Is It Just Me or is Everyone Crazy?

The Pool

2011-10-24T13:48:00.000-07:00

Well, time sure is flying. It seems like just yesterday I lived the babysitting horror story...

We are well into the school year, which so far is going quite swimmingly. Senior Kindergarten seems to be flowing a lot better than JK. Kieran has the same teacher and the same classroom. The class has about 8 fewer kids (lower enrollment that last year...I think the baby boom was Kieran's year) which seems to make a big difference and their classroom was renovated over the summer to make it quite a bit bigger. In short, it all seems less chaotic than this time last year.

Now, while things are going well on the Kieran side, we are in the throes of hideous swimming lessons with Kaya. Starting at age three, swimming is independent of the parent, which makes me so very happy. I was never a fan of the Parent and Tot classes. Kieran as a baby was the kid who wailed for entire class...he hated the whole process and when he was about two I gave up since it was fairly obvious that that neither one of us derived any sort of pleasure from the class. But when he turned three and could go by himself, he was in love with the water from the very first class and has never looked back.

Because of my ambivalence-bordering-on-dislike of Parent and Tot, and probably an even bigger issue of a complete lack of time, I didn't sign Kaya up for any classes as a baby. Then when she was about 2.5, I figured that I was being selfish so we went and to my utter surprise she loved, loved, loved it. She was the kid that was so happy to be in the class that other parents pointed her out to their own wailing toddlers in a "why can't you jump into the water with wild abandon like HER?" She wasn't crazy about putting her whole head under the water, but neither did most of the kids. And the absolute highlight of the class was the last 5 minutes when they were allowed to go down the mini slide. My God... she adored the slide and would go as many times as possible before the time was up.

The drill for the slide was pretty straightforward. The instructor stood at the slide and would release the kids once their parent was in place at the bottom of the slide. The parent would catch their child and move swiftly far away from the pack of parents at the bottom so that the next parent could move in freely. There was one woman who was particularly annoying in that she would catch her child and then proceed to stand there telling him what a good boy he was: " Good job Evan! Was that fun? Did you go fast?" etc. It wasn't actually the talking thing that was annoying so much as that she was willfully holding up the process. I don't even think she was oblivious to the hold up, I got more of an entitled, selfish vibe from her.

So, there we are, in the last class, Evan is in just front of Kaya. He goes down first and his annoying mother catches him and whilst praising him profusely on his sliding prowess, moves out of the way but is still completely blocking me...but not blocking the slide. The teacher, I guess because the process of the parents getting into place is pretty quick, let's Kaya go. She plunges into the water with no one to catch her. He immediately realizes that I am no where near the slide (and still trying get the giant annoying mother to MOVE) and jumps in to rescue her. He pulls her to the surface, but she has taken in a huge mouthful of water. Kaya sputters and gags and, naturally, starts WAILING. The entire pool is staring because when the instructor has to jump into the pool at top speed to prevent a near drowning, it grabs everyone's attention. He hands her to me, apologizing profusely because he should never have let her go (obviously). I was furious but he was so apologetic that I told him it was OK and realistically he jumped in the second he let her go and she probably wasn't in any real danger. I was actually more annoyed at this other mother for being the only parent there who repeatedly NOT get out of the damn way for anyone else. She was standing right there and not only did she not apologize, she didn't even acknowledge that any sort of negative episode had occurred.

Anyway, it was sort of a bad scene, Kaya wailing. I was pissed. The instructor apologizing repeatedly, but the class was over, permanently. It all ended on a decidedly low note.

Since she was only a couple of month away from turning three, I decided weeks early that I had done my parental Parent and Tot duty and would wait until she was three to sign her up for swimming lessons. Then because her birthday fell just a few weeks after the spring session started, I decided to wait until September to start her in classes. Also, I wanted to put as much time between the slide episode and the beginning of new classes.

Instead, I bought us a Family Swim pass for the summer so that she would get some practice in the water. After our first outing in the pool, it was quite clear that she was NOT the same child who loved water months earlier. She didn't want anything to do with it and clung to me petrified for the entire time. For almost an hour I tried to coax her into having some fun while Kieran splashed around in joy. The pool had these huge floating flutter boards that could hold three kids so I finally convinced Kaya to lie on one while I pulled her around gently for a few minutes and she was OK. Kieran, seeing some fun to be had, wanted to get on, so I pulled both of them around a bit until Kieran, deciding he'd had enough, rolled off unexpectedly to go do something else. The shift in weight caused Kaya to roll off the other side, again plunging underwater. Cue sputtering, sobbing and even though I was right there, it was all over but the crying. So, I told Kieran we had to leave, which made HIM cry and off I skulked to the change room; defeated.

I made Eric come swimming a few more times to see if he could ease her fears, but she never really got over it. She got a little bit better and loves the beach and to putter on steps of pools...but that's about it.

So, I was quite nervous about starting her in lessons on her own. But, shockingly, she was fine. At first. By the 4th class though, something had happened and she refused to go anywhere past the first step of the water. She wasn't really crying, she just refused to do anything. But that class had a substitute teacher and I thought maybe it had something to do with that. Near the end of the class when they went over the slide, Kaya screeched until the life guard came to get her and brought her back to the shallow steps. Since the class was almost over anyway, I went out to get her, but he shooed me away and told Kaya to sit and wait for the other kids. The next week, when Ryan,her regular teacher was back, it was even worse. I had read somewhere that often they prefer parents NOT to watch the classes because it can be distracting for the child, and gauging from the dismissal I got from the lifeguard the week before, I gathered that they prefer to deal with these situations themselves.

So, there I was sitting just outside the viewing area - which is small and packed so I opted for the cement bench in the hallway. I thought it might be better if she didn't see me anyway. After a few minutes, I see many heads in the viewing area suddenly swivel towards me, so I figured she was crying. I sighed and got up and made my way the change room. I wasn't sure if I should walk out in all my street wear to the pool deck to get her and be subjected to another sharp dismissal from the lifeguard, so I stood in the open doorway where she could see me. She stared at me and continued to wail. I moved out of the way for a bit but left her there, and every so often I would move into her view to assure her that I was nearby. Then another parent came up to me and told me she thought I was doing the right thing by leaving her. "After all, she has to learn," said the woman. It was only at that point that I realized people assumed I was in a Parenting Moment. In reality, much of my reason for leaving her there had more to do with my own fear of the lifeguard and interfering with their process, than teaching my daughter a life lesson.

Anyway, after the class I talked to the teacher and explained that I wasn't sure if I was supposed to come get her and HE told me, in no uncertain terms that I should have and that she was a major distraction to him and that by paying extra attention to her, he almost had an incident with one of the other kids. So much for my Parenting Moment. Furthermore, he said next week, I would have to come into the pool with her. Greeeaaaaatttttt.

So, on Sunday at 9 am, instead of at lounging at home drinking a coffee in my PJs or even sitting on fully clothed on a bench outside the pool, I was in my swimsuit in the pool while a gaggle of parents stared at me from the viewing area. She was better, but I know it was only because I was there. She wouldn't let the teacher hold her to practise floating or kicking like the other kids who stared at me like an alien in their midst. Only after much coaxing did she left him lift her into the air in a pretend jump and then came right back over to me.

So, I guess this is the way it's going to be....Parent and Tot, forever.

And now we are....really old

2011-09-01T13:08:00.000-07:00

Another birthday has come and gone. I took the day off work at the last minute (I had vacation days HR was needing me to "use or lose") so it was nice to wake up and watch an uninterrupted few hours of Netflix with a cup of coffee in my jammies, before heading out to do some errands unencumbered by children. Followed by dinner and a movie with my husband.

Unlike so many disaster-tinged birthdays of yore, it was actually a lovely day.

However, I will say that overnight August 31 started out very, very shaky. As in...the horrendous experience that was the evening of Aug 30 leading up into the wee hour of the morning.

After I post this into the blogosphere I plan on expelling it, Harry Potter into the Pensieve style, from my memory forever, so here goes:

Eric's band practices each and every Tuesday. Mainly, this is the time when they learn new songs, but they will often have potential clients, who may have heard of them through word of mouth or the internet, come out to watch them...an audition, if you will.

Now, to back up a bit further, several of the band members have children, but two of the band members have children together. For them, babysitting can sometimes be an issue and on this night in particular, their regular sitter cancelled and rather force the band to cancel the audition I agreed to babysit their three kids.

So, for a few hours in the evening, I will have one-seven-year old, two 5-years-olds, one 3-year-old and an 21-month old. Its probably nobody's idea of a good time, but sacrifices must be made....

I just want to put it out there, that I like the two band members in question, I really do. (And no, they don't read this blog, so I'm not just saying that). But, things started out poorly when, mere seconds after coming inside, the 7-year-old...who I will call Angel...and is beyond precocious and speaks and acts like the snarky teenager of our collective nightmares, marches up to Kieran, and confronts him with something along the lines of "you have a baby hand and a regular hand and that's weird." She doesn't say it with any type of innocent curiosity, it is definitely an accusation and Kieran, who has in no way mastered the art of the witty (ok, any) comeback, stares at her blankly. Her mother on the other hand, scolds Angel loudly giving the usual "we are all different and special in our own way" speech and puts her in a time out. Now, we already do have a relatively thick skin in terms of Kieran's hand (and he appears to as well) and kids are kids...so we move on.

Now, they are getting ready to head out, and amid the profuse apologies for even having to ask me to babysit at all, they say they will come back after the audition and not stay to practice. Angel, who is quite used to babysitters so I'm surprised is not more laid back, suddenly says with snark that I didn't realize children could possess barks: "I'm not staying HERE. They have no TOYS." Which is shocking since we are quite overrun with toys, I believe, but again perhaps more of the 5-year-old boy variety.

I fear this is not going to go well.

Meanwhile, the other 4 are already off elsewhere playing with our many, many toys. So I put on a movie for Angel and she is, briefly, appeased.

Now I am alone, and it takes me a few minutes to remember that an 21-month-old is loose in my no longer baby-proofed house. I locate her in the bathroom where she is pantless and licking (or possibly chewing) my deodorant. I start moving things up a bit higher, but now the other 4 are engaged in some loud-getting-louder-oh-now-they-are-crying-argument about something that requires parental intervention.

And so it goes...for hours and hours, the baby got into everything and anything. Dishwasher cubes? check. Floor cleaner? Check. Bandaids...do you know any 21 month old who can get them out of the wrappers in mere seconds...I do. Cat food? Yummy. Cat water...all over the floor, following by a succession of at least three kids wiping out (It's Home Alone 5!!)all of the place. Now, I can HEAR you all saying...Lady, this is what kids DO. But really, she went from one thing to another with lightning speed like a pint sized tornado. Honestly, I was thinking afterward that I was going to have to call FEMA or the Red Cross for aid.

Now, where was I? The baby is soaked from the cat water, and oh...did I mention she was having some sort of diarrhea issues? No? She was. And since she wanted to sit on the potty every 17 seconds I had just left her pants off, and now that her shirt is drenched, I go to find her new clothes and a diaper. Enroute, I am waylaid by the 5-year-old (not mine) asking if he can play with the Lego in Kieran's room. I say: "Sure! Lego! What I good idea." And off he goes. He's a good boy.

A few minutes go by and I'm attempting to wrangle an uncooperative baby into clean clothes and Kieran comes wailing out of his room.

"Mom, why did you say Jack could play with the Lego?" he sobs. Turns out Jack had been eyeing a trio of previously constructed Lego vehicles (jet plane, racecar, helicopter) that Eric had painstakingly made with Kieran last Christmas and have been sitting on a shelf on display ever since. Kieran likes to show these creations to guests; breathless and telling them not to touch. Now well, there are many Lego blocks on the floor. Crap. So now I'm trying to salvage what I can of Kieran's jet plane before I remember the half dressed, diarrhea baby I left roaming around the house. I locate her in the kitchen with a tube of toothpaste, mere moments before it was going to be wiped on the cat who I toss outside hissing: "Wesley, I'm a goner, but save yourself!"

Now is well after 10 pm, and I am beginning to realize realize that perhaps I have been misled to how long this babysitting gig is going to run. So I figure it's time to at least get my own kids to bed, if possible. Luckily, all the kids seem to think this in a good idea, but of course, we don't have enough beds for all 5 kids so four of them head onto Kieran's bunkbeds. (Kaya, who was totally disinterested in all the other shenanigans going on in the house and just happy to be enjoying an evening under the radar, was happy to climb into our bed with her CD Player). Kieran gets into his bottom bunk and the older two get up onto the top bunk where they immediately start throwing things off. A tossed book whacks me on the cheek and the giant dog that Kieran got from Eric's parents and which is not only huge, but sawdust heavy, comes rolling off the top bunk like a dead body, landing right on the baby's head and flattens her to the floor like Wile E Coyote.

We are now all crying.

Finally, the band arrives back at around midnight. There are zero kids sleeping and I have had 3.5 solid hours of what can sans exaggeration, only be described as hell on earth.

As they are all packing up (didn't take long, I had all the bags and backups packed a waiting by the door), Angel, as a nightcap, kicks a soccer ball at the wall right into two professionally framed portraits of the kids. The portraits were unharmed...but the night ended the way it had began, with profuse, embarrassed apologies and a time out.

When they all finally left I collapsed on the couch. It's 12:15 am.

"Happy Birthday!" says Eric. And then he made me a BLT.

Back by Popular Demand!

2011-08-16T14:19:00.000-07:00

OK, well maybe not POPULAR demand. But I'm back by request!

Can I wrap up almost a year of events into a single paragraph from where I left off just before Christmas 2011? The spa I ranted about back in my last post is now closed. Quel surprise. Christmas good. Kaya turned 3. Kieran turned 5. Junior Kindergarten ended on a high nutrition note and all was good. Summer good. Gee, with high points like that, you can see why I haven't blogged in awhile.

It's not like I don't live a life of bloggable moments, because God knows I do. It's just putting fingers to the keyboard that appears to be the problem.

However, there is one thing that is still annoying me three weeks out (and if you know me in person, it's highly likely that I have ranted about this already) but I just want to take a moment to throw this nugget into cyerspace...

Screw you Air Canada.

You are the only airline that I can think of that when assigning seats to a lone adult who is standing right in front of you, holding a three year old, scolding a five year old for trying to sit on the rolling suitcase conveyor belt, with a luggage cart laden with three suitcases, 4 carry ons (all which will, or course, be carried on by me) and a car seat, that would hand me three boarding passes where none of use are seated anywhere near each other. Now, don't get me wrong...as enticing as not sitting with my children would be, it reeks of poor customer service. Especially since I didn't even have a chance to glance at our seat assignments until, after I had finally got us all through security, put my belt back on, carried the three year old and four carry ons to the gate, unloaded the crayons and snacks and got us all settled before I happened to notice that we were seated randomly throughout the plane. And this was at 6:30 am well prior to having ingested any coffee.

Pissed does NOT describe how I felt at that moment.

I stormed up to the first Air Canada employee I could find who, since she was not actually working on my flight, couldn't do anything. Then over the loudspeaker I hear that they have changed our gate (of course) and we have to pack up and move to a totally different area downstairs. In the end, I did manage to get the two kids together and I was in the row in front of them but, sweet mother, was I mad.

Anyway, feel free to log on and defend Air Canada and tell me that I brought this on myself by not anticipating their stupidity or whatever. It just didn't cross my mind that even assuming there were only single seats left when we checked in two hours early, that the woman at the counter wouldn't mention that she couldn't seat us together and that I would have to talk to the agent at the gate. Do they think that is appropriate to seat toddlers 9 rows behind their mother these days? I see the answer is yes.

On the way home I made sure that we were seated together prior to leaving for the airport, so yes, a lesson was learned about the value of online check in and I felt like a bit of better parent at that point. Well, that is until Kaya pointed out, after I scooted her into the bathroom - 20 minutes after we had been there already - and left Kieran with all our bags doing his Spiderman dot to dot in the security lounge, that "Mommies shouldn't leave their kids all alone while they take other kids to the bafroom." Honest to God that is a true story. I was a bit shocked that she would even have been aware of my parental transgression, let alone call me on it. I guess I shouldn't have left him, but he was 10 feet (15 max) from the bathroom door and this was in the security lounge in Thunder Bay, not Frankfurt. It is really just a big quiet room with no exit. I had thought about packing us all up to stand in the can to watch Kaya pee for the third time in a hour, but it felt overprotective and Kieran didn't want to come and I knew if we all left that we would lose our seats. Jesus Kaya, get off my back.

Next year...we drive.

Stress Relief

2010-12-03T20:25:00.000-08:00

What a horrendous couple of months I just had. Work has been insane and after the nightly chaos of dinner, cleanup and bedtime, I just never have it in me to gather my thoughts for a blog. Blech.

But so much has happened. School is rolling along and the positive difference I see every day in Kieran is quite gratifying. The school still has some policies that I think are odd and sometimes downright ridiculous (ie - they refuse to administer Kieran's asthma inhaler, if he requires it during school hours we are supposed to drive to the school and do it ourselves. Which will be fantastic considering that both Eric and I work about 45 minutes away...without traffic.I suspect I will have more to say about this in the future.)

Eric pointed out not long ago that when I do blog I have been neglecting our little Papaya. Certainly, this is not intentional. Kaya is a doll and we love her to death. Generally sweet and good-natured (except of course, when she's not), she is currently fascinated...obsessed even...with changing her clothes. When I say you will never see her in the same outfit twice, I mean, even if you were with her for 1 hour at our house, you would likely see her in several different outfits...sometimes all at once. I do remember Kieran going through this phase, but Kaya's is far worse. Of course, that may be because girl clothes can go so disastrously wrong. Kieran had an array of jeans and neutral pants and pretty much all shirts go with all pants. Girl clothes...not so much. She's gone to daycare with some pretty fantastic ensembles lately. I don't care that much though...it might be general fatigue or simple ambivalence on my part, but mostly, I let her wear what she wants because, hey, it's not like I have to look at her all day.

In other news, I have had the past two days off work. Since work has calmed somewhat, I seized the opportunity to take a couple days off to do some Christmas shopping, get a much need haircut, etc. For my 40th, a group of friends had gotten together and given me a spa day, so I figured that I would spend the first day of my mini-vacation pampering myself. They had given me some WaySpa certificates, which means there are a lot of places to choose from, but I picked one that is quite close to my house. I'd driven by it but never gone in, I know someone who had been there for a pedicure, and the reviews online were fine. So I booked the Stress Relief package which was a 30 min massage, facial, manicure and pedicure. Nothing fancy, but covering all the basics.

I arrive a bit late (I thought I was early, but turns out I had the apt time wrong) and the first thing the woman says to me was "did you remember your flip flops?" They hadn't mentioned this on the phone, but I assumed that meant that they don't provide any at the salon. No big deal I said, but the woman seemed shocked, so I offered to go home and get them. She looked at the time and said no, that we would "figure it out". Then she said she would go get the room ready. OK, I think, here is another yellow flag..I mean, I was 15 minutes late...really, instead of sitting at the reception desk waiting for me, why wouldn't they be getting the room ready? But whatever, I will be soon be getting my Stress Relief package so I decided not to be annoyed.

Once in the massage room, the therapist(Maria) asks the standard questions, and wants to know if I had any areas that needed to be worked on. Now, I hold all my tension in my neck and shoulders, so show her my tense spots and with that, we get underway. I'm lying on the table and she starts what is the second-worst massage I have ever had in my life. (The absolute worst was the day after my wedding, when the masseuse (and I use that word soooo loosely) basically tickled me for an hour, but that is yet another story for another post, I guess).

