didn't have her most important toy to take to school.

Those tears didn't affect me! I knew that I was ultimately being an effective parent, as I patted myself on the back after loading Pumpkin onto the bus.

A while later I noticed some scribble on the calendar. Pumpkin has her only show-and-tell for the whole month today, and today was now the only day this month where she didn't have some prized possession with her to show her classmates.

This will be the perfect punishment for her, I thought for half a second, before guilt took over my entire being. Grabbing my purse, Mousey, and some other toy option, I raced my butt over to the school, arriving just in time to catch the JK class lining up to go into the school.

Walking back to my car as I replayed the overjoyed, most beautiful smile that Pumpkin gave me when I showed up with her toy, I thought, 'Gee I'm a nice yet ineffective mom!'

Little Miss Literal

my mom, hearing The Wiggles playing a disco song from the '70s: You know, Pumpkin, I used to dance to that song!

Pumpkin: And now you don't anymore because you're old?

I Don't Think that Pavlov had This in Mind

The TV in our bedroom is on the fritz. This has created somewhat of a problem for my marriage. The thing that draws the huz and I together in bedroom every evening is late night television. Without the common goal of not really enjoying Jay Leno, we're having to make a bit of a conscious effort to plan a little 'alone time'.

To make matters weirder, when we do happen to find ourselves in that room at the same time, it's too damn quiet! Last night while we tried to cozy up with one another, I kept hearing things. The dog was snoring. The heating vent was causing the vertical blinds to clang together. I heard shuffling around via the baby monitor. The rain was hitting the windows. A minor power outage caused a flurry of gadgets in the house to start beeping. I need to focus people! Just one focus though. Maybe Monday Night Headlines or Jaywalking?

Is there a support group for people who can only be romantic when there's a talk show on in the background?

Carjacking on the Playground

Every Wednesday I take Chichi to a play group where a portion of the class takes place in a gym where the kids play with various toys, balls, and ride-on cars. Chichi always climbs into one of the plastic cars and spend her time opening and closing the doors. This seems odd, but it amuses her, and allows me to spend time in the kitchen with the other mothers who are doing their best to avoid their own kids in favour of a sip or two of coffee.

Today, Chichi was sitting in one of the plastic cars doing her usual: Door opens... door closes. Door opens... door closes. I must have looked away for a minute because the next time I glanced over at her, she was not alone in the car. A little boy with the sweetest smile on his face had pushed his way into the car with Chichi, and was trying to crowd her out. I was watching this scene with the other mothers, who encouraged me to let things play out unless there were any tears.

Now Chichi's general facial expression is that of bewilderment. Her wide-open, grey/blue eyes seem to take up half of her face, and her mouth often rests agape, as if she is completely shocked. In the context of this carjacking, it was both appropriate, and really funny.

The next thing Chichi knew, she was squeezed out the door on the other side of the car, and was left standing there, still looking bewildered, watching this little boy drive off with her car as she helplessly looked on. The entire kitchen full of moms agreed that this scene was hilariously sad.

Then Chichi happily ran over to some other toy without skipping a beat.

No Wonder I Hate Hide n' Seek

According to a statistic that I came across recently, the average North American spends approximately 12 weeks per year looking for things that they own but cannot find.

Pumpkin is terrible at trying to find things. She loses everything she owns at least once a day, and can't find whatever she is looking for despite it's obvious location within the house.

Stereotypical is my exasperation with Pumpkin when I find myself running around the house just one minute prior to her bus pick up, looking for her shoes, backpack, random toy that she can't leave the house without, or some other item.

"Pumpkin! Why are you so bad at taking care of and finding your things???", I shouted in futility last Thursday.

She replied, "I know I'm bad at finding my things, but I'm really good at finding the stuff that Grandma can't find!"

I think that my family may be above average at something!

I'm Glad I Skipped the Funnel Cake

I always knew that getting older meant the demise of many physical attributes. I knew that I would get wrinkles, I knew that I would have less energy, and I knew that gravity would take hold. What I didn't know was that getting older meant that I would be more likely to throw up on carnival rides.

That into was a little misleading because I didn't actually throw up on a ride, but I came a lot closer than I ever used to. Today I took Pumpkin to Fantasy Fair at Woodbine Center, which is something I've been planning to do for two years now. Upon arrival, I was completely impressed. It really looked like a fair with full size rides, games, and funnel cake. The carnies had teeth though, and the smell was more mall-like than the typical amusement park, which I guess is an improvement.

I had to go on several rides with Pumpkin, many of which spun us around in circles as rides are prone to do. With each successive revolution, I felt worse and worse, as nausea threatened to claim my dignity.

THIS IS NOT HOW IT USED TO BE!!!! I once had an iron stomach and a need for speed. Now all I have is an intense desire for Gravol.

So what's next to go?

Random, Morbid, Deep Thought

Pumpkin, wiping a slobbery dog kiss off of her face: Why is Lucky kissing me?

Me: 'Cause she loves you.

Pumpkin: So if I die, she'll be sad?

Me: ??? Uhhhhh, I....

Pumpkin: Where's my dress from yesterday? Can I wear lipstick? Where am I going today? What did you dream about last night? Is it sunny today? ...

