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!