Anyway, there was no massage aspect to what she did. She basically rubbed lotion on me for the entire time. I'm not sure why she bothered asking if I had any areas I wanted her to work on since she clearly had no intention of doing any sort of massage. But then it was over (bad sign that while I was getting my "massage" I was thinking about where else I could go to get a real massage?) Then, facial began. I've only ever had one other facial in my entire life, but it seemed standard. It's just applying and removing lotion from your face for an hour. But a few times she leaves the room for an extended period while some unguent that has been applied dries, and while the therapist is gone you relax on the warm table and listen to the spa music. Except within minutes of her leaving the room, the spa music system craps out and the hallway is filled with commotion as the 4 women who are employed there (I was the only client there at that time) try to fix the sound system. Four late middle age ladies trying to fix a sound system is just as painful as you might imagine and I can hear every word. It was like listening to my mother try to fix something technical, which is to say, it just made me want to stand up and storm out of the room and try it myself) For the love of God ladies, has no one ever told you that your rooms are not soundproofed? Anyway, the music never did come back on but I got to hear the women chat about what they ate for lunch and the fact that they were running out of toilet paper.

On to the pedicure...fine, standard, nothing fancy but the toes look nice. Since I am woefully sans flip flops Maria takes what is essentially a thin piece of foam that connects at the top to make a totally low rent paper sandal, and we move onto the manicure.
We settle in for the manicure which is set up near the front of the spa. The spa owner was on the phone with Rogers trying to consolidate her services on her bill. Call centres are annoying, I know, I've been there. But I can hear things escalating out of control: she starts getting exasperated, then irate and finally angry at the poor customer service she is receiving (oh, the irony). While the owner is otherwise occupied, one of the other employees comes up to Maria to go over the purchase of light bulbs, wax strips, toilet paper and Kleenex. They take the opportunity to bitch about the spa owner who is now yelling at Rogers. ("Do NOT transfer me again! I would like to speak to a manager!").

Then, the third therapist comes over and can't figure out how to access Line 2 on the phone. Maria shows her. She comes back two minutes later because she can't figure out how to hang up. Gah. Who ARE these people?

Then, of course, my cell phone rings. I can hear it in my jacket pocket, but I'm mid-manicure so I let it go. Then it rings again. And again. I tell the woman to stop and go get my phone. It's Eric and he needs me to pick up the kids because he's running late. I tell the woman that I'm going to have skip the nail polish because I have to go, so we wrap it up.

I bend down to put my shoes on the woman is horrified. I tell her the polish is dry - the pedicure was at least a half hour ago, probably longer. But she tells me that I have leave the spa wearing the paper on my feet. I sort of snap...I had already told her that I had leave to pick up my kids from daycare and unless the massage room doubles as her bedroom, she must be well aware that it is now winter outside. There is NO WAY I am leaving wearing paper shoes in December. Maria rushes off and comes back with kitchen plastic wrap which she wraps around my completely totally dry toes before she lets me put my shoes on. Finally, I toss the certificates at them and fly out the door.

I cannot get out of there fast enough.

The Lunchbox Blues

2010-10-05T07:42:00.000-07:00

Now, it is definitely fall. We had to dig out hats and mittens yesterday morning and today, finally, the furnace had to go on.

School is rolling along. I think we are all getting the hang of it. Kieran no longer complains, and in fact, usually seems quite enthusiastic about going. Apparently there are still quite a few kids who are having trouble adjusting and are still crying and clinging to their parents at drop off.

Tomorrow they go on their first class field trip...to the grocery store. Seriously...not exactly the happiest or most original place on earth, but they will get to pick out a pumpkin for their class. I'm also guessing it will be another opportunity to teach them about "healthy food choices" which seems to be a rather large part of the curriculum.

Except of course on Wednesdays, otherwise known as Pizza Day, which started last week.

The already ubiquitous permission slip came home (I swear, I think I have signed at least 10 so far) saying that Wednesdays were now $2 Pizza Day, and by signing the form, Kieran would be allowed to have pizza every Wednesday provided he brought the money. I signed the slip and returned it...then I didn't really think about it again. I packed Kieran's lunch as usual for Wednesday. At pickup time, the teacher told Eric that Kieran was a very "sad little boy" at lunch that day because he was only one of two kids who didn't bring money for the pizza. I assume there were either tears or pouting, maybe both. I felt badly for him. I wasn't intentionally depriving him, but I also didn't think it would be a big deal and that lots of kids would have brought their own lunch.

But I do grumble a bit at the double standard of even offering a weekly pizza day though. After all, we went to "curriculum day" where we met the teacher, and her assistant ECE, to go over the daily routine. After the teacher wad finished, the ECE had her turn. She, apparently, had a bit of a bee in her proverbial bonnet about what kindergarteners are bringing in their lunch and snacks. She had a real hate-on for juice boxes (sugar! food colouring! juice from concentrate!...for shame, parents, for shame) Granola bars with more than 5 grams of sugar (which by the way, is all of them) and says that we should be packing more fresh vegetables. Even though I understood, and agree with, what she was saying, this sort of thing vaguely annoys me. I was also quite sure that I was probably NOT a real offender for lunch crap. Kieran always gets fresh fruit (often two kinds) and yogurt and cheese, a granola bar (for shame), a either half a mini bagel with cheese (which he rarely eats) or a thermous of soup. Occasionally I packed carrots or cucumbers or snap peas, but not every day. But he was also getting a juice box and usually some sort of cookie or treat. Now, he brings only a (reusable) water bottle, and the juice and treat have disappeared. Because, as I said...I agree with her.

However, a few days after this meeting, this article appeared in newspaper. Some nutitionist had gone into full day kindergarten classes and was appalled at what she found. Astonished! Failing grade for lunch packing kindergarten parents! But reading the article I was even more annoyed. Again there were us horrible, horrible parents packing juice boxes and almost all lunches had least one sugary treat. Hardly any parents pack milk (which I'm sorry to say, I cannot even fathom sending). Some parents packed cold hot dogs or improperly stored spaghetti. And even yogurt tubes and cheese strings were not "the most healthy choices in that group." Yadda yadda.

OK, so here is my rant: The nutritionist says kids need to eat to learn and by extension, the better the food, the better the learning. But he vast majority of 4 years old (some are still three) are notoriously picky eaters. If I had the time, initiative and resources to every day pack an entire days worth of homemade, unprocessed, exclusively healthy food, Kieran most likely would not eat most of it. To a certain extent, he would go hungry. Obviously, I do want him to eat in order to learn, so is it better that at 9:30 snacktime he eats the granola bar he loves and then can concentrate or does he open his lunchbox and chew a couple of snow peas or cucumber slices, poke at his cottage cheese and then be hungry until lunch? Because I feel like that is what will happen more often than not. Sure maybe at lunch or at the end of the day he would eat it, but what about that missed time in the morning when according to the curriculum is when most of the "learning" takes place?

Most kids like some healthy foods but you need to send quite a bit of food for the entire day. You aren't there to cajole or negotiate or bribe them into trying that new healthy food you have carefully prepared. I actually sympathize with parents who sent the cold hot dogs - I'm sure they are just trying to send stuff their kids will eat. Because maybe the well-intentioned tuna or turkey sandwich came home squished but untouched every day last week. Maybe the parent thought in a moment of lunch packing desperation that "Ethan loves hot dogs, maybe I'll pack one with a bit of ketchup and he'll eat it up and be happy". And now, there is that moderately poor decision written up in the Star for all holier-than-thou parents to mock and cluck at in distain.

But, I guess the nutritionist is vindicated because Kieran no longer gets to bring juice or a treat. He now always gets a couple of veggies, which usually come home, but dammit I send them and when they do come home, I toss them in the garbage like any good mother should.

I think it's safe to assume the majority of parents do want what is best for their kids, and do want them to eat healthy. But judging from the clinginess we still see at our school, they are also just little kids going off to school for the first time all day and we want to make them happy. Which is why I will be sending Kieran tomorrow with his toonie for Double Standard Pizza Day.

But I'm still fairly certain that our newspaper nutritionist would be astonished(appalled! failing grade!) if a kid showed up with pizza in his lunch box.

Settling In.

2010-09-15T12:23:00.000-07:00

So, not surprisingly I guess, things seem to have settled a bit on the school front. At least, I think it has. The shine of "I'm starting school!!!!" appears to have been more or less officially been replaced by the nagging feeling of drudgery that I recall from childhood. In fact it started last Thursday (Day 3) when I told Kieran to get dressed for school and he was incredulous: "I have to go to school AGAIN?". This week, he seems to be learning to accept his fate as student in perpetuity.

Although, he did finally bring home a "Welcome to JK" letter the other day, which told us his teacher's name, along with a few choice other things that would have been helpful to have known last week. You know..things like don't pack anything resembling a nut, or seafood, or apparently bananas, since a child in his class is allergic to them. I have never heard of a banana allergy...but none of the contraband items are Kieran staples anyway so that is fine.

We got called today to go get him because he was complaining of a "tummy ache". I am actually surprised we haven't received this call earlier because this kid has complained about stomach aches for as long as I can remember. He usually says it's because he "ate too much lunch" and sometimes dramatically rolls around a bit and then is totally fine. Still, he now has a Dr appointment for tomorrow just in case. I would hate to flippantly blog about his "faux" illness and then have it actually BE something legit. I'm even less thrilled that he has already figured out the trick to getting out of school early. Harumph.

On Friday, we have his "Junior Kindergarten Orientation" where, presumably,we will be able to ask questions about procedures, etc. It will come exactly a day too late for me to ask how I get my child excused from school for doctors appointments. Do we still send handwritten notes? Do I call the office? Do I show up and loiter outside his classroom until someone confronts me? (OK, probably not the last one) Argh. I hate being a newbie.

School Days

2010-09-09T08:26:00.001-07:00

Kieran started school this week. He has been excited ever since I took him to register last January and for months afterward asked me if he was starting school that day.

His school is one of the very first to offer full-day JK/SK...which I believe is both a blessing (yay! no daycare!) and a curse (uh oh...guinea pig).

However, although I'm happy he is going for a full day, I was mildly concerned a few weeks ago when I had not yet received any information from his school outlining a schedule for the First Day of School. I know that kindergarten entry is normally staggered so as not to to overwhelm any scared 4-year-olds (who may, in fact, even be only 3 if their birthdays are in the fall) but I hadn't heard any specifics yet.

So, last week, after I still had not heard anything and had no idea when he was supposed to go, I called to find out if I had missed something. The secretary (who is about 100 years old, I swear) returned my message and asked if I had not attended the info session. Uh oh. I attended an Open House back in early May where we saw the class rooms, met the teachers and had fruit and juice boxes, but that was it.

Yes, said the secretary that was the session where we got all the information.

"Okay," I said "but we didn't go over any staggered entry information or anything like that." Did we?

"There is no staggered entry for full day kindergarten. All children are to be here on September 7 at 9 am for all grades," Says Mildred, and I'm only assuming her name is as archaic as the sentence she just uttered.

"Really? You aren't staggering the entry?" I'm totally shocked.

"Well, we used to stagger them when they were half days, but with the Full Day Learning we aren't any more."

Jesus. AWESOME. Welcome to Backwardsville, kids, try not to be afraid.

So, can you guess what happened on the morning of September 7? Chaos, naturally.

We arrived, along with 40 anxious and excited JK/SK students, almost all with 2 parents, a surprising number of grandparents, dogs, strollers etc. all crowding around the gate to the fenced play area where they were taking the kids. It took almost 40 minutes before we were had reached the gate. When we got the gate, one of the teachers asked me who is teacher was. I snapped at her: "I have NO idea."

"You don't know?"

Now, I didn't want to be the bitchy parent on Kieran's first day, but how was I supposed to know this? Telepathy? Again, did I miss something, Mildred?

She checks her list..."he's not with me, so he must be with Mrs. Sportcheck." Or, at least, that's what it sounded like she said.

So, the other teacher comes over, Sportcheck apparently (who I did vaguely remember speaking to at the Open House...she was quite taken with Kaya). She is perfectly nice and personable and ushers Kieran through the gate and tells him to stand with the other kids in his class and he, finally, since he's been hopping at my feet for 20 minutes, excitedly scurries over.

At which point, since he's now far away from me on the other side of fence and soon to be heading inside the cinder block building, I start to bawl. I walk over to Eric and I'm sobbing not JUST because my little boy is growing up and starting school, but also because I'm not entirely happy with how this has all played out. I sort of can't believe I have just handed my sweet boy over to these people who I have barely ever talked to and who thought this way of starting things was a good idea. And they have him for 6 hours a day, 5 days a week. I suddenly felt like I didn't know anything about this place. I only know that his teacher's name sounds vaguely like a sporting goods store. And they don't know Kieran. No one had so much as asked me a single question about him beyond what I filled out at registration 8 months ago. I wanted to tell her that he was missing fingers on his left hand and that he was nervous about it. I wanted to tell her that he can write his name. I wanted to ask her to watch out for him because he's little and some of the other kids looked so big. But, with kids and parents (also annoyed) still crowding behind me, it wasn't the right environment.

Anyway, by the time, we left the school, I was more or less back to normal. We picked him up at 3:30 by flashing a special card with his name on it . We flashed the card to Mrs. Sportcheck and a few minutes later Kieran was standing in front of us.

"So, how was school?!"
He shows us two new bandaids on his knees and tells us that he fell in playground.

"What was your teachers' name?" I ask.
"I don't know"

"Did you meet any nice kids"
"Yeah."

"Like who?"
"I don't know. "

"Did you do anything fun"
"I don't know."

OK, so the school is still a bit of a mystery. I opened his backpack and there was, thankfully, a package with a long questionnaire about him that we were to fill out. Along with permission slips and other things requiring signatures. And next Friday, presumably after they have gone through the questionnaires, we go to a Kindergarten info session. Which if you ask me, is about three weeks too late - but at least they are having one.

He came home yesterday with a little booklet they had made on the first day of school. It had a little poem and talked about a special story they read about a raccoon (or maybe it was a beaver) starting school. The last page had a blank section where the children were supposed to draw a picture of their families. Kieran, totally NOT surprisingly, had drawn a truck.

Aaaaand, we're off.

40 and Fabulous.

2010-08-31T07:53:00.000-07:00

Now we are 40. (Did AA Milne ever get that far in his series?)

Major birthday milestone in anyone's book. I am surprisingly ambivalent about the number. I mean obviously, I am not THRILLED about 40's arrival, but at least I'm here, right? Perspective people, the alternative is quite a bit worse!

I have blogged in the past about my horrendous birthday experiences. I have loathed my actual birth date for so many moons now that I am accustomed to dismissing the day entirely. n fact, my expectations for my birthday are exceedingly low.

Low expectations, combined with my apparent general dimwittedness, also make me very, very easy to fool. But I'll get to that...this time, I had not just a birthday party but an entire week lead up!

At the start of Birthday Week, we went to Cape Cod with my entire family (parents, siblings, nieces, nephews). Rented two gorgeous houses which I believe were as close to the beach as remotely possible in the area. The houses sit just a few hundred feet from a historic lighthouse and the location was quite stellar. What unfortunately wasn't perfect was the weather. I don't think I need to embellish anything about how having 17 people expecting a beach holiday and yet relegated instead to euchre and endless Weather Channel updates indoors was a bit disappointing. But we are a gamely bunch and were pretty much able to make the best of it. In fact, we had a very brief reprieve on the night my sister-in-law had arranged for fire permit on the beach. My Eagle Scout nephews (and I'm telling you, every family needs to have one or two of these in their ranks) managed to keep a roaring blaze going on the beach for several hours, the rain held off and it looked like things were turn around. The next day it poured for yet another 24 hours though.

Eric and I had the hardest time with the weather since our kids are the youngest and, therefore, make anything like sightseeing and shopping in glass-filled souvenir shops, slightly less than enjoyable. But the day before before we were scheduled to leave, the sun finally came out with a vengeance and we headed down the dunes for a perfectly stellar day on the seashore.

Due to Eric's band commitments...we were leaving the Cape earlier than everyone else, so Friday were packing up (on schedule! early even!) when, insert giant sigh here, Eric backed up the van into a tree and smashed the back window. So, since a 12 hour drive with the noise and wind and theft issues that an exposed window posed, seemed like a poor option, we found a same-day glass repair place that could fix it later that afternoon. On the upside, this allowed us a few extra hours at the beach as well as an unexpected day trip to Hyannis where we had lovely lunch on a sunny patio. Window fixed we left Hyannis around 3:30pm, we didn't arrive home until 3:20am, but we made it!

On Saturday, as a birthday gift, a couple of my friends had booked me a hotel room downtown for some much needed R&R. The plan was for the three of us to have a lovely dinner and then I would retire to a quiet hotel room with no kids, husband or worries.

I am not even unpacked from Cape Cod and I'm cramming new clothes into another bag, stop to purchase a new book and a frothy coffee and turn up at the hotel. My one friend had been the one who made the reservation for me, and I knew she was actually checking in first. I arrived, walked into the room all sweaty and loaded down with Eric's duffle bag and something seemed off. I realized there are all these people crammed, giggling, into the corner of the room. Turns out 4 friends (3 high school, 1 university) had flown into from various locales as a giant birthday surprise! Yes, I was quite surprised, but as soon as I saw them I realized that I should have known. There were many clues (what? I can't check in until 5:15pm?) but I'm apparently old to put them all together apparently.

Anyway, we had a great night. Lovely dinner, much wine etc.

The next day, my university friend (who was the only one that I knew was in town ahead of time) was coming out to the burbs with me for brunch. She had never met Kaya and had seen Kieran only as a baby. Eric was bringing the kids to a restaurant and her and I were heading straight there from downtown. When we arrived at the restaurant, he was waiting in the lobby and told the waitress we were ready for our table of 5. She leads us into the restaurant where suddenly there were 25-odd people singing happy birthday. NOW I was beyond surprised. While the night before I had realized quite quickly what had gone on, the Sunday brunch was a shocker. More people from out of town, friends that I haven't seen in ages etc. It took me a really long time to wrap my head around what was going on. But we had a great afternoon.

I can officially no longer complain that no one is ever around for my birthday, but I probably will anyway. Its kind of my thing.

The Great Camp Out.

2010-07-19T10:13:00.000-07:00

Aaah....camping in the great outdoors. Relaxing the by campfire, lounging on the beach, enjoying the peace and quiet of nature....(insert jarring record scratch nice here..)

Took the kids camping on the weekend. We - just the two kids and I - joined my brother and his family for a nice weekend away from the city. We went once last year and it's a good getaway for us during the summer,especially since Eric is so busy with his band (which is playing every single weekend, and then some). Since my brother and his family are borderline professional campers, all we really need to bring is our own sleeping gear, some food and drink and away we go...

Which brings me to my first mistake. I couldn't decide if we should leave after work on Friday or wait until Saturday morning. But it was supposed to be a nice weekend and, in the end, I figured that if I left Friday night we would have at least one full day to enjoy the campground.

I managed to get out of work early (a minor miracle in itself) and took the train home. A few weeks ago, the car had been in the garage to fix a crazy squealing noise, and it had come out of the shop had almost immediately began to make a rattling, knocking noise. So Friday, when Eric was finally in town for a full day, he had returned it to the garage where they said, apparently, the entire exhaust system was holding on by the merest of threads (or whatever holds cars together these days, which probably/hopefully isn't thread, but what would I know?) Since both Eric and I were out of town and the car was undriveable we had to wait until after 5 pm to pick it up and we still had to pack and pick up some groceries.