I Never Thought of it That Way

Drive thru server handing over three individual bags: Here you go! Burger, burger, nuggets!

Pumpkin: Booger booger nuggets???

Why I'm Such a Catch

Chichi is one of those toddlers who has to grab everything. She relentlessly rummages through every drawer, closet, and pile of things that she can get her hands on, in a manner that can only be described as perpetual, chaotic, circuit training. Nothing within her reach is safe.

We have a console table that has been declared a no go zone for keys, mail, etc. since the table is no longer high enough to keep Chichi at bay. This morning I noted that hubby's Blackberry was on this table. He knows that this is a bad idea, but he does it anyways, probably out of carelessness or laziness, or whatever. I decided not to mention it to him because I always seem to be 'nagging' him about this, and it has no effect on him. I also decided not to move it because I always seem to be picking up after him this way.

Not only am I a great wife for not nagging, and for giving him the opportunity to find his toy right where he left it, but I also did not utter one single, "serves you right", when he reported to me that it no longer works after finding Chichi chewing and drooling on it this morning.

Well Hung

After five years of looking at a blank, two story wall in our foyer, we finally have art! And it's pretty too! It's of a giant rock face with some autumn coloured trees at the top of the cliff, and it's actually hanging on the wall!

I shouldn't be so amazed that it's hanging given that we ordered up an installer to be the one to deliver the picture, but I am comparing it to the mirror that the installer also hung today. This mirror has been sitting on my floor behind the couch for the past three years, save for a week of travel, and I'm in complete disbelief that it is finally hanging too.

Originally we were storing the mirror for my BIL who was working abroad. I was going to temporarily hang it but decided against that idea when I realized the mess it was going to leave on my wall when my BIL came to reclaim it.

When he eventually returned, he sent some pretty unprofessional moving men to pick it up. I am quite certain that they lost the bracket in their travels.

After having the mirror back in his possession for a week, my BIL sent it back to me as a gift, saying that his decorator deemed it an oversized no-no. As for the bracket, it never again surfaced. The mirror resumed it's position on the floor behind the couch where it hid for yet another year while I waited for our perpetually absent handy man to eventually show up and figure out how to hang it. I'm thinking that he's not coming.

This mirror is 7' x 4', and has a 3" wide frame made of lead. This kind of needed the uber strong bracket that it came with. Given that I had a guy coming to hang the new picture, I asked him if he would take a look at the mirror and see if he had anything to hang it with.

When the installer saw it, he let out a groan, complained about the weight and need for special materials, and eventually returned with another guy, a pile of metal, and many tools. It took about two hours for them to get the mirror on that wall, but it's up!

It's also earthquake proof and I will probably have to sell it along with the house one day, but I'll deal with that another time.

Why I Don't Dine Out With My Kids, Reason #122

I took Pumpkin to a restaurant today, which is rare given that I don't enjoy eating with her at home, let alone paying a premium to do it out in public. It was my SIL's idea, and I agreed so as not to be difficult.

Pumpkin was actually pretty well behaved throughout the meal. This may have had to do with the fact that her lunch was a teddy bear shaped pancake with chocolate chips, syrup, and icing sugar, but she ate fairly quietly nonetheless.

While my SIL was in the washroom, I was left to my thoughts, and considered making dining out a more regular habit such that Pumpkin can continue to build on her existing restaurant etiquette repertoire. That was at least until I glanced over at her and saw her sucking up the icing sugar off her plate with her drink straw like some sort of disoriented cocaine addict.

I have now replaced my visual of future family restaurant dining with an image of child services interrogating me about where Pumpkin learned that behaviour.

Not Quite Eddie Haskell, But Still...

Seeing as there is no school this week, I had to tote Pumpkin along to Chichi's music class today. I wasn't overly thrilled about this arrangement because Pumpkin can be rambunctious when trying to show off, which is how I imagined she would be in competition with all the babies and toddlers in this class. I have now learned that Pumpkin shows off differently for the general public than she does for me at home.

As we walked in, Pumpkin was on her best behaviour. When we joined the group, she put on her sparkliest, sweetest smile, and sat quietly while reveling in the attention and compliments from the other mothers. She did not try to outshine the cute babies as they bopped to the music, but instead, tended to her little sister, showing everyone how caring she could be. Oh how the other parents just soaked this up!

Throughout the class, others were constantly mouthing the words, "So sweet!" to us, as Pumpkin stroked Chichi's hair during Twinkle Twinkle, or as Pumpkin helped Chichi Row Row Row her boat. Pumpkin responded by tilting her head sideways for the benefit of admiring onlookers, flashing them the cutest smile that she could muster up. It seemed to work quite well for her. No one noticed me rolling my eyes at all!

We now return to our regular program of not sharing toys, and one-sided shouting matches.

Fashion Victim

When it comes to fashion, I'm often a little late to the game. It takes many episodes of repeatedly seeing a certain look before it strikes me as something that I would wear. I usually do come around though. I was even liking the look of the Hawaiian shirt by day eight of my honeymoon. In light of this truth, it is no surprise to me that the skinny jean/high boot look has finally called to me. It's only taken about three years.