Anyway, we didn't leave our driveway until after 7pm (mistake 2)and the campground, according to Google Maps was 2 hours and 17 minutes away. Off we go...all is well. About halfway there, I missed a turn off - mistake 3- but didn't want to turn around which meant my step-by-step directions were useless. I resorted to using my usually excellent inner GPS to navigate our way there on my own. Normally, this wouldn't phase me in the slightest, but it was getting dark and I wasn't so concerned about getting lost as I was wasting time and precious daylight hours. I did have an actual GPS system which I flicked on a couple of times, but since the campground didn't have a street number or address it was pretty much useless. I typed in the "region" but then quickly realized that it was going to lead me horrendously astray if I listened to it. (And besides, every time the voice would say "turn left" and I didn't, Kieran would get distressed..he does not trust his mother over the robotic voice of the machine).

Anyway, my own inner navigating probably cost only me 10 minutes, and we finally arrived at around 9:30. the sun is just setting so I'm pretty pleased that I made it before it got really dark. My sister-in-law had called to check our ETA just as we got to the gate. I was talking to the gate guard when she called and I asked her what site they were at, and she said 21. I got our parking permit, verified where site 21 was and off we went. Got to site 21...and it wasn't them (mistake 4). It was getting really dark and the campgrounds roads are narrow and cars are mostly unwelcome - especially as people where heading to "comfort station" in droves with toddlers and toothbrushes in hand. I called and called my brother's cell. No answer. Drove around for about 20 minutes before I headed back to the gate...which was closed for night. No cars. Locked up tight, which I didn't realize until after I had unloaded both kids from the car and actually walked up to the shuttered door. Argh. More distress from Kieran who is convinced that we are lost and is now scared. Finally, my sister in law calls and turns out its site 421. (Never would have found them in a million years...thank God for cell phones).

Finally, we get there.

Now, at this point I should point out that as kids we camped a fair bit...but this was mainly in the north and pre-global warming. At the night the campfire was warm and we put on sweatshirts and sweatpants, covered ourselves in bug spray and toasted marshmallows until we crawled - still fully dressed - into our sleeping bags.

Not this time.

Get unloaded and eat some hot dogs on the campfire. It's very humid, so the campfire is mainly for show. Definitely no "cozying up" to it. Shortly, both kids say they want to go to bed, so off to the tent we go (my brother and his wife had already put up the tent for us. God Bless Them.) Unfortunately, the tent is very hot. I had brought the kids flannel jammies (mistake number 5) and there is no way they can wear them, so they just lay on top of the sleeping bags in their shorts and T-shirts. Argh...I had forgot pillows (mistake number 6). It takes awhile for them to settle down. Kieran would have been fine except he deals very poorly with the heat (he is too hot even when the AC is blasting) so it took him some writhing and whining before he finally rested his sweat-drenched head on my arm and crashed. Kaya....not so lucky. She roamed around the tent - the novelty was too much for her to handle - for what I'm sure was an hour wide awake and chatty, before my brother finally suggested that I put her in the car and drive around.

So, here it is, midnight and I'm driving around the campground - again. (At least this time 95 percent of the people were asleep). I finally I get back to the campsite, have a much needed beer and go to bed. Luckily neither child wakes up through the night. (A particular worry beforehand was Kaya's not frequent - but brutal - nighttime screaming fits which happen periodically and can only ever be solved by either time or, sometimes, Dora The Explorer.)

The next morning they were up predictably early, so we had breakfast and headed right to the beach. Beautiful beach/campground by the way, on Lake Erie, sandy and shallow, fantastic for kids. The waves were quite large, which Kieran and his cousins loved, but Kieran is smaller than the other two and easily knocked over by the waves, so he couldn't venture into the water alone. Kaya, on the other hand, was petrified by the waves and refused to stay on the beach and play unless I was right beside her. (Neither her aunt or uncle would suffice in this case).

After lunch, both kids were tired and since it was very hot at the campsite I decided that I would put them back in the car where they could have quick sleep and I could head out in search of pillows (honestly, it's hard enough sleeping on a rock hard "sleeping mat" in an sweltering, airless tent with two small restless children but to do so without a pillow was too much to bear). I actually drove farther than anticipated, but "pillow stores" are not normally close to Provincial Parks and besides, the kids were sleeping so soundly that I didn't mind.

Got back to the campsite...more beach (the waves were gigantic by now), dinner, playground etc. Fast-forward to the night. Bedtime started a bit earlier, but again, the tent was hot and after about 20 minutes of trying to get both kids settled I decided to cut my losses and packed them both in the van again and travelled my now well-known route around the park. I'm sure the other campers are wondering what the hell that black minivan was doing driving around all-the-freakin-time. I admit, it did feel like cheating. Perhaps to be true to the rustic, outdoor experience, I should have just waited it out and they would have both crashed eventually but, for my own sanity, I needed a break. I don't think I had un-interrupted period of more than 5 minutes to do a single thing for myself since we arrived and at that point all I wanted was to have a quiet drink in front of the fire with the kids needing me. Anyway, again, the van knocked them out and I moved them into the tent. Ah beer here I come...

30 minutes later. mid-sip....Kaya starts to cry out and I freeze in fear. My daughter wakes up at night in one of two ways. She either wakes up and calls out, plays around and falls back asleep. Or she wakes up and screams bloody murder. I knew right away that it was the latter. She's not actually awake so there no appealing to her two-year-old "rational" self. She doesn't want mommy or daddy, a cuddle, a song, a book, a drink, a snack, a toy. Nothing. So, since the decibel of the cry was definitely campground-shaking, back into the god-damn van we went. Again. Black van on the go.

But that was that. She was back out almost immediately and then we went through the night without any problems. Well, at least for them. The temperature finally dropped and I actually got got enough to need my sleeping bag. I was petrified that one or both of them would wake up from the cold. Neither of them was under any blanket and there was no chance I was going to accidentally wake them up by trying to stuff them inside their bags in the pitch dark, but they didn't move. I'm sure the entire campground was grateful.

Anyway, at least the days were quite lovely. The next day we spent more time at the beach. The wind had died down so it was easier for the kids to play in the water without having to hold onto them, and Kaya finally got the hang of digging holes and trying to bury herself in them, so fun was had by all in the end. Well, by most of us. I'm still looking for that un-interrupted relaxation by the fire...

Adventures in Parenting

2010-07-15T18:51:00.000-07:00

Kieran is enrolled in a kids' soccer league. The key word is "enrolled" because he is, apparently, no longer attending. So he tells us.

Let me back up here. For the past two years, he has been alternating swimming lessons with a session of "Sportball" which is basically a non-competitive sports sports class for kids. One class is football, the next baseball, then tennis, soccer, golf etc. And he has loved it. He would wake up on Saturday and say, joyously, "Am I going to Sportball today? YAY!!!"

Once the last session ended in the spring,the next session was "outdoor soccer" so I signed him up. The first class was held on the lawn of the church where the indoor sessions are held The church has a gym and a couple of classrooms attached, which are part of a Montessori school. On the morning of the second class, we showed up and the class had been moved back into the gym. Turns out the owners of the house beside the church complained that the 4-year-olds playing soccer at 10 am on Saturday mornings were too noisy and were threatening some sort of legal action. Let me repeat, for 4-year-olds happily playing soccer on a church lawn. And here I was unaware that Satan and his family were living so close by.

Anyway, I digress.

The last class of the spring session, Kieran had to stop playing because he had wrenched his knee on the trampoline and he couldn't really run. We thought nothing of it, and signed him up for the summer session.

First class of summer session and Eric tells him to get ready and all hell breaks loose. Complete meltdown of outrageous proportions. Eric forced him to go. It was the hottest day of the year. Kieran went out on the field for a few minutes then sat down and refused to play.

After much tsk tsking, we managed to extract a promise from him that he would be fine next week. But the night before the class when I told him that soccer was the next day, the meltdown started anew.

They had given him a jersey and a soccer ball, which I said we would give to Kaya. He says OK. Wait. What? Hmmmm wasn't expecting that. I tried talking to him, trying to figure out where things had gone so wrong. He is unable to give me even the remotest explanation of what went wrong. The most I could get out of him was that it was "too hot", which was undeniably true, but it is a hollow argument since he was refusing to go even before he knew how unbearable it was going to be once he got there.

Eric told him that since he promised to go last week and now was refusing, that he needed to go his room and think about it. Then, we got a brilliant idea. We would threaten to take away his newest, most prized possession - a brand new Nintendo DS that he had just been given from Eric's brother. Surely, an hour of soccer cannot be worse than losing your brand new Nintendo that has a really cool car game that you love, right? RIGHT?

"OK Daddy, you can take away the DS." Jesus. The kid, really, really doesn't want to go.

So, with the Nintendo gone, we are now at a loss. Obviously neither bribes nor threats are going to work. What is left? Apparently I am ill equipped at true parenting because after about an hour of the "night before soccer" drama, I decided to throw in the towel. I called the organization and asked for a refund. The bored summer student told me they don't offer refunds once the session has started. OK, can I move him? I'm thinking I can move him back to an indoor fall session and start from scratch. No, the bored student tells me we can only move to a class offered in the same season. Which is soccer, soccer and soccer.

So, I told Kieran that he was going to have to go and that was all there was to it. He flat out says no. For the past few days he reminds me every chance he gets that he is not going. He wakes up in the morning and says "Mom, I'm not going to Sportball". He gets in the car after daycare and says "Mom, I'm not going to Sportball." I told him that he needed to finish his dinner and he says "OK, but I'm not going to Sportball." Bedtime: "Goodnight Mommy. I'm not going to Sportball." I told him to stop talking about it.

Who is going to win this epic battle? Do we force him to do something he clearly now hates just to show him who's in charge? Or do I respect his unwavering refusal to go. After all, he has already given up his jersey, ball and Nintendo (all of which he would get back if he tried again).

It's exhausting, this parenting thing.

Life's a Circus. Or a Sauna. Sometimes both.

2010-07-09T08:51:00.000-07:00

Settled back in my regular job nicely. Of course, two of my coworkers are on vacation so I have been quite a bit busier than I would have liked. I don't have any vacation planned for July, which sucks short term because it always feels like I'm working the summer away, but I will be happy in August when I finally do have some time off.

Besides, with the crazy heat wave going on it's sort of nice to spend all day guilt-free in a nicely air-conditioned office. If I was at home, I would feel like I should be outside, which let's be honest, is very unpleasant when the air is so thick you could chew it. Coming from the far-ish north, I didn't grow up with humidity - like, at all - so I think that no matter how long I live elsewhere, I will never learn to enjoy it.

Speaking of heat waves, we took the kids to the circus last weekend. The tickets were $20 each, Kieran was half price and Kaya was free. Figured it was a cheap-ish way to do something fun with the kids. I mean, really, who doesn't love the circus. Animals, monkey firefighters, clowns, etc, right? RIGHT?

God, I am so naive.

We got there and the kids were thrilled. There were clowns wandering around, walking pretend dogs and ruffling kids hair, it all seemed good. When we got inside there was small tent where they sold their overpriced snacks and souvenirs and then we adjourned to the big tent. We walked inside the "Big Top"...and were met with a wall of heat like I have never felt indoors except in a sauna. In fact, it was a sauna. We snagged seats in the front row and sat there for a few minutes. Sure we could see but these hot lights (I swear they were heat lamps) were beating right down on us. Someone asked one of the carnies if the lights ever got turned off, but he didn't know. We figured we should move because we still had a half hour until the show started and we had only been there three minutes and all four of us where already sweating beyond belief.

So, we moved to seats away from the lights, where it was still sweltering but at least the lights weren't also blazing on us. Eric went to buy drinks and spend $15 on two bottles of juice and a big cup of lemonade. Then it was $5 for .10 cents worth of popcorn. Then Kieran wanted one of these spinning light up wands and we figured what the heck they seemed kind of neat: $15. Oy. No more spending.

The show started and these unfunny clowns come out for a few seconds, followed by a woman on a big horse who rode around the ring for 5 minutes. Uh-oh. Way to open with a show stopper. Then 5 more horses came out and ran in circles around the ring for another 5-10 minutes. I look at Eric. More uh-oh. We are pouring sweat and the "ringmaster" kept announcing they have "ice cold beverages" for sale. Our ice cold waters were already room temperature.

Next, three Asian girls with some yo-yo type things, another Asian girl who hung from some ribbons from the ceiling for a bit, more Asians balancing teacups on their heads, more Asians spinning parasols with the feet, a "funny photographer" who picked "real people" from the audience to be in his act where they were made to do funny poses in ape costumes, finally an Asian guy spinning Chinese vases on his head. Intermission.

The kids were bored stiff, the acts were not interesting enough for kids and not nearly sophisticated enough for adults. There were periodics wafts of hot air coming up from behind the seats every so often which made Eric think that they were just heating the place up to get people to buy the "ice cold drinks, snow cones, etc", Kaya was starting to roam around the seats causing trouble, Kieran was so hot he was in a stupor. I looked the program we had to buy ($1) which outlined the "acts" and almost none of it matched what we had seen. The next act said there were elephants coming up, but suddenly I doubted that was going to happen. Our babysitter had gone earlier in the week and had mentioned that there were no elephants, so I figured the program was a giant lie. The only part of the program that seemed true was the disclaimer that said "due to the nature of live performances, we reserve the right to alter these acts at any time."

Could we last another hour or so? The intermission "balloon guy" came out and Kieran wanted one (we said no), and I could just see that we were not going to last until the end without some serious money spending just to keep us cool and hydrated and quiet, so we cut our losses and split.

Even in the blazing afternoon heat it was far cooler outside. We went home and filled up the kiddie pool, put the slide in it and the kids had a absolute ball for the rest of day. For free. Take that Shriners.

Back to Reality

2010-07-02T10:50:00.000-07:00

Now that the Letter Numbers Meetings are over and I am free (free, FREE!), from the shackles of a government contract, I can only say what a relief it is to have it over and done with.

In one way, I am sad the second meeting...hereafter known on this blog as the G20...will now forever be associated with violence, riots and the violation of human rights. From my point of view, so many people worked really hard to bring that event together only to have its legacy obliterated by a small group of violent idiots who's only goal was create chaos. But I'm not going to blog about that. That part of it, I only saw on the news like everyone else.

However, if you would like, I can wax poetic for hours on leaders exiting airplanes, Obama and his three helicopter fake out (were I a terrorist and had to guess which helicopter he was on, I would have taken out the wrong one) and frakkin' Sarkozy and his giant ego that help up just about every event. I stood mere metres away from all 8 leaders as they stood outside on an astroturf covered golf green for the "family photo" all the while remembering to move vewy, vewy, slowly lest any sniper get over-excited. Or I can talk about how the Russian media stood over the snack table feeding their faces directly over the plates so nobody else could even sneak by and take a cookie.

I fully realize that my story is going to be profoundly different from many serious blogs about G20 arrests and the unlawful detainment of innocent people, but I have something that I want to talk about. Something of infinitely less importance. But, I simply must tell you about the buffet at the media centre at Deerhurst Lodge. I can only assume that the lodge thought that they needed to feed the international news crews a 5-star buffet of three meals, plus snacks, plus afternoon poolside barbecue, plus open bar, as though said media were there to review its restaurant and amenities rather than follow around a rag-tag bunch of heads of state on goofy photo ops and boring press conferences.

I'm talking full breakfasts with personalized omelet bars and a chef at the end of buffet carving slabs of juicy peameal (er, Canadian) bacon and maple syrup made on the premises (as the hostess told me) and it went on from there. Poutine (real cheese curds, homemade gravy) on the poolside terrace, pheasant for dinner, a selection of desserts worthy of the finest pastry chefs.

God, I'm so shallow.

Anyway, back to my buffet-less real life. The fences are coming down and we are just waiting for the concrete girders to be removed. I surely will not miss a life sans 24/7 security (my first night home, I woke up to the sound of Kaya crying and in my semi-awake state was trying to remember where I put my accreditation badge so that the security guard would let me into her room).

I was gone so much over the last two weeks that I feel actually out of touch with the world. I haven't watched any real news, visited any other blogs and only realized a day or two ago that I was several episodes behind on The Bachelorette. (Which I find I don't care about because I actively dislike the woman is The Bachelorette). For the first time since May 29 (when my kids were in our babysitters wedding) I have a free weekend. (Well, free except that we are going to the circus on Saturday). I need to catch up on my sleep, get ahead on my laundry and hopefully do a whole lot of nothing.

All in a Days Work

2010-06-11T19:43:00.000-07:00

Friday night, another week down. Letter-Number Meeting gig is getting closer and closer to being over, which is definitely worth a slug or to of wine in celebration. The event gets more ridiculous by the day. Now that everything is more or less in place, they are dreaming up various "disaster scenarios" and we are tasked to figure out how would we overcome them. For example: What if the International Media Centre is set on fire? The obvious answer..."we go home" is not acceptable. For the government to approve a plan, it needs to be something both pointless and expensive, so we have about 11 layers of backup scenarios. Trust me, barring full on Armageddon (which is possible) this event will happen even if every leader has flown standby on the first jet out of the country.

On another note: I had my first commuter train debacle this week. I started taking the train again when this contract started because the office is right in the heart of downtown. I am enjoying the train and since I have some freedom with my schedule both coming and going, it's really working well for me. I have had zero complaints about the service or the reliability. Never had a single problem (or at least anything that could compare the crap shoot that is driving). Until yesterday. While I was waiting for the train, an announcement came over the loudspeaker saying that due to a "pedestrian incident" at another station, the trains going west were delayed. I, and 99.9 percent of the travellers, were going East, so we all disregarded the message, the eastbound train pulled up and and we left our station right on schedule.

And then two minutes later, we stop. Announcement: "Due to passenger incident at (upcoming) station, all trains are delayed." Thanks GO for not announcing that 3 minutes sooner.

Now, train seats are set up in pods of 4, two seats facing two seats. There are three other women in my pod. Directly across is an older woman in a sparkly blazer. A young east Indian woman sits beside her. Beside me is a power business woman.

We converse, as strangers do, about how long we could be delayed for, who can afford to be late to work, blahblahblah. The East Indian woman has a thick accent and I cannot understand a bloody word she is saying, but yet, for some reason, she keeps directing her conversation to me. I obviously confuse her with a lot of inappropriate nodding, because she starts to look at me strangely and begins directing more of her comments to Sparkly Blazer. I start to fiddle with my Blackberry so she will stop including me in whatever she's on about. We wait and wait.

East Indian woman: "Ahh! Good thing I brought a Reader's Digest. The jokes are very funny." She pulls out a dog-eared copy of RD and says, I kid you not: "Would you like me to read you some jokes?" Luckily, she has directed this question to all of three of us. Sparkly Blazer, I think to be nice, says OK. Power Suit and I both respond by looking down at our Blackberries. I'm sorry, but is way too early for this.

She begins to read aloud from the Readers Digest, and Sparkly Blazer (who is a nice, grandmotherly sort) thankfully, hoots in glee at the jokes, which may or may not be funny. I still can't seem to grasp the woman's accent.

Finally, the train starts to move and we pull into the next stop, which is only one stop from where I got on. It's been about 30 minutes so far. More announcements come on about delays. Finally: "Due to passenger fatality at the (upcoming) station all trains are suspended indefinitely." Ah fatality. Code for suicide jumper. The word fatality sobers the crowd up a bit, seems to make everyone slightly less cranky and more philosophical.

People start getting up and flooding off the train and I'm thinking: "where are you all going? We are in the burbs! Are you all going to catch cabs to work?! Really?" They announce that the city bus will take passengers to the next Go stop, where they can get on a streetcar to go downtown. Sounds like a colossal hassle to me, but both Sparkly Blazer and Power Suit decide to get the bus. I decide that I just do not need to get into the office that badly and am going to work from home. But Eric is at a breakfast meeting so we I can't even get a ride for another 30 minutes or so. So, it's me and the East Indian woman and the Readers Digest. I can understand her better now that the train engines are off, but she is a real chatterbox. I have a feeling that when Eric is finally free to come get me, I'll be giving her a ride somewhere. I start answering emails and doing some work (it is now well after 9) and people are milling around sort of lost, and suddenly, they announce that everyone can get back on the train and we are cleared to go.

Power Suit and Sparkly Blazer do not reappear. Two businessmen sit down instead. East Indian woman is still talking to me and I sense both men fear they are going to be sucked into small talk. The train starts moving and continues to move at a pace only marginally faster than walking. In the end my 2o minute ride took 3 hours.

Oh Jumper.

And Now We are Four

2010-06-09T09:31:00.000-07:00

My son turns 4 today. Officially, I mean. Unofficially, he has been 4 in my mind for several months now. To me, three is still quite babyish whereas 4 is all about independence and responsibility. It’s Goodbye,Diego and Hello, Batman.

Now Kieran has always been a fair amount of work. Up until he turned 3, the absolute last words I would have used to describe him were easygoing or independent (both words which, incidentally, I would wholeheartedly apply to his little sister). But in the last year the change has been dramatic. Thankfully. Truly, as a toddler my son had some terrible qualities – while many children are shy around adults, Kieran went a step further into open hostility. Old ladies who would coo at him in the grocery store were usually met with a glare or a pout or a loud grunt of how-dare-you-address-me-displeasure. Totally embarrassing, totally not cute and very different from the little boy I knew privately. And don’t get me started on waking him up early from naps…the crying and screaming could last for (and I say this without the slightest exaggeration) HOURS.

But things are much better now. Now, if he is excited about an upcoming outing, he is the child who will actually shout at people on the street: “I’m going for ice cream!” or “I’m going the park!” I’ve had to tell him many times that people, especially older kids, are not interested, but he is totally unfazed.

He’s been taking a Sportball class (a pre-school sports program that introduces them to a new sport each week- golf, basketball, tennis etc) for quite awhile now. The indoor section ended and the new outdoor part began and once it moved outside, parents were allowed to watch. Last week, we went to his class and I had Kaya with me. I was busy chasing her around and was totally oblivious to what was happening on the field. At one point another parent said to me “your son is a total athlete!” My immediate and obviously inappropriate response (“My Son?!”) implying that he was obviously confusing my undersized half Asian child with some strapping blond kid who looked remotely like me, but he wasn’t. Yet another surprise! And it was true…even though I think the use of the word “athlete” is a bit dramatic, it was obvious that while most of the other kids were distracted lollygaggers, Kieran was different. He was listening to the instructor and putting in all the effort. Can’t ask for more than that.

He starts school in the fall and he is so ready. He talks about it all the time and is practically brimming with joy at the prospect. I’m hoping he can maintain the momentum he has going. He and his daycare friends will go separate ways and there will be a whole new group of kids to get to know. I feel there will be some hard lessons he has to learn about being different and making friends, but I can only hope that he comes out even stronger on the other end. But, I have a good feeling it will all be OK.

Happy Birthday Kieran!!

I feel like Garfield...but I really do hate Mondays.

2010-06-07T09:33:00.000-07:00

I’m not sure I’m awake enough to be updating this, but I’m going to try:

I spent the weekend in Niagara Falls where my husband’s band was playing at the Casino. It was a fantastic weekend, I love the band and would follow them around like a groupie were it not for the fact that I need childcare. Well, and also that apparently staying up until 4 am is not for the weak and soft (which apparently, I am). It’s now Monday and my head is still pounding and I could easily crawl back into bed and nap until tomorrow. But alas, I cannot.

Still working hard (ha!) at the Letter Number Meeting Office. I am happy to report that the security department did not find and flag me as a security risk due to my last update. Still counting the days until this whole thing is OVAH. I’m tired of it all…the meetings, the security, the oddness. The office cleaning staff is not allowed in here on evenings and weekends so they come in during midmorning. A bunch of old ladies with their vacuums trying to clean around all the staff. It’s reminiscent of childhood when your Mom would ram the vacuum into your feet while you were trying to watch cartoons, only this time we are grownups and probably on conference calls. But it’s just as annoying. And we all collectively learned the hard way that one cannot dispose of one’s lunch leftovers in your desk garbage on Friday lest you want to still smell it on Monday morning. Gag.

Of course, this would also be the month that is insanely busy on the personal side. Every single weekend is completely booked…so much so that I am having issues trying to find a day to have Kieran’s 4th Birthday party. I think I have an available date a full two weeks after his birthday has passed, slotted in mere hours before I depart for cottage country and the Letter-Number extravaganza really begins (and hopefully ends...peacefully).

Also, I had another post written in my head last week, and naturally as all blog posts are, it was eloquent and funny in my imagination. Now it is a week later and I'm tired, so my well written post will now be condensed to this one lame-o paragraph about our last -and also crazy - weekend.

Last week the kids were the ring bearer and flower girl at our babysitter’s daughter’s wedding. They were very cute and very good, but, as a parent having your child involved in a wedding where you aren’t involved is both strange and freeing. I didn’t need to go to a single dress or tux fitting. I didn’t have to worry about shoes or hair or photographs. On the morning of the big day, I dropped Kaya off at the house to get ready with the bridal party and didn’t see her until she came down the aisle. However, I did have to get myself and Kieran ready (Eric, of course, was out of town), which meant 10 minutes of trying to cram his feet into his shoes – I resorted to using a spatula as a shoehorn - followed by not being able to FIND my own shoes, getting caught in crazy traffic and then arriving with him five minutes before the ceremony began (and 25 minutes after I was asked to have him there). So, even though I barely had anything to do I still almost managed to screw it up.

Anyway, I should get to work. I think my headache has subsided enough to allow me to actually get work done. And I hear the vacuums coming this way….

Letters and Numbers

2010-05-26T10:22:00.000-07:00

Wow...I last updated in February.

Well, I guess that would mean this blog is/was officially 'on hiatus" and that if I'm thinking anyone would still be reading this I'm nuts. But I hold out hope that someone somewhere will Google "crazybabyTylenoldrivewaymonkey" and wind up here. (Although i guess now they will for sure).

Anyway, I have so much whining to do! I'm so far behind in my pointless ranting, I'm not sure where to begin.

But here is a good place to start: God, this laptop is beyond annoying. The cursor will randomly scoot all over place whilst I am typing. I often wind up suddenly typing back in the middle of a sentence 3 paragraphs prior for no discernible reason, which means there is an excellent chance you are reading typos that I missed or am just to damned irritated to fix. My apologies, I am indeed a poor workwoman blaming her tools.

Next, I've been working for the past month from a different office than usual. I'm on loan from my regular job and for a few months am working on a huge international political event that, apparently, cannot be named on the internet. Well, I could say what it is, but there is an entire security group here who spend their days plugging the name of this event into search engines to track every single mention of it on the web. I know this for a fact because not too long ago somebody who posted something like "I can't wait for this (event that cannot be named) to be over" on Twitter got hauled into some top floor offices and roundly chastised. So, for my purposes here let me call this event the Letter-Number Meeting. (Ha! take that security goons!).

However, I will say this..I totally agree with my Twittering co-worker. (I like him even though he Twitters.)I think I speak for all Letter-Number employees when I say that none of us can wait for this to be over.

The worst thing about working here at Letter-Number is the amount of meetings. These people think that nothing can ever be accomplished without a meeting. A long one. Preferably one where people are joining in via video conference and where agendas are passed out that include a "lunch break - user pay" and a couple of "health breaks"(which is ironic since many people use it to smoke). I don't know what they think they accomplish at their huge meetings because it's clearly next to nothing. Mostly, everyone fiddles with their Blackberries (which has replaced pen-doodling of years past) while one by one, we are expected to speak about the status of our particular task. It doesn't take a genius to figure out that the people who are working on broadcast don't care about carpet colours and the people working on signage don't care about warehouse load-in but there we all are. Attendance mandatory.

Anyway, enough about Letter-Number for now. I'm sure it will be a rousing success and we as host country will bask in many international accolades. There. Now they can fire me.

Retraction

2010-02-28T19:44:00.000-08:00

So, clearly, I need to retract my most recent update. Imagine that, I'm away from this blog for months, come back here to write an irate post about Canada's Olympic athletes crashing and burning and now, here I am, during the Closing Ceremonies writing a happy retraction. In fact, I am happy to report, that after an iffy first week of the Games, those athletes DID rise up and claimed more Gold Medals than any other country has ever done during the Winter Games. Yay!!!

But perhaps, since it was during the writing of my last blog that the tide turned in our favour, so I thought I might as well just go out on a limb and take credit for the turnaround. I write...they listen.

But, as usual, I am sad the Games are over and have to go back to regular life and routine. As of right now, I can go back to being oblivious and totally unconcerned about things like the weather conditions at Cypress Mountain.

I do take solace in the fact, however, that come the next Winter Olympics my children will be 6 and 8 years old and hopefully, will allow me to watch the Games uninterrupted. Today, during the Gold Medal Hockey Game that had this entire country gripped in front of their plasma screens, Kieran must have asked me 4000 questions... could we...say...play Hide and Seek, build his train, take a bath, decorate cupcakes, go outside, watch Mickey Mouse, watch Scooby Doo, read him Pirate Pete, go to the "lunch store", listen to music, have hot chocolate, have juice, and on and on and on. Although, he did learn how to sing O Canada. It's his new favourite song. He fell asleep tonight singing it to himself.

Go Canada!!!

OW! The Podium!

2010-02-19T19:31:00.000-08:00

Oy. It's not like I have nothing to blog about.

In fact, now that I have finally decided to devote some time to updating this , I feel like I could be here all night recording all the exciting happenings of the last few months. OK. Not exciting. And I'm here because I think if I watch one more second of the Winter Olympics my eyes will begin to bleed. It was this or Ice Dance. Again.

I will start by addressing my long absence from this space. It's not that I have lost interest or have naught to say. It can be partially explained by the fact that my job only allows for "blogtime" during the summer. At the beginning of the NHL Hockey Season all bets are off that I can reliably devote more than 9 consecutive minutes to crafting even an email response to my mother, let alone a full on blog post. And my other blogging window, which was on weekend nights when Eric was out playing with his band, dried up when the female singer of said band was gestating/birthing/breastfeeding a baby which necessitated a several month hiatus from performing. But, whaddya know? The band is onstage somewhere right now, the Olympic brain seizure is in effect, so blogging it is.

And you know, I could go back and start chronicling all that I have missed (Christmas..awesome. Winter...where snowflakes only ever fall during my commute. Registering Kieran for Kindergarten...Yeehaw!!) but I think I would like to talk about my current/recurrent obsession, which is the Olympics.

If you know me in person you will likely know that I am not a sports fan, and yet I am, and have always been, an Olympic addict. I remember during the 1988 Games in Calgary, re-enacting Olympic Figure Skating routines with my friends in our basement. I remember the following September watching Ben Johnson win the 100 metre in Seoul and, even more clearly, the horror and collective mourning that followed two days later at my high school when he failed that drug test and lost the Gold. But being Canadian, I identify more with the Winter Games... Lillehammer, Albertville, Nagano, Salt Lake City, Torino (and no, I did not have to check with the internet to verify the order of the cities...I do remember them all.)

And now we can add Vancouver 2010 to the list. Hopefully, years from now I will have forgotten how the Games opened, that unfortunate juxtaposition of a jubilant torch run that cut to the sight and sound of a Georgian luger smashing into a steel girder and knowing right then that, even though they wouldn't officially say it for at least another 90 minutes, that he was dead. (This was the one and only time that having an HD Plasma screen installed three feet from my head in the office was very, very bad.) But things have been brighter from there...at least now all I hear all day long from the huge TV beside my head is the collective suck of Canada's best athletes. It's like they are just now saying: "What? OWN the Podium? Dude...I thought that read "OW! The Podium! Because it really, like, hurt when I careened off the hill and smashed into it "

But, even still, I am a fan. I think I can come to terms with the undeniable fact, that, with notable exceptions, no matter how much they try, Canadian athletes can rack up World Championships, International Accolades and World Records...until the Olympics. Its like we see those mascots, hear the orchestra swell in a David Foster-esque theme song and dive for cover. I accept that. And I love the Games regardless. Which is why, I must now return to Ice Dance.

ETA: While I was writing this, Canada won a Gold Medal. Ah, sweet irony.

A Tale of Two Appliances

2009-11-19T09:59:00.000-08:00

When we bought our house 4 years ago, it came with some of the lousiest appliances around. The stove had to be replaced almost immediately since, when you turned the oven on to say 350 degrees the entire oven, inside and out, heated up to 350 degrees. So, after a few months of singing my pregnant belly followed by a few more months of fearing for Kieran's young life, our stove was replaced on my first maternity leave. Then mere days into my second maternity leave, our dryer stopped drying and with a baby due to born any second (seriously I had been on mat leave for such a short time the baby hadn't even been born yet) this was not the time to be running to the laundromat. And, since it's cheaper to buy these units in pairs, in came the new washer/dryer (and the new baby!)

Now, the two remaining large appliances, namely the Dishwasher and the Fridge, have been battling for the title of "worst performing" and "most annoying" for years. In fact, the dryer dying was a complete shock because it was not on the bottom of my most-hated appliance list. But, about a year ago, the dishwasher - ironically called something like the "Whisper 2000" - started to make a loud hour-long buzzing noise during its cycle. Noises which we studiously ignored and instead, just learned that it was best to run the dishwasher while not at home and definitely NOT while trying to watch TV or sleeping.

The fridge, which loves to freeze random items in the fridge part, but which cannot keep ice cream hard in the freezer to save it's pathetic life, has also been on a downhill slide. And here we learned that you had to 1) check if it was closed every time you walked into the kitchen because it doesn't seal properly and 2) to not keep anything that really "needed to be frozen" in the freezer door because they wouldn't freeze (which is why Kieran spend a lot of summer eating liquid freezies.)

Anyway, in recent weeks, the dishwasher's annoyingly loud buzzing noise has started to become increasingly more alarming and now whenever you open the dishwasher door this smell of something akin to animal feces would seep out. (Dinner at our house, come on over!)

However, Eric, aka "the man of-a-million-useful-contacts" has a client who works at a huge appliance company which, once a year, hosts a "friends and family" sale where they sell their appliances at employee pricing, minus 10 per cent. (40 percent off)

Anyway, even with Eric not working, our dying (if not quite 100 percent dead) dishwasher, made us decide to not skip the sale this year. After getting a babysitter and standing in the freezing cold for an hour and a half to get into this sale where we found the dishwasher (crazy cheap!) and figured that while we were there, we might as look at the fridges. Due to space restrictions, our fridge options were few to begin with - we basically had to buy the smallest one they sold - but buy it we did.

So, now since all 5 of our big appliances, all purchased at the worst times imaginable and therefore completely devoid of anything that could ever be called a "bell" or a "whistle", have finally been replaced. (Maybe in some other lifetime I will get my water-dispensing dream fridge
or have a washer with a superfluous "steam" cycle.)

Merry Christmas to me!

Parsley and Crossed Fingers

2009-11-05T08:37:00.001-08:00

So, we waited for close to four hours in line yesterday to get our H1N1 vaccinations. I am annoyed? Yes. Would I do it again? In a heartbeat.

I'm not so much annoyed that we waited for four hours...I was more annoyed that the municipality's fancy website said the wait would be less than an hour. We could have been prepared for 4 hours but weren't...we were prepared for less than 1.

The plan was for Eric to pick up the kids early from daycare and come get me at work and head out the clinic. I told him to pack drinks and snacks and toys - which he did. We had to make a stop at the garage to pick up our car that was being repaired and while Eric was inside I opened the bag to realize (although I should have known) that my idea of snacks (crackers, granola bars etc) was quite different from Eric's, which was Halloween candy.

Yep...the 18-month old holding a little bag of mini-Doritos and my three-year-old with a Halloween size Pringles with a Twizzler chaser? My kids. (Although they were very happy...so it wasn't all bad.)

Anyway we stood for two hours before being ushered into a waiting room for another half hour. Then we were called to register and ushered to yet another waiting room for another hour. At least the third waiting area was very spacious and even had a supervised play area for kids - complete with volunteers wearing rubber gloves and disinfecting toys every 30 seconds.

After the shot...both my kids screamed as though they were getting their arms cut off...we were ushered to yet another waiting area where we were handed a thimbleful of juice and told to wait for another 15 minutes to make sure we had no adverse reactions.

By the time it was done the kids were fine just plain tired and hungry. Kieran talked about food the entire way home. He wanted pizza, noodles and french fries with ketchup. "And when I get big like a grownup, I want to eat hamburgers, pop and coffee and drive a car." They fought over a single stale rice cake that was kicking around the van. We got home and while I was unbuckling Kaya from her seat, Kieran was standing in the rain on the doorstep eating the parsley that is (inexplicably) still growing in a pot outside the door.

But anyway...it's done (although the kids have to go back in three weeks for a second shot). I know the shot is not going to be everybody's choice. It's surrounded by controversy and mismanagement and some unknown risks...but I do know this. I know that if it was one of my kids who ended up on a ventilator in the ER I would never forgive myself. I do know that the regular seasonal flu that kill hundreds of thousands every year does not kill otherwise healthy 13 year old hockey players. So, I can wait 4 hours for a shot or wait 4 hours in an Emergency waiting room to see a doctor to get Tamiflu when they do get it.

It's a crapshoot and I made my choice. Fingers crossed that it was the right one.

Fishy, Fishy, Fishy Fish

2009-10-19T11:20:00.001-07:00

We got Kieran a fish for his bedroom. And because Kieran is three, the fish is called Nemo. (Yes, we WOULD also let him name a cat Garfield and a dog Scooby Doo). Eric picked up one of those small little mini-aquarium starter sets meant for kids at some clearance place last week and thought it would be perfect for Kieran's bedroom. He then suggests a fun family outing to go to the fish store and pick out a new fish - yay says Kieran! -so one night after dinner, we pack up and off we go. Once we are all in the car, it's already getting sort of late and Eric mentions that he wants to go to a fish store in Chinatown that his brother has recommended. But is late and I think we should just go the the big box pet emporium that is 5 minutes from our house. Eric relents because, after all, we just need to get fish for a three year old and how hard can that be? (Yes, you do already know the answer).

We get to the store, find the fish section (where Kieran loudly announces that he would like to buy a whale) and wait 15 minutes for the lone saleswoman to give us some help. Eric has found a tank similar to ours on their shelf, and tells and asks her to recommend a good fish for that model.

With barely, and I mean barely, concealed disgust, she points to a large aquarium, swimming with literally hundreds of identical goldfish and says: "One of those." The box Eric is holding shows pictures of quite a few fish that would be suitable for the aquarium so we tentatively ask if that is our only option and she says, more snappily than necessary, that yes, a goldfish is all that will work.

So I tell Kieran to go to the aquarium and the lady will catch his new goldfish. She opens the tank and catches a random fish and I ask how long we can expect the fish to live.

"In ideal conditions, properly feed and cared for, these fish will live 30 years."