I was resistant to the skinny jean. Stacey and Clinton always recommend the straight-leg trouser jean for my body type, and I really believe that my butt would look enormous any other way. I probably would have lived out my life without ever even trying on a skinny jean if it weren't for the fact that I really REALLY wanted a pair of tall boots.

Jeans are the dress code of the stay at home mom, so if I was ever going to rock the boots, the jeans would have to come along for the ride. The problem was that I didn't want to buy the boots until I had the jeans, and I didn't want to buy the jeans at all!

This problem was solved yesterday when I wandered into a store for no particular reason but to waste time, and the pushiest saleswoman in the world practically pulled my pants off of me such that I would try on these Oprah endorsed jeans that she was certain that I had to have. I wasn't going take them, but there was this other, really hot woman observing me as she waited for her mother to come out of the change room, who first suggested that I go a size smaller, and then insisted that I had to have them. Can't argue with that kind of salesmanship! I wonder if they gave her a commission.

Hard to Believe I'm Still Posting About This

Just to update you on the lemon loaf fiasco, I did in fact market it as low fat, which seemed to render it acceptable. I did get a few compliments on it, and did not catch one person brushing the sawdust off her tongue with a napkin. This must have happened more discretely.

The part that I left out was that as soon as I found that the butter was in the microwave instead of in the actual cake, I sat down to blog my air headedness. Strike while the iron is hot, I always say. I don't actually say that, but while we're on the topic of hot, it is worth mentioning that just prior to finding the butter and greasing up the laptop, I started heating up a pot containing lemon juice and sugar for the glaze.

So did you know that if you leave that sort of concoction on the stove top long enough, it will actually turn into lava rock? Me neither! You'd think that the smell would have alerted me sooner, but I just assumed that the oven that I had not cleaned in five years just had a little spilled whatever in the bottom of it.

It's official! I'm banning myself from the kitchen.

Julia Child Would Not Be Impressed

I belong to a mommy/play group that meets every Wednesday. Each week, it is someones duty to bring the snack. One parent brings snack for the kids, and one brings something for the adults. Tomorrow is my day to bring a snack for the adults.

In the past, store-bought cake was the norm, but this is a different group. There is a high percentage of grandmothers in the group, and they seem to hold true to the stereotype with regards to baking. Shame on the person who grabs a dry banana bread from the grocery store when last week, Shirley slaved in her kitchen to create some sort of sugary masterpiece.

Naturally, I am baking something today for the group tomorrow. Just a lemon loaf, but it is usually a hit. I'm making two at once so my family get to enjoy the fruits of my labour. No problem to make two, right? Just double the ingredients, and split the batter into two baking pans, right? Yeah. Right.

I softened the two sticks of butter in the microwave, one at a time, then proceeded to mix all the other ingredients as per the recipe. Both cakes are in the oven right now.

About five minutes ago, I noticed that the display on the microwave said, 'ENJOY YOUR MEAL'. This is always displayed when the microwave finishes whatever job it has been given, but before the door has been opened for removal of the food. "What the heck is in there?", I wondered. Oh look! It's one of the sticks of butter that I softened! What's it doing in here when the cakes are already in the oven?

Shit.

Just Blame it on the Dog

One time I gave Pumpkin a tap on the back-side, and subsequently shouted out my dog's name, as if to blame the dog for being the one to give Pumpkin the tap. Pumpkin thought that this was hysterical, and periodically requests for me to do a repeat performance.

"I want you to give me a smack, and then say, "LUCKY!"

The element of surprise is obviously gone, but the game still seems to hold value to a four year old.

I know that she sees humour in this. One time when I let out a belch (classy, I know) and directed blame towards poor Lucky, Pumpkin didn't miss a beat when she subsequently giggled, "She didn't even say "Excuse me"!"

Yesterday, Pumpkin was playing in the bathroom sink at my mom's place, bathing her plastic dolls as she often does. She knows not to make a mess, although that doesn't always stop her from making one. When she came out of the bathroom, my mom noticed all the water that got tracked out into the hallway. Looking down at the mess that my mom was already eyeing, Pumpkin decided to try out an old trick. Eyes wide with absolute shock, she exclaimed,

"Grandma! McKenzie peed all over the floor!"

Sew What?

Sewing is not a strong suit in my family. My mom has shared with me her story about how she failed sewing class in grade school when the skirt that she was working on ended up being a bag. Her sewing career has only gone downhill from there. For as far back as I can remember, my mom's 'sewing kit' consisted of a 3"x6" box containing about ten spools of thread, some of which have been around for over 20 years due to lack of use. Naturally I make fun of her for this.

Moving right along to my own sewing career, I took family studies in grade 9 as a means of improving my domestic goddess abilities. After all, I wasn't learning anything about the subject at home. In that class, while working on my own "Camp Beverly Hills" sweatshirt, I managed to surge one of the sleeves onto the neck, rendering my creation fit for dusting furniture. The best part was that in order to receive a full grade on the project, we were required to wear our finished garments to school for an entire day. Fun times, I tell ya!

Last week-end, we hired a babysitter, who had it in her mind that she was going to repair the holes in the couch cushions in our playroom. This woman is actually the lady who cleans our house once a week, and who I know to be very competent in all domestic areas. We came home to find that she had not tackled the cushions because she had forgotten to bring along any sewing needles. To my dismay, she had actually set about the house looking for a needle to use. I would have been especially upset if she had managed to fine one.