"Really?" I ask, quite surprised. "That long?"

"Well," she practically spits, "with what you are going to put it in, I would say it will live a year, if you're LUCKY."

Now, Eric tries. He had really been hoping for one of the funkier options that the box shows. "Well, is that our only option? We were thinking of maybe getting more than one." He is thinking that if we get a smaller fish we can maybe have more than one.

Again, she barely looks at us. "Uh no. That tank is too small for even one fish."

And so much for our happy little family outing to get fish. Now, which was surely her intention, we feel like bad parents and bad people.

But, then I look over at the tank that she has just taken the goldfish from. It is teeming with hundreds of fish and the irony seems obvious. Does this woman actually think that fish was better off where he was? Or was she still holding out hope for the one in a million chance that someone with a huge house with a lovely temperature-controlled indoor pond is going to come in and their drop 27 cents and spirit our little Nemo off to goldfish utopia?

Sheepishly, we grab our little plastic bag and make our way out of the store.

On our way home, Eric is completely annoyed. Not just at the horrible, scary saleslay, but also at me for squashing his plans for Chinatown to begin with. As it turns out, he had been warned to avoid the very store we had gone to.

To make matters worse, after Eric follows all the proper instructions and tries to make sure that the fish has a nice happy integration into his new home, in less that 24 hours Nemo is not only not moving, he is listing alarmingly sideways. Of course, now I feel twice as guilty (The lousy saleslady was right!We ARE murderers!) and worried (How are we going to explain to Kieran that his new pet is already going to be flushed down the toilet?) and sad (Poor Nemo.) But then the next day, we are witness to a fishy miracle. We wake up to Nemo swimming happily in his little tank. Well, I have no idea if he is happy or not...but he is upright and alive and he doesn't have to visit the "fish doctor" as I warned Kieran he might. Take that, Fish Lady.

Sushi anyone?

People in Glass Houses Shouldn't Call the Kettle Black

2009-09-29T21:29:00.000-07:00

A former co-worker of mine coined a phrase that I have more or less come to live by. She was having an argument with an employee in our accounting department and I remember listening to her side of an obviously painful phone conversation with said employee which ended with her slamming down the phone and then turning to me and saying: "Don't you hate it when somebody who you think is stupid actually thinks YOU'RE the stupid one?" And she had a fantastic point, because, yes, I DO hate that.

The same philosophy, I have come to realize, can be applied to parenting. It has come to my attention that someone who I think could probably lay off the reading of the parental manuals for a few minutes in order to properly apply the lessons, actually had the nerve to openly criticize the way I handle my kids. And this makes me crazy.

Let me explain. This woman is a friend of friends. We usually only see each other at a mutual friend's house where it is quite clear that we have nothing in common with each other save children who are the same age.

I could relay the entire story, but for the sake of brevity I'll just say this: Kieran still uses a soother. Yes, he's just past three and he uses a soother - not all the time, strictly for soothing purposes and at bedtime. I wish he didn't and I do understand that the permanent removal of said soother lies in my hands.

Anyway, by the time we had arrived at this party Kieran was already, God help us all, overtired and I could see we were likely going to wind up in some sort of meltdown, which we did. I tried to calm him but he was inconsolable and it was getting sort of embarrassing. Then I remembered with huge relief that I had Kaya's soother in my pocket, which I fished out and handed to him. It worked, as it always does, like magic. Crying stops, party resumes. Three minutes later I take the soother away and off he goes to play.

So apparently, in the world of judgemental parenting, allowing a three year old to use a soother is a transgression of relatively epic proportions. We left the party relatively early, I mean, after all, I had a clearly tired child on my hands who needed his own bed and a good night's sleep. And after we left, apparently, the woman who is, if I may borrow loosely from 30 Rock, the Patron SAINT of Judgemental Parenting (PSofJP), felt it necessary to point out to the other party guests, the colossal error of my ways.

Now, I'm not going to pretend that I have never been critical of anyone else's parenting. I am the first to admit that I have occasionally enjoyed the smug satisfaction that surely all parents feel when they hear of some serious questionable way that other raise their kids, but has it come to this? Party flogging over soothers?

I would have dismissed this episode as sheer bitchiness, except that this is not the first time I have borne the brunt of this woman's parenting wrath. The last time was because we were sharing an anecdote of Kaya waking up from a nap with a fever of 105.1. It had been the dead of winter and we didn't want to rush off to Emergency to sit there for four hours, so I had called Telehealth. I knew about spiking fevers and febrile seizures but I wasn't sure at what point we needed to get to a hospital, but the Telehealth nurse walked us through her entire checklist and by the time the nurse said that based on the symptoms we definitely did NOT need to go the Emergency, Kaya's temperature was already coming down.

Anyway, I was telling this story to our PSoJP and she couldn't seem to get OVER the fact that we didn't go to Emergency. She was citing seizures and brain damage and I told her that I thought brain damage didn't kick in until the fever was much higher, but since I hadn't been expecting any sort of inquisition on the matter I hadn't done any research, so I just said that we listened to the nurse and that Kaya was totally fine. But apparently, again after we left, I was told that a huge discussion took place about how horrible it was that we never took our poor sick baby who was possibly on the verge of death, to the hospital. Out of fury, I did an Internet search and for those of you who may be interested...I was right - the risk of brain damage starts at a temperature of 107.6.

Still, even though I think this woman could learn to be a bit of a nicer person in general, I actually do think that all parents - not just her - need to take a good long look at themselves before they so freely criticize others.

Parenting is not easy and every kid is different. It seems like every decision you make is fraught with the peril of potentially life ruining consequences for your innocent baby or child - it starts in the hospital with the old formula/breastfeeding debate and just goes on from there.

Do we really need to criticize others just to make us feel better about ourselves? What does it matter to her or anyone else if my three year old needs a soother now and then? This culture of "Holier than Thou" parenting is just annoying, because as far as I'm concerned we all live in glass houses.

All I know is this...my kids are loved and safe. They have bedtimes and routines, clean clothes and vegetables. They are happy. And if that isn't enough for you, here is a soother (not Kieran's because he might need it later) to shut you up.

We Must! We Must! We Must Decrease Our Bust!

2009-09-21T09:31:00.001-07:00

So, I went back and forth on whether or not I should blog about this following subject. Its sort of personal - in an embarrassing, TMI kind of way. But then I thought about all the posts about childbirth and breastfeeding and thought that it can't get much worse than that, right?

So, here goes:

I had a breast reduction last week. It's something that I had been mulling over ever since the day I turned 15 and my favourite Hawaiian shirt (seriously, they were "in") refused to button. I have spent the last 20-odd years marvelling over the fact that people PAY to make their breasts bigger (and bigger and bigger) and thinking that the small chested of the world just don't know how good they have it. But a reduction, as any doctor will tell you, is major surgery....and I knew that if I ever had kids I would want to be able to breastfeed so I waited.

But I'm done having babies and any usefulness that these mamajamas ever had is finished. I want to join to rest of the world - a world of people who can wear only one bra to work out, or chase their kids in the park without winding up on YouTube.

So...off they went. Literally. OHIP approval was a breeze (trust me when I say there were no gray areas as to whether or not I would qualify. Dr's actual words when the gown was opened at my first consultation was "Oh my. Yes") and when his office reopened after their summer closure I was practically the first in line for the OR.

Its funny how when are 100 percent sure you are ready to do something how easy it can be. I wasn't worried or stressed. Kieran had his own Dr appt on the day of my surgery, so I had Eric drop me off at the hospital and as I waited by myself I was completely fine. Nothing could bring me down - not the check-in nurse's crankiness when I didn't have my company health insurance info, not the prep nurses sympathetic "you have NO ONE here who you could give your wedding ring to during the surgery?" Nothing. I was happy as a clam.

I was walked into the ER and my nerves flared a little bit when I saw the crowd of people in there waiting for me. I felt a bit like a fraud, like I'd pulled one over on everyone. After all, these are people who could have been helping save lives elsewhere. Even the plastic surgeon could be, say, grafting new skin onto a child burn victim or something and instead here they are getting ready cut my boobs off so I can do jumping jacks and wear an empire waist shirt? Seemed selfish.

But I sat up on the table and endured the final indignity of the surgeon using his black marker to draw plans onto my chest. (Nipple goes here. This moves here and all this...goooooesss).

The next thing I knew I was being shaken awake in recovery. The nurses very first words to me are odd. "What do you take for pain at home?" she asks loudly, cutting through my anaesthetic fog and even though I am only seconds awake I'm already sort of pissed at her. "I take Tylenol, but normally my boobs haven't just been hacked off. " OK. I only mumble the first three words aloud, but hopefully, the end of the sentence is definitely implied and I drift back out.

The next time I rouse I am being wheeled out of recovery and to my room, - which is apparently in another city. I mean, I know the hospital is big, but the trip feels like a joke. I am conscious of being in the elevator while an elderly Chinese couple stare down at me so I clamp my eyes shut again until I'm in my room.

The last time I was in a hospital was for the birth of my two children. Since they were both delivered naturally, I wasn't really prepared for how completely out of it I would be. Eric and Kieran came in but knowing that in order not to scare my three-year-old I had to put on the "Mommy is fine" voice, but I just couldn't. So, they dropped off my overnight bag and I stayed blissfully out of until quite late into the night.

When I did come fully awake I was in major pain. Nurses had been in and out of my room changing my IV, adding a Gravol drip several times because I was so nauseous. But at about 4 am I finally hit the buzzer. The nurse comes in and I ask her if I'm almost due for my pain medication. She tells me that I'm not on any and they only give you pain meds if you ask.

OK, so I'm asking, I say.

"What do you want? Tylenol or Morphine?"

Again with the freaking Tylenol. What do I have? Cramps? Obviously I want the morphine, but I something in her tone tells me that if I say that, then she is going to write me up as a junkie, so I stall.

"The Tylenol will take an hour to work." She says, and I can't take it any more.

"Just give me the morphine." I finally say.

"OK" - she says, and I swear she is smirking. "But, just so you know, you're not going home on that."

Seriously, did she think I just just endured a 3 hour surgical procedure just to get the pain meds? Do people actually do that? I have two hundred stitches, my nipples have been removed and reattached mere hours ago, the bed is covered in blood and its 4 o-freaking-clock-in-the-freaking-morning and I swear, this woman wants to hand me a glass of water and some regular strength caplets from the bottom of her purse.

Anyway, she finally adds morphine to my IV and, because I'm clearly going to be in rehab shortly anyway, she gives me an extra hit of Gravol in the IV too. And thankfully, I'm back out until morning.

The Doctor comes in with his med student and they ooh and aah over their handiwork. The med students clearly finds this awkward. He even trips on my IV on the way out. They tell me that I'm free to go home and the nurse comes in for the discharge. Except my blood pressure is really, really low so she gets the doctor back and he says that I need to eat and drink something and move around a bit, so they serve me these hideous concrete waffle sticks that I force myself to eat so that I can just leave, but the blood pressure is still low.

You need to walk around, says the nurse and then leaves.

I get up, get dressed. I'm dizzy (probably blood pressure related) and nauseous. I'm in gigantic amounts of pain because the morphine drip ended hours ago and I swear if they offer me Tylenol one more time I'm going to scream. So, finally, after I'm all ready to go, I lie back in bed and wait for Eric.

About 15 min later the nurse comes back in and says "I told you to walk around!"

Who ARE these people!? Do they hire their nurses directly from Hell or are they just leftover from Nazi concentration camps? What does she want from me?

I tell her that I WAS walking around,but she she's been gone for a half hour and I didn't have anywhere to walk to and that I just had a major surgery.

Thankfully, Eric finally arrives, and the nurse tells me that they normally provide a wheelchair for discharging patients but for me, well....they want me to walk. She reminds me of my mother, who would think that the wheelchair is lazy and that a nice long walk to the carpark a few blocks away will burn off those extra calories from the Waffle Brick I ate for breakfast.

But we finally make it out of the hospital and back to the burbs. We stop first and I fill my prespcription for, naturally, Tylenol and then we're home. I am sore, stitched, bruised, and tired, but at least I'm home.

Not Quite An American Tale

2009-07-14T08:29:00.000-07:00

Our cat Wesley is a killer. When we first brought him home from the Humane Society we pretended he was a lazy house cat and kept him indoors for about a year. But once we moved from an apartment to our house and Wesley could see the outdoors, he started to dart outside faster than we could try to stop him (which was usually by wedging his head against the door frame with our leg while carrying 10 shopping bags. )We finally gave up and he's now an outdoor cat. He loves to be outside at night tormenting the birds and mice. I don't like it, but I have come to terms with Wesley's dual nature...part ruthless killer, part sweet lap cat who loves to snuggle up to the kids and eat his Friskies from a china bowl.

Last year there was a veritable Caribana-esque parade of dead mice and birds that wound up on our doorstep and driveway, but this year has been quite a bit less. Well, except for that harrowing incident where we were moving a wooden playhouse that was sitting in our carport to our yard. When we picked up the the playhouse, lo and behold, there was a veritable graveyard of mice carcasses inside where it would appear the mice were able to crawl in and die in peace while Wesley was too big to get inside.

Since then, the dead animal parade has been a bit less. Not sure why...but it's good. No evidence of bird killing and only a couple of mice have turned up in the driveway but were quickly disposed of before Kieran could see them. Until, that is, the other day...

We were heading out and loading the kids into the van. Kieran is lingering at the edge of the driveway while I buckle Kaya into the seat. I tell him to hurry up and then I realize what he is so enamoured with....the large dead mouse practically at his feet.

"Look Mommy!" he squeals excitedly.

I am, of course, instinctively grossed out and cannot hide my disgust. "Yuck! Don't touch it!!!"

Kieran looks up at me quite surprised. Clearly, he doesn't understand why I sound so...afraid. After all, mice in his world are quite removed from reality. To him, they all take ballet class, or are detectives, or have Grandma's who bake them chocolate chip cookies. They are not disease carrying vermin that make your mother scream in terror nor are they murdered by your own beloved house pet.

He doesn't really know what to do, but he looks at me sadly and says: "I think he wants his Mommy."

Seizing the opportunity to avoid any sort of discussion about death, I say quite loudly so Eric can hear. "Yes! He wants his mommy and when we get back from the store, I'm sure your DADDY will MAKE SURE that the mousey gets back to his MOTHER so he can go to his bed and sleep THERE. "

Kieran was satisfied with this and climbed happily into the van. He mentioned several times at the store that he wanted to go home and see the "mousey" (which suddenly turned into going home to see the "bunny" but I can see how he would be confused. They all dress the same and go to the same school).

Anyway, Daddy did help the mouse find his mommy (well, as long as his mommy lives under the hedges 10 feet away) and Kieran is none the wiser.

Crisis averted. For now.

It's Summer!!

2009-07-06T09:21:00.000-07:00

Summertime is the official reason I am giving to explain my longish absence from this space. I'm outside living the dream, folks. (Does that sound better than the reality, which may or may not be that I spent my computer time - some call it a workday - reading recaps of The Bachelorette?)

June flew by. Kieran turned three and we had an excellent party (by three year old standards at least). I prefer my parties to have considerably more beer and less escorting of three year olds to the bathroom. Anyway, he received a trampoline as a birthday gift, which he loves. I quickly realized that the trampoline, since it is completely enclosed by a large safety net, should really be marketed for its other latent purpose...a huge bouncing playpen. I can zip both kids up inside and putter around the yard and neither of them is aware that they are safely caged. (Kieran, who weighs all of 27 pounds doesn't have enough weight on him for his jumps to do more than lightly jiggle his little sister and even that light bouncing is enough to make her giggle uncontrollably.) We now call it the Trapoline (TM) and my garden is practically weed-free! Talk about a gift that keeps on giving.

We also just returned yesterday from a lovely week-long vacation in Massachusetts. The week started off with rain and more rain. Crazy downpours and nonstop drizzle. And just when we thought we had exhausted all rainy-day activities (otherwise known as shopping and eating and a semi-disastrous trip to the Boston Aquarium along with the entire population of the Eastern Seaboard), the rain cleared and we had nothing but heat and sun. Perfect really.

My children, as it turns out, are fantastic road-trippers. Not to sound like a broken record on the Kaya front, but the kid was happy as a sunny little clam during our 11 hour drive (both ways). Kieran is more demanding, but still really good. Just usual requests for juice or snacks and the occasional urgent need to pee, which necessitated one illegal roadside pullover and an Austin Power's comedy-length stream of urine.

I do want to take a moment to comment on my three year old. Maybe this is common and I have just been oblivious to this in other children, but I swear when he turned three he turned into a new kid. For the vast majority of his short life (certainly much longer than the terrible twos), he has been predictably awful around people. Not necessarily just new people or strangers, but pretty much anyone who wasn't Eric or I. He had a tendency to be whiny and difficult and I often felt like I was making excuses for him. (He's tired, he's hungry, etc. etc). But that kid seems to be more or less gone. Sure he has moments (you know, when he's ACTUALLY hungry or tired) but he's a lot happier these days. I am happy with the trajectory and am totally OK with it continuing on this way until he is nothing but charming and joyful all the time.

I do hate returning from vacation though. Our house, small as it is, always seems five times as cramped when we get back and have bags and coolers strewn everywhere waiting to be unpacked. Blech. That more or less what I have too look forward to tonight.

Although, more likely, if you need me, I'll be out on the Trapoline.

Lights, Camera...That's my Baby!

2009-06-08T13:15:00.000-07:00

So, you know how every time they interview the parents of some kid on American Idol they always say how their child has always loved to sing and, in fact, was singing before they could talk? If I thought much about that statement at all (which I usually didn't) I would have thought that was more or less impossible. We've all suffered through enough of those hideous audition shows to know that the ability to carry a tune is most definitely NOT a given.

Except, now I have that kid. Kaya, who still has not graduated much further past the already blogged about "Duh!" for duck, sings a semi- complete version of Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star in baby gibberish - even mimicking the words. I noticed this late last week when she was sitting on the floor singing to herself. Now singing, I think for a 14-month-old, probably isn't ALL that unusual. Except then I thought for a second that I recognized the tune, but I dismissed it as sort of impossible. After all, despite me waving her bottle in her face 4 times a day and saying "Want your bottle? Say Bottle. Bottle. BOT-TLE. BOTTLE!" I can get this child to repeat almost nothing. So, I have more or less, sort of dismissed her as any sort of prodigy.

Then it happened again and again and again. And she did it for Eric too. She is most definitely singing Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star. Kieran is slightly put out since he considered that "his" song - but now they can sing it together.

Already, I'm thinking of taking her on tour, if anyone is interested. Or maybe we'll get our own show. Clearly there is massive money to be made by pimping out half-Asian toddlers. (I'm talking to YOU John and Kate...clearly your moment in the sun is nearly over.).

We just need to start working on her wardrobe (goodbye onesies and bucket hats, hello peekaboo sequin baby halter tops), stage presence (its never to early to learn to shake, shake, shake that booty). And I'm thinking maybe she needs a baby toupee (you know, the kind that everyone was accusing Tom Cruise of putting on his baby on the cover of Vanity Fair a few years ago). Right now, she looks more like Riff Raff from Rocky Horror Picture Show than Beyonce.

Don't worry I'm on it, people. Rest assured, I will not squander this opportunity to make money off my child.

Deep Dark Secrets

2009-06-04T07:05:00.000-07:00

So, I stumbled across a blog the other day. The title of post I landed on was something like True Confessions, and the writer was asking the readers to post anonymously their deepest secrets. Things that they might never admit to out loud. The results were kind of scary. The confessions ranged from the ever-popular-and-predictable "I'm cheating on my husband" to "My husband died last year and I am secretly glad."

There was the one that made me snicker: "I lied and told my high school boyfriend I was pregnant to try to trap him and instead he gave me $300 for an abortion. I took the money and went to Florida for Spring Break."

There were also quite a few that were neither mundane nor funny, just horrible. ("I feel my son is not supposed to be alive and I wonder if I am subconsciously going to a make this happen.") And some were extreme enough to make me wonder if they were fake. Well, nobody admitted to murder or any crime...the confessions were more of personal and/moral nature.

It made me think about what I would write and really, I don't have all that much, if anything these days. I will be the first to admit that I am quite boring (which might quality as a confession, but certainly isn't a secret. )

My own secrets might range from the food-related - something like "I let Kieran eat chips for breakfast" or "I have wine gums stashed in the freezer."

Or maybe my confession might be the relatively unattainable: "I know I have said I was finished having kids, but I would like to have (E-Host) Joel McHale's baby."

I don't know. I guess I'd be happier if every one's deepest secrets were letting their children eat crap for breakfast (You do, right?) or to have a D-List celebrity's baby. The world would undoubtedly be a better place. Funnier at least.

Oh Woe is Us. (AKA, The Troubling Tale of the Baby in the Van)

2009-05-29T07:19:00.000-07:00

My lapses in timely posts are almost always due to two things: illness and or pure lethargy. Since I have returned to work (and my children back to the germpool otherwise known as daycare) we have had far too much of the former. Really, it seems like every time I turn around someone is coughing and feverish or...something.

But this time was a doozy.

I'll be brief because I'm not quite self-centred enough to think that people want to read a minute by minute account of the week of vomit, but it started innocently enough with Kaya throwning up all over the kitchen floor mere seconds before we left for daycare last Friday. By the time Eric and I had pulled into his parking lot at work an hour later, the babysitter had called to say Kaya had barfed twice more and that was their limit, so I turned around and went home.

Downhill from there, to say the least. The baby seemed a bit better on Saturday...we had a fair amount of socializing on the weekend...family members from out of town, a BBQ at our house with friends and their three kids, yada, yada, yada. A few days later and all innocence is lost. People around us have dropped like flies from this little stomach bug, so please accept this as a blanket apology to all who know us and who may be cursing our very name.

I started to feel violently ill during our BBQ - the friends we had invited over were people I did not know well so I didn't really feel like telling them that the reason I was leaving for the bathroom every 10 minutes was NOT due to my raging coke habit like they surely must have presumed. (Although I was pretty good at using the baby as a shield...she needs a jacket! A diaper! A bottle!)

The night ended, well...it never really did end. But as I was lying on our bathroom floor in the wee hours of Monday morning, wondering if there was any point in dragging myself back to bed (there wasn't) these are the things, in no particular order, that I was thinking:

"Please don't let this violent retching wake-up the baby." Naturally, this was followed immediately by a plaintive and increasingly insistent "WaaaaaaaAAAA" from her bedroom.

"Oh! I'm so glad that we had company tonight! Aside from the fact that I was practically barfing into their laps, this bathroom is really freaking clean." This thought is a pleasant change from any other time that I can remember sleeping on bathroom floors (usually in my university years) in which the thoughts were more along the lines of...is that black thing on the floor over there alive?

"Hmmmm....that particular shade of vomit is the EXACT colour I had hoped Eric would paint the bedroom last summer." Which, for those of you who might be interested. is a greyish blue colour that emerges from the innards somewhere after bile, but before dry heaves.

That's really just the tip of the iceberg, but as I'm sure most of us can attest, when doubled over with a hideous virus most rational thought is well...absent.

To make matters worse, much worse, a few short hours later Eric had taken up residence in the bathroom and I had moved back to the bed.

In fact, rational thought was absent for the next 36 hours at least. On Tuesday, I thought that since I was feeling marginally better I should go back to work.

A rather large mistake actually.

I was packing the kids up for babysitter, Eric was still sick, and I went out to the van with Kaya, the daycare bag, my purse, etc. As I was wrestling with everything and getting Kaya in the car seat, I put everything on the floor of the van. Kieran was yelling something at me from the steps of the house and so I was talking to him, finished buckling in Kaya and slammed the door shut.

In the second that I did that, I realized that the car keys - I had grabbed Eric's from the table beside the door to save myself from digging mine out from the bottom of my purse - were on the floor of the van. And the van doors had inexplicably locked. And my purse , with MY KEYS was also now locked inside the van as well. Along with the baby.

I did what any other rational person would do. Or at least, I mean anyone who hadn't eaten, drank or slept for almost 48 hours. Someone who was still nauseous, headachey and in no condition to be driving, going to work or looking after children and who has just realized that they have locked their one-year-old in the car with no way to get her out. I totally lost it.

I was bawling and freaking out. Kaya, who seemed to of course immediately realize her peril, was also screaming inside the van. Kieran was just totally freaked out at what was going on and kept telling me that my keys were in my pocket (they weren't).

Anyway, Eric called CAA. Thankfully, they do consider a baby locked in a car to be an "emergency" and said they would have someone there in 15 minutes. I continued to freak out for the next 10 minutes, trying to knock on the van window and get poor Kaya to stop wailing. Anyway, the next thing I know, Eric walks out of the house with my car keys. I have never been so happy. They were, strangely enough on the fireplace mantel and I have zero recollection of putting them there or why they would be there, but at least they were.

Crisis past. Baby was rescued. No need to call the authorities on the poor parenting (in this instance at least...)

We're all better now but, let me go find some wood to knock on.

Space for Rant

2009-05-15T09:33:00.001-07:00

Now that I am back in the "real world" (as opposed to the temporary fake world of play dates and nap times) I feel like I am assaulted by Pop Culture Reality. I guess because since I currently spent my daytime hours sitting at a desk with ample access to the Internet, with a huge TV right beside me, and grown-ups (well...maybe that's a stretch, but I mean that as a compliment to my co-workers) to converse with on a reliable basis I am more in touch with world at large.

And guess what? Real life is damned annoying.

Twitter, Dancing with the Stars, Swine Flu, People in the Tim Horton's lineup who order coffees and breakfast for the entire office. people asking me if I'm pregnant (or going to be), Jon and Kate Plus 8. These are just some of the things that now irk me on a highly regular basis.

In fact, I'm going to add Twitter to the list again because it's the most annoying and ubiquitous of all. Twitter was quite entertaining when it was only funny people who tweeted (God, did I just use that word? Kill me now). But now everybody is tweeting (retch), celebrities, teenagers, bloggers, journalists, the elderly. I live in mortal fear that one day I'm going to get an email from my mom telling me to "follow her on Twitter!". (Which is almost as frightening as the mere thought that she might one day find this blog. Almost.).

Dancing with the Stars I just don't, and never will, get. I'm not going to debate the lax and inappropriate use of the word "stars" (I'm sure there are tweets (gah!) galore on that subject). It's just the fact that it , along with its (to me at least) slightly less annoying cousin, American Idol, are actually covered on the news. As if it were actual news, people. The local morning radio segues right from Tamil protests into Adam Lambert clips. Its a bit alarming really.

The Tim Horton's people are just things that I had forgotten about while I was gone. I, along with just about everyone else in the country, go there on a semi-regular basis for my morning coffee and Tim's (at rush hour at least), is a well-oiled morning mat-cheen. Even the addition of a myriad of breakfast foods hasn't really slowed down the rush hour, the line moves quite swiftly with lightly toasted 12 grain bagels arriving in patrons hands mere seconds after their double doubles. Until you notice some schmuck ahead of you in line holding a piece of paper and the feeling of dread and annoyance settles in. Long lists of individual prepared coffees and breakfast sandwiches bog down the entire system, especially since, let's be honest, most people who are sent out to fetch large coffee orders are seldom the companies most efficient, indispensable employees. It's the interns and the newbies who are slow to count money and usually forget to ask for a receipt. It can throw off the entire day.

Anyway, it had been awhile since I had used this blog space to truly rant about the inane. Glad I got that all off my chest.

Now, off to enjoy the long weekend!!!

What Little Boys are Made Of

2009-05-13T07:10:00.001-07:00

So, we're in the middle of our weekday scramble to get out the door in the morning. Eric is off getting the Papaya dressed and I'm busying getting the kids daycare bag together. Bottles. Asthma puffer. Hats. Sunblock. All Check.

Kieran has put on his sandals and gathered up Spunky and is standing near the door impatiently wanting to go outside. Suddenly he runs over to the door, bangs it open and leans outside.

Me: "What are you doing?"

Him: "Spitting."

Me: "What?! Spitting?! We don't open the door and spit outside. Ever!!! That's yucky!"

Long pause. Kieran stares at me blankly, clearly trying to process something.

Him: "Sooooo I spit inside on the floor?"

Ah Little Boys. Apparently, if they aren't peeing on the toilet seats and laughing at fart noises they are horking out the door. Snips and snails and puppy-dog tails indeed.

I look over at Kaya, who has emerged from her bedroom with Eric, in her jaunty denim jacket with the embroidered flowers and a little tuft of hair tied neatly in a pink band. She is all clean and shiny for the day ahead. She's too young obviously to be anything other than pure sugar and spice, but I hope it holds.

Because, for the record, I HATE fart jokes.

But the Levy Was Dry. Also known as the 100th Post!!

2009-05-04T11:07:00.000-07:00

So, my blog manager thingy tells me that this is my 100th post. Very exciting. So exciting in fact, that anything I write will obviously be a major letdown. So, really, I apologize in advance for not living up to the 100th post hype.

It was a lovely weekend. I went out BOTH Fiday and Saturday nights, which may be a first since Kieran's birth back in 2006. It would also explain why I'm so tired today...I'm not used to such late nights. I mean, I think I was out until 11PM two nights in a row. Pass the Red Bull, I can barely keep my eyes open...

Kieran wanted to be outside all day yesterday which was totally fine. Last spring was hard because he was just turning two and if I didn't watch him 100 per cent of time he would either be careening uncontrollably down the driveway on his bike, or once he gained control, he'd be on the sidewalk, but halfway down the street flash. Now that he understands the meaning of words like "dangerous" and "ambulance" I don't really worry about him riding out onto the street as much.

His newfound obedience was nice because it gave me time to turn my attention to getting my garden ready and also our total disgrace of a lawn. I fail to understand why our lawn is always a giant weed-patch while almost everyone else's on the street has sprung up like a lush, green blanket. I assume they must have years of experience in lawn maintenance that I just lack, but we went into the backyard and overnight it seems there are weird weeds that are as tall as the Papaya (who is probably as tall as three ACTUAL papayas). Those are tall weeds. So, while the kids were playing around I went to work pulling up Dandelions and other pesky things.

Now, our backyard in the spring is an odd place. Before all the trees have their leaves and the shrubs have filled out, I can see quite clearly into both next door neighbours yards. As I may have mentioned before, both of our next door neighbours and the house directly behind us all have pools. The house behind us has a sloped backyard, so what they have apparently done is put in an above-ground pool and then built a huge raised deck around it to give it the appearance of an in-ground pool when you walk outside their patio doors. However, this raised deck means that they are standing level with the top of the fence. It's always jarring in the spring when they are out on their yard/deck and looking down at us as though we are polar bears at the zoo.

Last summer there was a young couple with a two year old daughter in that house. A few months ago the house went up for sale and the new owners are, apparently, a young couple with a two -year old daughter. They were also outside yesterday (scoffing down at our embarrassing weed-infested back yard, no doubt) and listening to music. When we first went back there, they were listening to the song American Pie, which I've always considered to be more of a summer-time campfire song than a spring-cleaning song, but, whatever. However, the longer we stayed in the backyard I realized that American Pie was the ONLY song they were playing. Like, it was on repeat. For an hour. Maybe longer because I could tell that Kaya was getting sleepy to the repetitive sounds of the Chevy driving to that stupid Levy for the what must of been the kabillionth time and, oddly, I was dying for a whisky and rye.

So, back inside we go. It's gonna be long summer....

Pandemic, Eh?

2009-04-28T09:49:00.000-07:00

So, I realize that the health complaints I was experiencing last week (fever, chills, sore throat, extraordinary fatigue) are on the list of Swine Flu symptoms. I feel 100 per cent now (OK, 99 %), but perhaps we should put me down to Ground Zero of the Canadian pandemic?

Naturally, the media is all over this story. Ad nauseam like everything else. If I recall anything from SARS, it's that the media loves a good burgeoning pandemic. Toronto, as you may recall, was hit quite hard by SARS several years ago, and hit even harder by SARS-related panic. The Chinese origination of the disease made all local Chinese Canadians - and probably anyone looking vaguely Asianish - quite suspect. Poor Eric couldn't even clear his throat in public without people glaring and pulling out their Purell. At least this time, we can turn our (hopefully) irrational fears onto spring-breakers who just spent 7 days guzzling Coronas at a Cancun all-inclusive.

One upside to SARS, (a very, very narrowly-focused upside, mind you) was that our company made a LOT of money. When your job is providing facilities and equipment to visiting news agencies and networks, crisis events like that tend to make the company's soul-less bean counters very happy. Ours and the aforementioned Purell executives were probably the only people that were privately rejoicing at every new outbreak.

Anyway, here we go again. If you need a camera crew or a feed point let me know. Otherwise, please don't cough in my general direction. Especially all you tanned, rested travellers. This time, we are targetting you.

The Duck

2009-04-23T10:39:00.001-07:00

Kaya doesn't really say any words yet. I know that by his first birthday Kieran was already pointing at cars and saying, quite definitively, "Cah!" but Kaya doesn't have any predictable words. And she's way past a year old already, I mean, it's been like almost 10 days since her birthday.

So, last night I decided to take matters into my own hands, speaking-wise. Kaya's splashing around in the tub, loving her bath as usual.

I hold up a rubber duck.

Me: "Kaya! It's a duck! Can you say DUCK?"

Papaya: "Duh!"

Me: "Right! Duck! Very Good!"

Papaya: "Duh! Duh! Duh!"

Me: "Yay! Duck! OK, here's a boat, say BOAT."

Papaya: "Duh! Duh!"

Me "No, boat, with a B. BOAT."

Papaya: "Duh!"

Me: "OK, how about book. Can you say book? Say BOOK."

Papaya: "Duh!"

Me: "Oh forget it."

Papaya: "Duh!"

The New Normal??

2009-04-17T19:09:00.000-07:00

I've had this post sitting in draft status for about a week now. I can't seem to put a coherent thought together lately. I'm finding the adjustment back to work to be bit harder than I expected.

So, I think I've been back to work now for about 3 and a half weeks. So, yeah...this is it. The rest of my life. It just seems really hectic. We're still working on a decent routine - one that gets Eric to work on time in the morning and get us both home at night in time for have some sort of life. So far, all of that has been fairly elusive. The mornings have been more or less OK (not the total nightmare I expected) it's the evenings that are chaos. Dinner. Crying. Dishes. Bath. Kids to Bed. Clean the House. Workout. Collapse. Blech. Not enough hours in the day. Not enough sleep at night.

All of this is compounded by the fact that I'm a bit of a physical mess. As you may recall on my third day back at work I snapped my neck. It has taken me several weeks to get back to normal. After my neck went, it was followed by equally bizarre back spasms (which weren't quite as debilitating as the neck thing but were still horrible.)

Then, last week I was hit (as was Kieran) with some sort of seemingly malaria-like fatigue issues. I could not say awake past 9:30 at night and could barely drag myself out of bed in the morning, which has since morphed into a mini-flu. I have a low-grade fever that leaves me feeling like crap, but still able to go to work.

I'm assuming these issues will all resolve themselves. I remember being quite sick when I came back to work after my mat leave with Kieran, but this adjustment has been harder I think.

Also, seriously, enough of this stupid cold weather!!!!

One Year Old

2009-04-13T06:59:00.000-07:00

Today is Kaya' s First Birthday. We have not bought her any gifts, which I sort of feel badly about. In my defence...we went out looking for something for her, but I couldn't find anything that I thought she would love. The Easter Bunny did leave her some presents yesterday, although he mistakenly bought sidewalk chalk because he thought they were big baby-sized crayons. Bunny needs glasses.

Of course, we did celebrate her birthday properly(well it was a family Easter/birthday dinner) so she did get lots of gifts from other people. I made her a little bumble-bee cake. The bee was sitting upright in front of a miniature regular birthday cake with a candle on top. At least, that was how the cake was when I finished decorating it and prior to lifting into the box. When I went to lower it into the box the cardboard cake board folded in the middle, smashing the little purple birthday cake into the bee's face and belly. I managed to salvage/repair the bee, but the mini-cake was a goner. Of course, Kaya did not care and I realized as she shovelled handfuls of cake covered in yellow and black icing that most people do not give their one-year olds black icing for the first birthday. I am not one of those mothers. We have lots of photos of my little one-year old looking like a baby goth.

Happy Birthday Kaya Papaya!

Robaxa-bot

2009-04-01T11:33:00.000-07:00

So, I'm back at work. As I suspected it's been a bit chaotic, but nothing out of control and I'm sure we'll find a groove and go with it. We need to work out a reliable morning routine but otherwise it's been painless.

Or I should say, its been painless in the non-physical sense, at least. Actual physical pain? Lots of that.

You know how sometimes you sleep funny and when you wake up in the morning your neck is sore and you can't turn your head? Multiply that by about 500 and you have me today.

Last night at three am, I innocently turned my head on my pillow whilst fast asleep and I swear to God, my neck snapped. All of a sudden there was a shooting pain radiating from the side of my neck down my shoulder and into my back and up into my head and brain. I would have sat bolt upright in my bed in agony except that would have required upper body movement and at the moment I was quite paralyzed.

I finally whimpered my way out of bed and clawed my way to the kitchen where I tried to down some ibuprofen but I couldn't properly put my head back to swallow the pills so I just sort of gagged them down and hoped for the best.

I would have called in sick but it's only my third day back and I just couldn't be that much of a wimp. So this morning we unearthed some muscle relaxants in the cupboard and I sat patiently in a chair waiting from them to kick in while Eric got the kids ready to go. (Which, obviously, was the most enjoyable part of my day thus far). The bottle said the pills were good for neck spasms but all they did was make me sleepy, nauseous and did a great of job of relaxing my tongue but did nothing to the huge knot in my shoulder.

It's actually a bit better at work. Thank you Ergonomic desk chair for holding my spine exactly where it should be. As long as I don't have to turn my head in any direction I can pass for a normal person and not a robot. I may have to wheel this baby home with me tonight in order to get some decent sleep.

I've decided that I'm going to blame the change in routine for my current state of agony, even though its probably not related. But it makes me feel better to think that. Otherwise, I might have to admit that its age-related or something depressing like that. No, I won't go there.

Stupid office job. This is your fault.

Frazzled

2009-03-29T19:06:00.000-07:00

So, in a few short hours I will be officially off maternity leave. I am feeling stressed about it, but if I recall from when I returned to work after Kieran, I'm pretty sure it will all be fine.

Still, I had last week off to get myself organized and integrate the kids into full time daycare. The days were a bit shorter for them than they will be from here on out, but they did pretty well. As for me? Not so much.

I tried to cram lots of stuff into last week. Vet appointments (fleas), my yearly physical (fleas), running lots of errands, cleaning etc. On Friday, I had to get my blood work done (just for a physical folks, please trust me that I'm not pregnant) so I was sort of in a rush to get the kids out the door, get the medical stuff done and then have the rest of my day to myself - no cleaning, no errands. I was feeling a bit frazzled, but got the kids dropped off and then went to the blood lab to take my place in line behind about 30 people. Awesome.