My sewing kit is in the drawer of my bedside table. Yeah, THAT drawer. There are things in that drawer that I don't necessarily want the babysitter finding. You'd think that these personal items would be the reason for my concern, but I had a more pressing embarrassment on my mind. Had she gone through the drawer and managed to find my 'sewing kit', she would have discovered that it consists of a plastic Ziploc baggie with about three spools of thread in it that I bought at K-Mart, which hasn't operated in Canada for over ten years!

I Could Be Simon's Replacement!

I've mentioned before that I wear hearing aids, which do a good job at boosting the volume of most sounds, but not such a good job at delivering sounds that can be perceived as completely natural. I find that a lot of things sound 'too hard' compared to how I believe the rest of the world hears them. In addition to that problem, when the hearing aids are not fitting quite well, there is an issue with feedback, which results in a high pitch squealing assault on my ear drums.

I've managed to complicate my hearing problems further by smashing one of my hearings aids into about 20 pieces when I knocked over a can of mousse that landed squarely on it. I'm now using an old, ill fitted back-up, which does not match the other ear, so things are more 'off' than usual.

There is a possible world where I wouldn't even notice the difference in my life if it weren't for my almost embarrassing compulsion to watch American Idol. During the main auditions, the squealing was off the hook. I'm not just talking about the singers. The feedback in my ears sometimes carried on through the commercial break. And now that the top 24 are performing and the music quality is supposed to be improving, I'm hearing exactly the opposite.

Based on what the judges are saying about the contestants, they seem hearing the same thing that I'm hearing. Normally this doesn't happen for me. Very often, I'm prone to liking what the judges hate. This season, we seem to be on the same page.

By taking messed up hearing, and applying a messed up solution to it, I'm wondering now if I've managed to find the formula to be a bang-on music critic.

Not That I Do This But...

If you stalk someone on Facebook regularly, it is wise to ensure that you enter his or her name in the search field, and not in your status update field. Having a status update with just the name of your 'stalkee' could be a tad embarrassing.

Waking Up on the Right Side of the Bed

When his son was four or five, my former colleague used to wake himself up at 4:45 every morning such that he could be alert and ready for his son's energy by the time the boy got up every morning. "You're fucking crazy!" was all I could say at the time from my childless, single, sleep-until-11-on-the-week-ends frame of mind.

Now that I have kids of my own, I still think he was off his rocker, but I have at least had a glimpse into his way of thinking as of this week.

Pumpkin's school bus schedule was changed such that her pick-up time is now 13 minutes earlier than before. This doesn't sound like much, but since I was already cutting it short for time prior to this change, I decided to do something that I hadn't done since I became a stay at home mom. I set my alarm for an early wake up.

After I got myself all spiffed up for the day, I headed over to Pumpkin's room to wake her up. This was a nice change. Usually she wakes me up by slamming herself on my bed while screaming "MOMMY!" Truthfully, being woken up this way always puts me in a foul mood, coupled with resentment, and strong desire to lock Pumpkin in a broom closet. By being the one to wake her up, it was like I had the upper hand! She couldn't get to me the way she usually does. Right up until the time she shuffled onto the bus, I was uncharacteristically calm and not aggravated.

I started thinking of my former colleague, and how his extreme early wake up probably gave him time to have a coffee and read the paper in peace, and actually started to consider it. Imagine how calm I could be if I used that opportunity! Then I quickly calculated that he set his alarm a whole two hours earlier than I had just done, and I went back to questioning his sanity.

Knowing myself quite well, not only will I never wake myself up more than 20 minutes ahead of Pumpkin, I'll probably continue to let her wake me up on non-school days, forcing us both to endure my morning grumpies.

Creature of Bad Habits

I have a basket on my kitchen counter that I use to throw recyclables into, which I then dump into the main recycling bin whenever the basket gets too full. In theory. Sometimes I keep piling stuff into it, or onto it rather, when the basket is clearly overflowing with papers and containers.

Just to the left of the basket on my counter, I store important items that I need to file, shred, sign, or do something with. As you can imagine, sometimes the overflow from the recycling basket and the 'important items' pile occasionally merge to form one large mess.

Last month, this pre-filing system of mine allowed me to throw out a pack of gift cards. Just yesterday, I realized that I must have thrown out a stack of photographs. Despite my two examples of stupidity above, I seem to be continuing to file important items right next to the recycling.

I guess I'm holding out on change so I can throw out my income tax forms or maybe a winning lottery ticket.

Please Allow Me to Judge Me on Your Behalf

The last time I posted about Pumpkin's ski lessons, I discussed how Pumpkin suddenly 'got it', and was skiing like a pro. Well, not quite like a pro, but doing it willingly, and somewhat properly. Well, things haven't exactly progressed the way that I would have liked.

Pumpkin does not look forward to ski day. I never let her back out of it, but she does often complain about various physical ailments every Saturday morning when she wakes me up with her infamous line, "What my doing today?!!" Yesterday's complaint involved a frog in her tummy. And so the bribery began.