Then my cell phone rang. I had sent Kaya to daycare without a diaper on. I still have no idea how this is possible. She had on a onesie, pants and shirt. No diaper. The babysitter was calling to make fun of me (although, I think she may have been a bit worried about my state of mind).

Anyway, I finish giving blood and then, since I had been required to fast for the tests, I hit the Tim Horton's drive thru. I pulled in, sped RIGHT past the little speaker and drove right up to the window without ordering anything. The guy working the window just looked at me like I was new on the planet.

Me: "Uhhhh, guess I missed the ordering part, huh?"

Guy: "Sure did."

It wasn't even 1030 am and I had two people questioning my sanity, so I went home. I was thinking of doing a bit of shopping, but it suddenly seemed risky.

Hopefully, I get my act together and tomorrow morning is a breeze. Diapers and all.

This Post is Making me Itchy

2009-03-26T07:36:00.000-07:00

I have a decidedly love-hate relationship with our cats. Well, I should say cat (singular) since we are down to one.

We decided around Christmas that enough with enough. We had two kids on asthma puffers...one of whom had been on his puffer continuously for several months. Sassy was ramping up her urinary protest at the misery of her life by peeing every single day in Eric's gym...which as his clients will gladly tell you, is absolutely NO way to run a business.

Sassy now lives happily with another owner, whose carpets are still apparently pee-free.

Our other cat, Wesley, who still resides in our house, is quite a different story. We discovered after we moved into this house that keeping him indoors was an impossibility. He's superfast and wily. The second the door is opened he'd be out like a shot...although sometimes if my reflexes were fast enough I could throw my foot out and wedge his skull against the doorjamb, but, obviously he'd howl protest, and the second you'd let up he'd be halfway down the street. So, eventually we learned to embrace his outdoorsiness and I learned (sort of, but not really) to tolerate the parade of dead birds and mice that turn up on my doorstep.

But when he's indoors he is a wonderful cat. You couldn't ask for a better animal around kids...he has infinite patience with both babies and two-year-olds, and, in fact,not only does he not mind his fur being yanked and eyes being poked, he seems to actively seek it out. On many occasions he will curl up in Kieran's lap and I'll catch them napping together on the couch.

Anyway, the kids haven't been on their asthma puffers since Christmas, so that is a good sign. And we are down to one cat, which is surely helping, but Wesley has one big problem that still drives me crazy.

You know how when you go camping or to the cottage with a group of people and there is always one person who the mosquitoes loves more than anyone else? While everyone else is roasting weenies on the fire there is invariably that poor sod next to you, continually slapping and scratching and slathering on as much DEET as possible, Cancer-be-damned? Well, were Wesley a person...he'd be that guy. Only not with mosquitoes with fleas.

Wesley is a fleabag. When I would take both cats to the vet Wesley usually had fleas and Sassy didn't. Last year, just after Kaya was born and Wesley had reverted to his outdoor ways, I remember looking down at her in my arms and seeing a flea crawl across her head. Since at that point I was still counting her age in DAYS for God sake, I had to beg the vet to sell me the flea stuff without paying for a full check up, which is apparently "illegal" but they took pity on me and my newborn.

Anyway, here we go again... only this year, I know the fleas are back because they are attacking ME. Its brutal. I have a bites all over me and I'm scratching like crazy. I had a Dr appointment yesterday and she asked me what was going on. Do you KNOW how embarrassing it is to tell your Doctor that you have fleas?? So, back to the vet we went yesterday to start him back on medication which we are now going to keep him on year round.

I should mention that I am the only one in the house the fleas go for. Eric and kids are both totally bite free. Although sometimes watching me scratch makes Eric paranoid but there is no evidence of him being bitten. Me...I'm the only loser around the campfire in this house.

So, love/hate. Kieran would be very sad if Wesley were to go. I would be a lot less sad, and a lot less itchy. But, assuming the kids grow out of their asthma, the flea thing is his only flaw. Wesley doesn't even bother with the litterbox inside for most of the year. All he needs is a bag of $5 Friskies and water and he's good to go. Practically maintenance-free!

Anyway, for now he's staying. Fleas and all.

Frig, I'm itchy.

Limping towards the end....

2009-03-24T07:07:00.000-07:00

So, it's Tuesday now and I have exactly 6 days left on maternity leave (including today). It's a bit shocking that an entire year has flown by...but on the other hand, as I've mentioned, I'm ready to go back.

I thought I was being quite smart by putting both kids in full-time daycare starting this week. It would theoretically give me 5 child-free days to clean the house, get organized and just relax a bit before I throw myself back into the 9-5 life, but of course, I should have realized that since this is MY life nothing ever QUITE works out to my benefit.

The kids have been on and off sick for the past month, at least. Last week, Kieran had a pretty nasty cold. Then on Sunday, Kaya slept in quite late and at first I was quite happy to be sleeping in myself since I had also caught Kieran's cold, but when I went in to get her, she was awake and burning up at a temperature of 105.2 degrees. Poor baby. Of course, this meant that yesterday she missed her first day of daycare and I missed one day (so far) of my child free week. It ended up not really mattering since this cold is brutal and I could barely function myself but I was down to FOUR child free days.

Today, Tuesday....I still feel lousy and need to get some sleep but I dropped both kids off. Kaya seemed fine (ish) so I wasn't going to waste another day. Although after I update this I most likely am going to take a nap. So, there goes day 2 of my child-free week.

Also, I've been trying to get myself back into at least the general ballpark of my pre-baby weight. It's been hard to find the time to work out since the only reliable time slot available in the gym is from 10-11 pm. I eventually came to the realization that nothing was going to ever magically happen that would allow me work out during the day or evening and that, if I wanted to establish a routine, that 10 pm was going to be "my time."

And since poor Eric usually finishes training his clients at 10 I don't really have the heart to ask him to put aside another hour for me, but I was feeling like I needed structure and a plan so I decided to order the videos from The Firm. I thought the video plan was quite smart since although I don't usually mind waiting until 10 pm to work out in our own gym, its nice to have the option of working out earlier upstairs if the kids are in bed.

I ordered the package in January - it was a whole kit which included a variety of DVDs and free-weights. The kit arrived in time...but there were no videos inside. So I called and they said they would send the 5 missing DVDs right out and that it would take 4 weeks. Annoying, I know. Especially since the clock was ticking on my return to work. 4 weeks go by and I call and am told that its actually 4-6 weeks plus an extra week to get to Canada. So after about the seven week mark I call again and tell them that its pretty clear the videos are NOT coming. They said they will send them out express and that I'll get them in 7-10 days (plus that extra week for Canada!). This would have put the arrival at some time LAST week. So sure enough, on Friday when nothing arrives, I call and they tell me that the package will most likely be delivered on Monday. So, low and behold when Monday rolls around, I open the mailbox there is my package. I was quite pleased. Until I opened it and it's the WRONG video set. They send the DVD set for their OTHER kit which requires some balance board type thing (which of course I don't have, so these videos are totally useless to me.)

So, I pick up the phone and have a terrible time restraining myself from calling the entire company a band of complete idiots. Really...how stupid are these people? I told her that maybe it would just be easier if they gave me my money back, but she said that they would ship out the correct videos right away and that they would credit my account. Ten dollars. (Whoo Hoo! Who wants a coffee?!) Whatever. I said OK that I would wait ONE more time. Although now I'm sure I'll be talking to them in 7-10 days, plus one week for Canada. Morons.

The Dream House

2009-03-16T19:02:00.000-07:00

It's pretty clear to us, and everybody else, that our house is too small. It was probably too small when we bought it, but in the three years since we moved in we have managed to outgrow these four walls in a relatively spectacular fashion.

I remember when we were house hunting the first time. Our budget would have been decent in many cities except ours and every place we looked at required some kind of major compromise. Basically, if we wanted a nice area in a good school district the houses in our price range were basic and usually in need of a complete overhaul. The closer we looked to downtown (where both Eric and I work) the smaller and smaller the houses got, so we had to just keep moving farther in the 'burbs until we landed so far west in Mississauga we are a mere stone's throw from Oakville.

At the time, we were thinking of putting an offer on a sidesplit in our neighbourhood, but the backyard, though huge, was taken up by a pool and I was newly pregnant and looking for a safe backyard for toddler play, not a yard that would keep me awake at night wondering if Kieran, who I was just pregnant with, was jimmying the locks to get out of the house where he would accidentally drown himself. The other downfall to the house? It had a dreaded number 4 in the house number.

If you are familiar in any way with Chinese superstitions you will understand the tragedy of this occurrence. Apparently, the word for the number 4 in Chinese, sounds the same as the word "death" in Chinese and, as such, no self-respecting person of Chinese descent (even a total banana like Eric) would EVER buy a house with a 4 in the number unless they were willing to endure a lifetime of misfortune. And since we were already loaded down with some iffy karma based on a radical (to put in mildly) split from Eric's family (the story of which is too sordid for this blog and even if I were to share I doubt the internet has enough bandwidth for me to properly describe those shenanigans) we decided it would be unwise to anger the Asian Gods any further that we already had. So any and all houses with 4's were struck off the list, usually sight unseen.

So, to make a long story short, we ended up in our three bedroom, one bathroom bungalow on a quiet street in an OK neighbourhood with a huge backyard and lots of trees and the Chinese neutral number of 2355. Now, three years, two kids and one gym later we are dying for more space.

Recently, Eric had started hearing at work about a bunch of people buying and selling houses and getting unbelievable mortgage rates. He mentions it to a client of his who says he has a fantastic finance wizard who can help us figure out what we can afford. And with that the ball is rolling. In short order, we've talked to both the mortgage broker and the bank about what we need and how to get there. I even went so far as to meet with the bank to go over some details and as it turns out we can make a drastic upgrade from where we are now and ended up paying the SAME as we are now. So far, so good.

Market-wise now is the time to buy. Season-wise, spring is the time to both buy and sell. The problem? On a personal side, the timing is actually quite horrible. I'm back at work in two weeks after having been on maternity leave for an entire year, so we haven't exactly be saving up for closing costs and moving expenses. When I go back, a large chunk of the money I make will be forked over to our daycare provider.

However, since the ball is rolling, we decided to roll with a little further and since we have kept in touch with our real estate agent we gave her a call and, naturally in no time flat she was sending us listings. Don't let anyone tell you, by the by, that houses are not selling and prices are falling. Judging from the "standing room only" situations at a couple of Open Houses we stopped at, it is clear that the market is hot and, at least on paper, our own house has increased significantly in value (although we have done quite a few upgrades, so I hope so.)

I was apprehensive though about actually going out to look at houses. I didn't want to get sucked into the urge to buy before we were ready, but on the other hand, we wanted to see what was out there. Besides, we sooo aren't ready that buying right now isn't even really an option, so it seemed pretty harmless. And it was. The first three houses we saw, which were all in the different areas, had the exact same layout. I realize that when you head into the 4 bedroom home market in the suburbs, every house is depressing similar. The worst part, of course, is that this apparently so-popular-all-houses-have-it-layout is not even a layout that I remotely like nor would ever buy. I'm all about flow and feng shui and open concept not choppy rooms, sweeping staircases and ridiculously over-sized master bedrooms (although don't get me wrong, I want a bigger bedroom...I just don't need one that could sleep an entire village in Africa). So, after leaving the third house I was relieved that we hadn't found a house that I would remotely consider buying but also disappointed that these cookie-cutter houses might be our destiny. As we followed our agent to the last house I said to Eric wistfully "I just want to walk into a house and be excited."

And then we pull up in front of My Dream Home.

From the second I stood on the porch I knew I loved this house. More than loved it. If I could have designed a house to my own specifications, this would have come close. Among my first words once we stepped inside: "Oh my God, Oh my God." Pause. "I want this house." But I was also colossally disappointed, because, although within our budget, there was no way we could buy that house right now and worse, there was no way it was going to sit for a few months while we get our act together.

As we were leaving, the homeowner was coming up his perfect manicured walkway and we asked him a few questions...he was not only clearly the handiest of handymen, he was also a perfectionist with attention to detail. He answered our questions, said he was absolutely in no rush to move and would be willing to wait....except, he had to tell us, that there was an offer coming on the house at 5 pm that day. I was torn between the feeling of horror that someone else was going to buy my dream home and relief. I knew it wasn't even an option anyway, so at least this way, there was no need to go home and lose sleep over it (which I did anyway). We drove away, past the perfect little park two houses down where I could see my kids playing already.

What really made me mad about that whole thing, was up until we toured my Dream House, I was actually feeling pretty good about our little bungalow again. It's small, but in many ways the layout totally works for us. Bedrooms on the main floor are quite convenient and the main rooms are open so I can see the kids playing in the family room while I make dinner or do the dishes. There is also a side entrance with stairs that go straight downstairs so Eric's clients come in and out unseen and we have put in a new bathroom beside the gym so nobody has to come upstairs to my bathroom that may or may not have a pantsless two-year-old spraying pee on the floor. None of the houses we saw - including the Dream House - had basement access from the outside.

Anyway, I'm assuming my Dream House has been sold. Seeing my reaction, I think our agent felt quite bad for even bringing us there, but on the upside, she said that it will happen again, there will be OTHER dream homes that come up when we are ready. She was certain of it. And now we start the process of sprucing up and decluttering (ha!) in order to get this place looking roomy and sellable.

In the end, despite seeing and losing my Dream House in the space of a half-hour , we had another breakthrough. The Dream House? Which we both loved? It was house number 1401...and even with that dastardly lurking 4, Eric was willing to overlook it. At least he said he was, which, although he reserves the right to change his mind, is progress.

The Countdown Begins...

2009-03-06T20:07:00.000-08:00

So, its official. I'm pretty much counting the days until I go back to work. Which is March 30 for those who may be interested in counting with me.

In general, staying at home with 2 year old and an infant has been OK. There are somethings I love about being home with the kids but, overall, Mama needs a break. With Eric working more or less 7 days a week, every week, I am going a bit crazy. There are times, when I think I can feel my brain turning mushy. As mushy as...something. See, the old me would have been able to find something vaguely clever that her brain would be as mushy as...but all I can think of now is a long list of baby-related mushy things...like the pieces of banana that get tossed from the highchair and land in the MOST annoying places and then have to be cleaned up only to have the entire process start all over again.

You can probably even detect my lethargy from the dearth of blog posts. I keep thinking "who wants to read about my kids being sick (which they both are AGAIN)" and there just isn't much else. That and Eric's band had a long break during February due to some of his bandmates having actual vacations (of which I can only dare to dream) and I typically update my blog on weekend nights when I'm home by myself and am feeling too cheap to order a movie from Rogers On Demand. (Although we rented one last night...Ghost Town. See it!)

On the upside. I think we hit 17 degrees today! This is a pleasant turn of events. I'm sure, naturally, that we will plunge back down into another deep freeze any second, but today was an excellent day. Eric and I even managed to clean out our hideous carport which we pretend is a garage and store things in and then are routinely shocked when said things become ruined. Today, we went to the garbage dump to drop off our old mud-covered highchair and our old stroller, which had first rusted shut and then, after Eric broke it trying to force it open, rusted open. (Although since my dad fixed our carport roof last fall things are getting ruined a much slower pace...)

Also, Sassy is gone. To a good home without children or a continual parade of sweaty strangers. After a particularly horrible stretch where she peed every single day in Eric's gym, we decided it was time to call the Humane Society. But before we arranged to drop her off, someone answered Eric's last Facebook plea. She apparently hadn't seen any of his previous ones ...and she came to pick Sassy up the next day. According to her new owner, Sassy is doing well and is using the litterbox as she should. I am using that tidbit as evidence that Sassy was totally miserable here and that we did the right thing. Which it was. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how I get to sleep at night. When the children aren't crying. Or needing medicine. Or coughing...

Save me!!!

My Barfing Valentine

2009-02-19T17:42:00.000-08:00

So, we are emerging from is pretty lousy week. On the upside, it went fast. On the downside...well, there were a lot of bodily fluids of a decided unpleasant variety all over the place.

Kaya got a nasty (I'd like to use the word "killer" but since we were verging on the literal sense of that it seems wrong) stomach virus. All I can say is....OY. It started last Thursday (or possibly even the week prior to that since she had been behaving not herself for almost a week before the bug hit), but when it hit, it was hard.

After she was no better in 36 hours, we went to the walk-in clinic where the doctor told us to stop all food and bottles and give her only Pedialyte for the next 24 hours, which we did and which seemed to work. Except when the 24 hours was upand I tried to feed her again (dry toast) we went right back to square one. Only by this time she was already quite low on fluids and it was almost impossible to get enough liquid into her to replace the vast amount she was losing.

The next morning, as had been our worry, we knew we had crossed the line from sick baby to dehydrated baby, so off to the emergency room we went. We got there and I was pretty happy because it was virtually empty and we were the only people in the pediatric room. But we waited and waited and waited. And people just kept coming until there must have been 100 people waiting. Finally, after almost 4 hours, Eric saw a girl he knew who happened to be working there. We chatted for a bit and then two minutes later she comes back out and escorts to the back. I'm pretty sure that if we never had that "in" we would still be waiting there. Anyway, they told us to give the Pedialyte by syringe every 15 minutes (which once the novelty wears off, is a huge pain. Anyway, it more or less did the trick. It still took almost two days to have a normal wet diaper.

Anyway, it's all good now. Kaya has bounced back 120 per cent. She seems even happier than she was before she got sick, if that is even possible. Today she was giggling at everything. However, we have taken it easy this week. I was so bored, I was actually thinking how nice it would be go to work where nobody ever asks to watch a Tonka DVD for the millionth time.

So, yeah, I know this was a boring blog, but that's all I have.

These Are the People in Your Neighbourhood

2009-02-15T13:27:00.000-08:00

Seriously, my neighbours are nuts. How did we get so unlucky as to have people on both sides of us that we absolutely cannot stand?

Of course, the Oldies next door (who have not spoken a word to us in 2 years - well, except to tell Kieran to get out of their driveway) have been embroiled in a decades long war with the Trashies on the other side of us. I know this because prior to the Oldies ceasing to speak to us, the wife would corral me every chance she got to TELL me how much she hated the Trashies and all the horrible things he'd done (apparently he'd stalked the woman who lived in our house, he drove his kids to school drunk and other horrible things).

And Mr Trashy next door, who is also a yammerer, would tell me how the Oldies have a vendetta against him and would complain about every single thing...such as his young kids being "too loud" in the pool on a Saturday afternoon. His kids ARE loud in the pool but aren't ALL kids? It would never even cross my MIND to complain about kids having fun in their own yard during the daytime.

After living here three years I'm still not sure who to believe because they are both so unlikeable, but it's like living on the border between Israel and the Gaza Strip. I'm half expecting grenades to lobbed over our flower garden.

Anyhow, yesterday, as usual I am going about my business inside our house when I hear a commotion from our sidewalk. I didn't pay much attention because I figured it was just kids but then one of Eric's clients left and when the door opened I could hear that it was adults screaming at each other. Turns out, it was the middle-aged daughter of the Oldies (who does not live there) and Mr Trashy. Trashy is holding a hockey stick in a threatening manner and Oldie-daughter is screaming that she's going to call the cops. This is all happening on our sidewalk.