Yesterday, I promised lunch at McDonalds just for going, plus a few chocolate eggs if she managed at least six runs. In addition, it has always been a given that I would buy her jelly beans from the vending machine at the ski lodge at the end of every lesson.

Pumpkin held up to her end of the bargain, so I grabbed her the jelly beans for her to munch in the change room, which is complete chaos if you want to imagine a small room filled with about 20 young kids plus their parents, all trying to undress and dress again in winter gear. Many of the kids were crying by this point, while their parents endured the stress of getting everything organized and packed up.

Other kids saw me pumping my kid full of junk while discussing McDonald's with her, and started to nag their own parents. One father went as far as to mention to me how healthily his family eats, and how his kids don't ever get McDonald's. One mother found herself helplessly giving in to her daughter's candy demands in the face of Pumpkin's good sugar fortune. I overheard some other parent say something like, "NO! We're going home for lunch!" There was even a note on Pumpkin's progress card from last week's substitute instructor saying, 'NO TREATS!' What's wrong with a tiny piece of chocolate at the end of a good run?

Sorry to the other parents, but my crappy parenting skills are what we need to get through this seven week session. Look for me on the hill though if you need me to hook you up with something sweet.

False Advertising

I bought a cookbook with the most appealing title: 30 Minute Suppers. Today I made my third meal from that particular book. It took me an hour to put together. The last one also took an hour, while the one before that took an hour and a half!

Apparently I need a sous chef.

A Logical Deduction

I have recently been marveling over how my pig-dog, Taz, hasn't stolen any food off of the counter tops lately. The stealing had been an ongoing problem with him that forced us to elevate all food products, including the compost bin, to heights over five feet. We occasionally, absentmindedly have put down our food at a lower height in order to assist a child with something, only to come back to an empty plate, leaving us wondering if we actually ate the food and just didn't remember. This sort of thing seemed to have stopped recently, and I attributed it to our training efforts.


A couple of weeks ago, we had Taz at the vet's to discuss how there seemed to be a lot of strain on his back legs. The vet found nothing wrong, but suggested glucosamine for arthritis. We gave it a whirl. Since then, we have managed to lose a plate of chicken nuggets, several bowls of cereal, at least one waffle, and a pot of rice.


It would seem that glucosamine causes dogs to disregard prior training, and cause them to gain weight. How's that for a scientific study?

We Sure Know How To Whoop It Up!

Tonight was date night, although it's sad that I say this in the past tense seeing as it is only ten past nine. My mom came over to babysit for a couple of hours, and we opted to go out for dinner instead of having our usual movie night. We made our reservation fairly late in the day, and ended up with a six o'clock seating, which was ok as we are getting used to the early bird special.

Dinner was all that and a bag of chips, but it was finished by 7:30. Going home was a bad idea since the kids were still up, and there was no point in even having a night out if we still had to participate in their bedtime routine. We decided that we had to find a way to amuse ourselves further, without having to ingest any food as we were already stuffed. Drinks were out too since hubby had to drive. Ah, the 'burbs. Anyhow, we decided on the local book store, which was open late enough to meet our need to peruse for a while.

Unfortunately, the book store shares a parking lot with a movie theater, and there was no parking. Hubby would rather stick needles in his eyes than drive around looking for a spot, so he declared our date over, and started driving home. On the way, we passed our usual grocery store, which was open! "Stop the car!", I insisted.

So there we were on a Saturday night, dressed up and looking pretty, me buzzing from the wine we just drank, loading up our cart with diapers, and Alphagetti.

And She Doesn't Even Live in a Bubble!

I got a call from the school this week on a day that Pumpkin was not in attendance. A slight panic took over my thoughts as I saw the school name on call display, for it struck me as a prelude to a meeting with the teacher, which isn't usually a good thing.

Au contraire, the call was not about anything negative. In fact, it was exactly the opposite. Every month, the school focuses on a particular, desirable character trait, and awards a student from each class who best demonstrates this trait. So guess who is getting an award on Friday for her continual display of exemplary 'optimism'?

That's right! My little girl is out there spreading her positive energy, irrespective of the house of sarcastic apathy from which she derives! Irrespective of my failed efforts to contain her spirit, which is sometimes a little extreme for me to handle. Irrespective of any rules or punishments that have been imposed upon her which undoubtedly, to her, seem like grossest injustices imaginable. So I take this moment of parental pride to brag a little. My ever lovin' first born is happy!

I'd write a parenting manual on the topic, but it would have to be titled, Winging It, and involve a lot of internet surfing, and store bought chicken nuggets.

Check Back Tomorrow. Please?

Sorry for being such a slacker this week. I do have a real post brewing in my head right now but I failed to turn it into anything publishable last night, and I'm about to embark on a two hour season premier of LOST, which may render me exhausted after eight months of anticipation. Don't wait up.

I Keep It in My Back Pocket!

My mom: Pumpkin, if you don't do as I tell you, I'm going to lose my temper!!!

Pumpkin: Don't worry Grandma! You can have mine!

THAT'S Why Everyone Watches It!

It has taken me over two years of watching the show with my kids to finally notice that Muno from Yo Gabba Gabba is basically a giant French Tickler. With one eye no less!

Mother of the Year Once Again

Pumpkin has been trained to stay in her room until 7 am every morning. This morning, she showed up by my bedside at 5 something. She wasn't particularly upset, but she said something about being scared, or not, as I wasn't really paying attention in my sleepy stupor. She said that she wanted to stay in our room.

In the past, whenever we have allowed Pumpkin to join us in our bed, she has only wanted to play, which is both annoying, and not acceptable at 5 am, thus she has never actually slept with us. I wasn't about to start this habit, so I said either go back to your bed, or sleep on the floor with Lucky. I figured that she'd head back to her room, and then I promptly fell back to sleep.

It's a good thing that we have cushy dog beds, because that's where Pumpkin was when I glanced over in that direction upon waking up two hours later. To make matters worse, she later told me that she had a bad dream about a bad guy named, Jason, who was chasing us. This is the first I've ever heard her speak of a Jason. She won't watch The Princess and the Frog, but somehow managed to catch at least part of Friday the 13th???

Wow I'm bad at this.

Still Grappling With Religion

Today Pumpkin asked my mom if my mom knew her when she was just a baby. My mom replied, "I met you on the day that you were born!"

Offended, Pumpkin stated, "I wasn't born! I'm Jewish!"

Imagining that Pumpkin had ideas of our people having been hatched or beamed down, I figured I'd try to clear things up for her. "You know, Sweetie, everyone is born. Jewish people too."

Angrily she retorted, "I'm not being born again! I'm Jewish!"

Maybe she does have a handle on this.

For the Record...

...I would choose Homer over Peter, provided that I wasn't going to cop out and opt for divorce or switch teams. Although both men are quite useless, Homer sometimes feels bad about the effects of his actions. Also, he and I would always have donuts in common. That's more than some couples have! In addition, I think that he would get along well with Pumpkin.

Yesterday, Pumpkin advised me that she knew how to make "the perfect drink".

"How do I make it?", I inquired.

"You take chocolate milk, and take parmesan cheese, and mix it up!"

Now doesn't that sound like a drink that Homer would enjoy?

This Relationship is Feeling a Little One-Sided

I'm not doing another post until I get a better response on my survey from yesterday!

Important Survey

Outta curiosity, who do you think would make a better husband, and why:

Peter Griffin of The Family Guy

or

Homer Simpson

If you don't know who either of these guys are, you are probably my dad. Dad, you don't have to respond. As for the rest of you, this post is in lieu of last week's delurking day, when I was supposed to call upon my loyal fans to leave a comment, just to let me know that I'm not yammering to myself day after day. If you really love me, you'll leave a response.

A Hair Raising Story

You know how some people pre-clean for the cleaning lady? I've been known to do that, although more recently I've said, 'screw it', and let my cleaning lady see us for the pigs that we actually are. I can't seem to maintain this same level of apathy for the dog groomer though.

Taz needs a grooming like nobody's business. There is a problem though. I haven't actually brushed him in about four months. Dogs like Taz should be brushed every week. This problem started when both of my dogs started a shed cycle at the same time, and I only managed to make the brushing time for my other dog. That left Taz to be neglected, until I recently decided to take him to the groomers due to his odor. I figured that I'd give him a couple of brushings first, so I wouldn't appear to be the lousy dog owner that I seem to have become.

Upon sitting down to brush him the other night, I noticed that he was so matted behind his ear, it seemed as if he had another ear growing there. It took me about half an hour to remedy that. Then I started working on his 90 lb body for a while. It honestly doesn't look like I've made a dent in terms of clearing out the shedded fur that is still stuck within his unshedded fur. That aside, there was a growing pile of fur on the floor, that was at least the size of a cocker spaniel by the time I gave up for the night. I guess I have a few more sessions of this before I can book him an appointment at the groomers.

The downside to all this is that despite my doing my best to contain and dispose of the mini-Taz that I created from all his stray hair, my house is littered with dog-hair tumble weeds that generally blend in with the floor, but catch my eye every time a door opens or someone runs by. This is unfortunate because now I feel this obsessive urge to pre-clean for the cleaning lady.

How's This for a Complete 180?

Do you remember last week when I posted about Pumpkin's ski lesson that was a tad disappointing in terms of either of us enjoying it? Well, I was determined to keep at it, as a life without family ski trips is a life not worth living, and I hafta say, I'm pretty glad that I'm such a cruel mother.

The whole week, I could tell that Pumpkin was dreading her lesson, and she was clearly feigning enthusiasm for my sake whenever I brought up the subject. When Saturday rolled around however, she couldn't do it anymore. The whining started, as did the bribery. Before we were out the door, I was already out about $40 worth of promises based on her not crying throughout the whole lesson. It didn't look like I was going to have to pay up based on how things began. Then something odd happened.

One of Pumpkin's peers decided to get a practice run in, and Pumpkin decided that she wanted to do the same. As we started hiking up the astro turf runway, Pumpkin's whining escalated to levels comparable to the previous week. When she reached the top, she obligingly pointed her skis downhill, and had a 20' run. She didn't cry. She didn't frown. She actually laughed excitedly and asked to do it again.

I dunno what happened, but I wasn't going to question it. When the instructor started the lesson, Pumpkin only had sparkly smiles for him, which left him totally perplexed based on the guilt he felt from her petrified misery from only one week ago. Then she asked to go on the chair lift to the bigger hill!!!

Can I tell you how surreal it is to be on a ski lift with my own four year old, who is still pretty much a baby in my mind? This was actually the part that I was fearful of. Without the high-tech lifts that I'm used to, I wasn't sure that I'd be able to help her on and off the chair without landing us in a tangled heap, while lifties shout at me for being such a moron. I managed ok though.

As for the actual descent, it was amazing! I had Pumpkin on a harness, but gave her slack such that she could get a little speed and momentum for turning. She seemed to actually be getting the hang of it! Even when she fell, she didn't get upset. She just laughed at me while I tried to get her back up without taking a tumble myself.

I'm so excited about my Saturdays now!

Wasted Wish

While my mom and Pumpkin were at the mall today, Pumpkin tossed a penny in a fountain and made a wish. "What did you wish for?", my mom asked.

"I wished that mommy and daddy would be good!", was the reply.

Good at what??? Whatever she meant, disappointment seems inevitable.

It's a Good Thing I'm Too Lazy

Yesterday was the first day that I was able to eat normally since I came down with a stomach virus one week ago. Consequently, I have lost a bit of weight. It's really just a few pounds, bound to return any minute now, but for the time being, I'm a little lighter than usual. Naturally I love this fact, despite my not being overweight to start with.

Yesterday, a friend of mine came by for a visit, and after sitting with me for a few minutes stated, "You've really lost weight this week!" She didn't say it like it was a good thing. She said it with concern. Immediately, I began to reply with a "Thank you!", but managed to stop myself. Why did I immediately jump to the conclusion that I was being complimented? I can blame society for most of it, but it's amazing how my thought process has been influenced after a life time of not looking like Barbie.

It's like I have an unmotivated eating disorder. I would never deliberately make myself throw up, unless I was trying to stop the bed from spinning, but last week, on the morning after I involuntarily tossed my cookies, I hopped on the scale, looked at the abnormally low number for myself, and thought, 'Woohoo! Too bad I have to hydrate.' Sick, sick, sick!

Do not fear for me though. Tonight I was back to scarfing down a bag of ketchup chips while watching an intellectual two hours of American Idol. Obviously, being unmotivated is not limited to my eating disorder.

Saturday's Mom is Full of Rant

Cost of replacing electronic key for leased car six months ago:

$175.00

Cost of finding lost key in my ski jacket half an hour ago:

Five self-imposed smacks on the counter top with my forehead

Cost of just discovering that neither Chichi's nor Pumpkin's stomachs are entirely settled from our ongoing plague:

Two more loads of laundry

Cost of disclosing information about my children's lingering illnesses to tonight's babysitter:

Babysitter running for the hills; me having to give up my ticket to tonight's Leaf's game; hubby being instructed to take one of his friends

Cost of being married to a man who didn't try too hard to find someone to go with, and then decided on his own to give away both tickets so he could spend the evening with his icky kids and pissy wife...

Definition of Masochism

A few weeks ago I got the idea to enroll Pumpkin in ski lessons in an effort to get her up and running such that we could eventually claim some of our regular life back. Ski holidays have become a fantasy rather than an annual plan, and I am hoping to change that. Anyhow, today was our first lesson. I wasn't expecting total compliance, and had to bend the truth a little bit to get Pumpkin to the hill, but I did manage to get her there.

The hour lesson was not unproductive, but boy was it a whine-fest. For the most part, the kids had to walk up a 50' piece of astroturf, then ski back down, with the help of a couple of instructors. Every time we got to the top, I took off for the bottom to get away from the whining, and left Pumpkin to the instructors to deal with. The kid was pretty much paralyzed with fear, but did manage to make her way to where I was standing with her knees sort-of bent, and her hands sort-of on her knees. Then there came the complaining.

"I DON'T WANT TO DO THIS ANYMORE!!!!"

"We have to Sweetie, the teacher said so." I always retorted, escorting her back to the astroturf, wondering what kind of clout a ski instructor carried in Pumpkin's mind.

The whining escalated into shrieking, but I kept getting her back up the 'hill', and practicing how to maneuver around in skis on a gentle slope, which has to count for something.

When we had put in our full hour, I suggested going inside for a snack, which was a prelude to my other promise of McDonald's for lunch, being my initial bribery attempt. Neither McDonald's, nor skiing seem ideal on a week that began with a stomach virus, but Pumpkin could do with a few calories, and I'm too cheap to skip an expensive lesson. Besides, I didn't really believe that the ski lesson would be much easier on a healthy week. Next week I'm bribing her with a trip to Claire's for something shiny instead of McDonald's though. It should be much less insane.

The McDonald's that I chose had only been open for a few weeks, but it had a playground in it, which was the main draw for Pumpkin. Little did I know that today was the grand opening, and that the 'Dirty Clown' himself was scheduled to be there at the exact time that we got there.

THE PLACE WAS A FUCKING ZOO! There were at least 1000 people in there and I'm not exaggerating! The second we walked in, we were handed a balloon, which is kind of annoying because Pumpkin wanted to keep it, but didn't want to carry it. There was a DJ yapping over a loud speaker, playing Lady Gaga or whoever, adding noise pollution to the already impossible to hear anything air. I was trying to find a table while carrying our order, and a balloon, all the while trying to hear what Pumpkin was crying about, which I think pertained to her Happy Meal toy, but I can't tell you 'cause it was too fucking noisy!

I thought for sure that Pumpkin would want to skip the VERY crowded playground, that no doubt exceeded fire regulations, but I was wrong. Despite the play structure being in a particularly small room that had to be shared with a face-painter, and despite all the kids lining up for said face-painter, and despite the dozens of parents clamouring into this overstuffed room to take pictures of their kids, Pumpkin still had to go in.

I was there on this day, at that time, purely by accident. WHY THE HELL WAS EVERYBODY ELSE THERE??? Is the grand opening of a fast food joint really the kind of quality time people want to spend with their families? Do they think their kids want to see the goddam clown??? I think about 99% of kids are actually scared of clowns, and probably 50% of adults! Did they really all leave the comfort of their homes to stuff their kids in a tiny play room in hopes of a great photo op? Really? REALLY???

Excuse me now while I go crack open a bottle of zen.

Stomach Virus, Day 3

We're still in recovery mode over here, so I'm scraping to find something amusing to offer up, unless you think that Hubby joining in on the stomach virus last night is funny, in which case, you're one sick puppy. His illness actually made me feel envious, as I watched him dive for the washroom without his having to worry about the kids, and then stay in bed for 24 hours straight. Some people have it good.

I am actually feeling ok. I haven't eaten much, but I did dream of licorice allsorts during a nap , so that must be a good sign. Pumpkin pretty much created an imprint on the couch today, eating nothing but a processed cheese slice and two crackers while she lay there for the entire day. She kept insisting that she was perfectly healthy so that I would take her to Claire's, her new favourite store, which is pretty much the mothership of "Something Shiny!" She barely ate or moved all day, but she SWEARS that she felt perfectly fine to go shopping. I do respect her motivation, but as an effort to be a good mother, I'm holding off on that one.

Good times!

I Had a Good Excuse...

Chichi has been a little under the weather this week, mostly in a good mood, but turning out some pretty gross diapers. Yesterday as hubby walked in the door, I jumped up, told him that I seemed to have Chichi's disease, and ran for the washroom in the basement. Welcome home, honey! It all went downhill from there.

I had taken to the guest room to stay out of the way, and Chichi was ready for bed, so all that hubby had to do was contend with Pumpkin. Except things didn't go that way. First off, Chichi's soother was missing, so she was freaking out in her crib. Hubby, in a mild panic, told me that he couldn't find her 'owie'. Owie is the word used by my friend's son for his blanket, and is not a word typically used around here. Our blankets are 'giki's', and our soothers are soothers. Regardless, I was looking for the wrong thing while intermittently running to the washroom.

Meanwhile, back in Pumpkin's world, she had gone to bed complaining of a sore tummy, which culminated in her pretty much painting her bed and the walls with the contents of her stomach. She was really upset, so I set in motion the cleaning process, while also looking for a blanket that wasn't lost, while continuing to intermittently run to the nearest washroom. Both kids were crying, while we tried to get it together. Hubs called my mother to see if she knew where the owie was, but her reply was, "Leave me alone! I'm busy throwing up!" Virus confirmed.

It had finally happened to me. This was the low point in parenting that I had read about in books that was supposed to be a story reserved for fiction, or at least something that only happened to other people. I guess we had a good, long vomit-free stretch, if nothing else.

Eventually, Hubby said he was going out to buy an owie, which seemed odd, so I figured out that he meant a pacifier, which I was able to produce within ten seconds. Ok, I had one down. Then it was on to cleaning Pumpkin's mess, which proved to be a never ending battle as the night went on.

If you happen to have the storage space, I highly recommend that you purchase three or four discount beds-in-a-bag for just such an occasion. I cannot believe the amount of linens we have gone through over here! The washing machine has been running since about 9pm last night, and it will probably be running until bedtime tonight.

Forgive me for not having posted yesterday.

Guess I'll Try Again Tomorrow.

The bad news is that I can't think of anything amusing enough to write here. The good news is that while I have been sitting here staring at a blank screen, I have managed to catch up on all my physiotherapy exercises that I often neglect. And I ate a bowl of cookie dough ice cream. And I've made a decision about tomorrow night's dinner. This has been productive. Thank you.

Not Much of a Stretch

I have always admired Pumpkin's ability to live in her imaginary world. I admit that it periodically causes me to question her intelligence, but then I scold myself for being too jaded to appreciate childhood, and try to follow along instead.

Typically she roll plays with her toys, but lately she's been trying to involve me in her games. I kind of hate it when she makes me pretend to be a ballerina and dance around my living room, and don't you wish you had a secret video camera in my house, but today's game was much lower key. Today, the game was simply, 'Mommy and Daddy'.

I was designated the Mommy, and my instructions were to sit in front of the computer while drinking a cup of coffee, while Pumpkin played the roll of the Daddy. She then proceeded to pick up the paper, held it up in front of her so that she was completely hidden behind it, started calling me 'Tania', and continued on making mundane conversation.

Hubby and I really need to be a little more interesting in the mornings.