Eric's poor client, who is a young high school girl just trying to get to her car is totally freaked out. And we notice for the first time that she has parked (100 per cent legally) in the forbidden spot right across from the Oldies driveway which is the reason they aren't talking to us in the first place. Well, sure enough, Oldie daughter, who again might I mention DOES NOT LIVE THERE, marches right up to the poor girl and tells her not to park there ever again, which I'm sure scared her even more.

Unfortunately, I don't actually know what the argument was about. We were heading out a few minutes later and Trashy was still outside and tried to engage us in a regular conversation about our Valentines Day plans and all I wanted to ask him was what the argument was about but I chickened out.

I'm sure it was something ridiculous, but I'm just thankful that the Oldies don't acknowledge our existence let alone scream at us. Yet.

Summer's coming!!!

Timbits

2009-02-07T20:15:00.000-08:00

I just read that a 56 year old woman has become the first person to swim across the Atlantic Ocean. Jesus. I'm happy if I make it to the mall. In a car.

*****

If I continually weep at the Biggest Loser, does that, ironically, make me the Biggest Loser? Seriously, this show is now on Season 6 and why have I never even once watched it before? I love it. I love the fact that even though it's ostensibly a competition where you are voted out by your fellow competitors it's not that irritating Survivor-type where deserving people go home right off the bat. Or maybe I just like to watch really, really large people run. Makes me feel better about myself.

*****

We had a family outing today. To the pawn shop. It's a really dingy little place, where you walk in to this tiny, foul smelling room that is essentially a cage and which makes Kieran cry. The sales people stand behind the bars and show you stuff that is apparently soooo valuable it must be separated from the patrons by Leavenworth-grade steel bars. We were there because Eric, last summer, while playing stupid baseball, got hit in the hand with a ball and had to remove his wedding ring just before he watched his finger swell up to 5 times its normal size. He says he thought he put the ring in the van for safekeeping but when he went to look for it later it was nowhere to be found. (I know, I know, likely story). Anyway, I had thought about replacing the ring for Christmas but decided to get him a computer keyboard stand instead. So, since obviously both of us have romance coursing through our veins we decided that we would check out this old neighbourhood pawn shop to see if we could get someone ELSE's ring. But there was nothing. Fingers crossed that more marriages break up so we can snag ourselves a good deal on used rings with bad karma.

****

I don't know what is going on with that baby of ours. For the past few nights she has been waking up at about 10ish and then again at about 1230 and screaming her head off inconsolably. Nothing will calm her down (bottle, soother, rocking chair, reruns of Lost, nothing. ) Last night was so bad she wound up sleeping in our bed for the first time in about six months. I slept fine with her there but Eric worries all night that he is going to crush her under his Hulk-like muscles so we'll see how tonight goes. So far its not good, but I made sure to guzzle some red wine early so with any luck I'll be able to sleep through her cries.

****

While eating his soup today and spilling some down his chin, Kieran mention again the apparent fact that he has a beak. He corrected himself, but I think it was half-hearted. I'm pretty sure he thinks he's a bird. But, I hope it's a cool bird like an eagle or a concord and not something wussy like a cockatoo.

And I Quote...

2009-02-02T20:07:00.000-08:00

Kieran was jumping around between the ottomans and the couch and (predictably) ended up whacking his face off something.He comes over to me, weeping and rubbing his nose.

Kieran: Mommy, I hurt my beak.

Me: What? Your beak? Do you mean your nose?

Kieran: No, my beak.

Me: You don't have a beak.

Kieran: I don't? Oh.

Goodbye January. I will not miss you.

2009-01-30T20:09:00.000-08:00

Maybe you have noticed from a total lack of blog updates that I have the January blahs. God, I'm tired of the stupid snow, the stupid cold and the stupid driving in the stupid cold and snow.

With my return to work looming ever closer on the horizon, I am starting to integrate the Papaya slowly into daycare. Every second week instead of Kieran going on Tuesday and Friday, they both go on Tuesday. Its nice to have one full day free of children, but on the other hand I still think its a waste of money to have her in daycare when I'm at home. I don't think I can stress enough that this child, who is almost 10 months old, is NO work. I swear, I could bring her to the office and plunk her beside my desk for 8 hours and she would be no trouble at all. Toss her a few Cheerios now and again and she's happy as a clam.

Kieran, also, is making great strides. He seems to be emerging from his terrible toddlerhood to becoming quite the little boy. I don't think I have blogged about it yet, but the child changes his own diapers. (Well, he changes from diapers to pull-ups and then stays in those all day...he can't actually get a diaper back on himself.) Sometimes he asks for help, but usually not. By extension, obviously, he should be toilet trained, but he has fluctuating interest in that department. And really, if you have a boy who changes himself, its almost like he IS potty trained.

His new found independence of course has a downside. Last week, he was changing his clothes 10 times a day. Every time I turned around, he was running off to his bedroom to find a new shirt or pants, strewing clothes all over his bedroom and filling his laundry basket to overflowing. This week, he has developed an irrational attachment to a Cars shirt my mom gave him and it took me two days to get it off him - including one night sleeping in it.

The biggest jump for Kieran though is that finally, FINALLY, I can take him shopping without it being a complete nightmare. From the day he was born Kieran has been terrible in stores. As an infant he could last 10 minutes before the uncontrollable wailing would start. I recall having a brief reprieve when he was around 8 months where he was relatively happy in his stroller but it was short-lived. Up until about 1 month ago he either wanted to walk (by which I mean run off to do his own thing) or be carried. He wouldn't sit in a stroller or a shopping cart and no amount of bribing, cajoling or tough love would make him do so. Now that the Papaya is big enough to sit in a shopping cart, he is happy to sit beside her. I swear its her Zen-like presence that settles him down. I may have to start referring to her as the Dalai Lama. (The Kaya Lam-a, perhaps?)

Speaking of children and shopping, I was trapped the other day at the grocery store, following the same shopping path as a father and his daughter. The little girl was somewhere between the ages of one and two. I first saw them in the bakery section and noticed him because he was holding out two loaves of bread and asking her which one she wanted. I thought it was a bid odd for a kid to have a bread brand preference but I came across them again a few aisles later and he was asking her to pick between two other items. She pointed at one and he put it in the cart, congratulating her on her great choice. Gag. Now, I'm all for empowering our kids, but really, Guy? How much power do want to your kid to have? Do you really want her feeling like the type of mustard you buy is her decision to make? And most of all, how much time do you have, because that is a painfully slow way to shop. I left him in the dust shortly after that but I presume he was going to be letting her pick all his groceries. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if they are still there, standing in front of the peanut butter while she contemplates the virtues of crunch v. smooth. Then again, who am I to talk....my kid was wearing the same shirt he slept in.

Who Wants Lunch?

2009-01-12T19:38:00.001-08:00

I was going to come and update this blog earlier tonight, but I got totally sucked into The Bachelor. I'm not sure why this always happens to me. I feel like I should be better than trashy TV, but apparently it's the complete opposite. I like to pretend that I stopped on the channel just to see what desperate crazies are vying for the Bachelor's attention this time but 10 minutes later I'm asking the PVR to record the rest of the season lest I miss a single dramatic moment.

Anyway, I hate winter and especially hate the fact that it keeps on snowing. But unless its actually snowing outside (when I'm more than happy to stay inside) I hate being stuck in the house, so I decided to take the kids over to the library/community centre today, which is usually about a five minute walk. So, I bundle the kids up, shake the snow off the stroller, load the baby in and make several runs back into the house for extra blankets, Kleenex and survival gear. We get 10 feet down the driveway and I immediately realize the colossal error I have made. The sidewalks, though plowed, are still snow covered and the stroller, apparently, does not roll on snow. A wiser woman would have returned to the house, but I had already invested a half hour in the whole bundling process, so I soldiered on. So, yes, I pushed and/or dragged the stroller, wheels locked, the entire way.

And if I didn't look silly enough on the way TO the library, the terrain so slippery that the stroller occasionally erratically veering of course and into a snowbank, I'm sure I looked even more ridiculous on the way home, after I had stopped at the grocery store and picked up a bunch of things. The store near me charges for bags, so I filled the stroller basket and then loaded the rest of my things into a cardboard box, which since Kieran was walking, I placed on his little bench at the back of the stroller. Well, no sooner are we back on the sidewalk when, naturally, he collapses in a heap of two-year-old randomness and refused to walk another step. I tried to force his bluff by walking away but when I looked back he was lying dramatically on the sidewalk 100 feet behind me and I knew he was not going to be cajoled into walking the entire way home, so I had to drag the laden stroller back to his rescue.

Anyway, Kieran wants to be carried, which is obviously not going to be possible without any traction on the stroller, so there I am on the sidewalk emptying out my cardboard box and trying to fit all my groceries into every nook and cranny on both the stroller and myself. By the time I was on the move again, I had vegetables stuffed down my jacket and in my pockets, chicken (regretfully on sale, so i was stocking up) overflowing the diaper bag and cartons of eggs, cheese strings and a two litre carton of juice piled ON TOP OF THE BABY, while I pushed the useless stroller the long way home, since, oh yeah, all my regular shortcuts have been plowed into oblivion.

The entire trip took us almost two hours. Luckily, Kieran was happy to settle in with Wall E while I unearthed the groceries from my pants. Best outing ever.

First Blog of the Year!

2009-01-06T17:54:00.001-08:00

I fear I have neglected this blog over the holidays because, well obviously, I HAVE neglected this blog. With the December craziness, followed by the Christmas and New Year's travelling and, best of all, a wee hard drive crash to start off 2009, it's been a bit hard to keep up.

I'll start with Christmas...which was wonderful. It's a refreshing change not have to think about work AT ALL over the holidays. Usually, thanks to the World Junior Hockey Championships which always start on Boxing Day, my Christmas is almost always tinged with cranky emails from Russian (or Swedish, or Finnish or Czech) broadcasters. Even if I chose to ignore the emails, it does not change the fact that the messages are there polluting my inbox and may or may not explode into TV armageddon like it did in 2004. But, although rife with drawbacks, maternity leave does at least give me my actual holidays back, which is quite nice.

We spent the holidays at the Galvin All-Inclusive Resort in picturesque North Andover Massachussets. It is truly a wonderful place, where meals are planned and often prepared in front of your very eyes using the finest ingredients. The resort is all-you-can-eat, open bar (with bartender). There is a pool table and hot tub. In the backyard is a large outdoor pool, which although seasonal, usually includes frozen margaritas poolside. With onsite babysitting, plenty of parking, and a tax-free Target nearby you cannot go wrong at this resort. If required, you can also request a crib and age appropriate child gear to be waiting and assembled for when you arrive. The resort keeps its own subscription to People magazine. And, perhaps best of all, there is also a fairy-being who lives in the house who will clean, do your laundry, change your child's diapers and sometimes even change your sheets ALL without being asked. All that is missing is a mint on the pillow and couples massage and, I'll bet if you asked nicely, you may get that.

Sadly vacation must end and we must return to the real world, which does not include anyone doing our laundry, but does include lugging all our stuff back into our wee bungalow in the suburbs. Our house, which is small at the best of times, is even smaller when we have a Christmas tree straddling our living room/dining room and a whole raft of new children's toys that must be put somewhere. But I think we did a pretty good job. The toys have all been tucked away and the kids are back in their respective rooms where, at least, they do not wake each other up. (A small, but important blessing).

Still, I'm sad the holidays are over. I would call 2008 a very good year - after all it did bring my beloved baby Papaya who is getting more adorable by the minute.

2009 will bring my return to work and with it, the added burden of two kids in daycare and all the rigamarole that goes with that (I'm dreading the thought of getting myself and two kids -three if you include Eric- up, fed and ready to leave the house.) Eric's band is doing extremely well and is steadily moving onto to bigger and better things, which means the pay is better (yay!), but I see him less (boo!). Still, I'm quite sure we will manage. Our lives may be a tad hectic, but it all seems to work out.

So, for the first blog of 2009...I'm feeling optimistic.

Cheers!

The Talker

2008-12-17T18:39:00.000-08:00

I'm expecting a very large Christmas gift this year from Rogers. (Rogers the company, no, not you random blog-reading guys named-Roger - although, feel free). We bundle all of our household media (cable, internet, home phone and Eric's cell phone) from these guys, so we always receive a nice hefty monthly bill from them...which I pay promptly because I want nothing, NOTHING to interfere with the enjoyment I get daily from my PVR.

But it's not the cable side who love us. It's the wireless. And you know why? Because my husband used over 1600 cell phone minutes last month. 1600. I will spare you from digging out your own calculator and tell you that is over 26 solid hours of air time.

Now, you may think about this ridiculous number and say...well, Naive Wife, surely he must be chatting up some yappy minx who-is-not-you, because that's a LOT of usage. But no...here is what makes this truly alarming...it's volume, plain and simple. Rarely, if ever are calls more than 5 minutes. Our bill last month came in a large 8x10 envelope - meaning, it was too thick to FOLD. Pages and pages of incoming and outgoing calls. And it's not even a work phone, at least in the 9-to-5 sense. No, I looked at the bill with what can only be described as shock and awe, and even knowing who most of the calls are to and from (bandmates, band agents, personal training clients, friends and me) it is still a sight to behold.

Now maybe it's just me. Maybe there are lots of people who regularly use this many minutes, and that fact that I even find this noteworthy enough to blog about says much more about me and my lameness than him. I mean, I had my own phone line in my bedroom in high school and I was on it all the time. I'm sure I talked more than 26 hours a month...but I was 16 and this was waaaaayyy before internet. (I pause here for a moment to imagine a chatroom scenario using our Commodore 64 - which surely would have entailed downloading a text message on cassette and then walking said cassette down the street to a friends house.)

Anyway, I have come to terms with the fact that my husband is neither a teenage girl nor, the other obvious option, a drug dealer (the first option is actually more likely than the second). No, its all legit. Crazy, but legit.

Still, you're welcome, Rogers. I am assuming that our thank you/Christmas gift is in the mail. I'm sure Eric would like a new iPhone, but I'm thinking maybe a new PVR? With three tuners and more recording hours? Thanks.

Timbits!

2008-12-15T12:59:00.001-08:00

Its been so long since I updated I almost forgot i even had a blog!

However, Kieran has just fallen asleep watching The Polar Express for the zillionth time, and Kaya is also napping, so I'll see what I can write before my unexpected break ends.

So, we are in full-on Christmas mode here. This year is the first that Kieran is able to grasp the whole Christmas concept. He loves Christmas movies and has, thankfully just moved away from requesting some cheap animated version of Babes in Toyland ad nauseum, to the MUCH more entertaining Polar Express. Or as he calls it "Po Pess", which, might I just say, took me FOREVER to translate to regular English. Especially since I actually 'misheard' it the first time as Bo Bess, which sounded suspiciously to me like an American Idol contestant and not at all like a magical steam train to the North Pole.

***

Speaking of movies, I caught the tail end of Erin Brockovich on TV last night. It's one of those movies, along with Shawshank Redemption, and My Cousin Vinny that I will watch every single time it comes on TV no matter what else is on or what else I should be doing. And while I was watching it, mad that I had missed the first hour and a half even though I've seen it 10 times, I realized how much I miss movies that have a great story. It could be that I've spent the last couple of years in toddler territory, but it seems to me more and more that we don't get movies with great stories any more. We get superheroes (sorry, Eric), special effects, crazy violence, or a relatively boring story with a twist ending, but very few fantastic stories. Shawshank Redemption, which I will easily rank as my favourite movie of all time, is one of those. I miss that.

***

How much soup is too much soup? I find it slightly alarming that Kieran is requesting soup for every single meal of every single day. Any soup will do, but mainly, the Italian Wedding Soup is the perennial favourite. It's quite tiresome actually. He was also on a salad tangent for quite awhile, prompting Eric to note that Kieran could live quite happily on the lunch special at East Side Mario's. This current eating trend is, at least, cheaper that the shrimp fixation of a few months ago.

Kaya on the other hand, is in love with (and I pause here while I gag for a moment)...beets. I loathe beets. To me, they smell like dirt. Sweet purple dirt. But Kaya, in surely what is going to be one of her many acts of youthful rebellion, loooves them. After a meal is done and her entire mouth is stained purplish red, she looks like a baby vampire just finishing a ritual sacrifice, which is creepy rather than cute.

***

And my break is up for now. Back to the real world where I am behind on my Christmas baking, wrapping, shopping, packing and cleaning. Apparently, I'm getting a Dyson handheld vacuum cleaner as a pre-Christmas gift this year. Eric had to tread lightly, as husbands must do, when bestowing cleaning appliances upon their wives at Christmastime, but I'm genuinely excited. You would be too if you had an 8-month old Cheerio flinging vampire-baby in your house.

Is it Hot in Here?

2008-11-28T17:53:00.000-08:00

As it turns out, its hard to blog from down here in Hell, where I've been all this week.

I won't bore anybody with the details of my early week, except to say that after 4 days of Kieran's high fevers, coughing fits not helped at all by his asthma medications, and a cough so horrible it could only be generated by the Sound Effects people at Paramount, we wound up with a diagnosis today of pneumonia.

Just great.

Of course, today, even before the Dr. called with the bad news from his chest X-Ray, Kieran was already better and was playing with his cars rather than lying semi-comatose on the couch, only answering questions with blinks and sideways glances as he had been since Monday.

Now, I may not have pneumonia myself, but I will apparently never miss an opportunity to elbow my own way into an illness. If there is something going around, I just need to get it for myself, so naturally I'm sick as well. As is Kaya, although even sickness does not dampen her easygoing personality. She will sit happily on the floor, fever raging and in a pool of snot, quietly trying to cram a block into her mouth and smiling when you talk to her.

But this morning was bad. After I sadly made my phone call to his babysitter to say that Kieran would be missing yet another day, Eric took pity on me and told me that he was still owed a half day at the office and could easily take the afternoon off, thus giving me a break to get outside the house and away from sick children. So, I whiled away the morning just doing laundry and waiting until he got home so I could take a leisurely shower instead of one where I had to keep one ear outside the curtain lest I missed the sound of one of the children coughing themselves into fatal asphyxiation.

Around lunchtime, Kieran's doctor calls to tell me about the pneumonia. Yay. And a little while after that, Eric finally calls to say that he was just about the leave, but the battery on his key fob is dead and he only has a key to start the car, not the one that manually unlocks the doors. I have that key in my purse, of course.

He went to the Toyota Dealership next door and they did have a new key battery, but it still didn't work. So, seeing my leisurely shower and childless afternoon getaway slipping away, I load up the two kids, both sick, into the van to drive downtown. Eric isn't waiting at the front door of his office when I get there and, as usual my cell phone is dead and I can't call him. So I drive to the back parking lot and unlock the door of his car manually, noting that my key fob ALSO is not working. This, as it turns out, is rather an important piece of information, but since I know virtually nothing about cars, I didn't think about it.

I drive back around front where Eric is now waiting, drop him back off at his car and give him all my Nissan keys. Since I'm feeling tired and sick myself, not to mention guilty about dragging two sick babies downtown, I drove off. About 20 minutes into the drive, I start having this weird feeling...like I should have waited to make sure that Eric's car started.

Turns out, it didn't start. The battery was quite dead. He realized this seconds after I left the parking lot and had no way to get stop me. I come home to a series of messages, starting with the rant about me never having a charged cell phone and getting more frustrated as the messages went on. As it turns out, a co-worker gave him a boost and the car was humming merrily, but somehow during this time, all the doors had wound up being shut and automatically locked. With BOTH sets of our car keys now inside and Eric outside in the freezing cold and me back home.

By the time I called him back, another co-worker had called CAA for him and he was now just waiting for them to come open his door.

While listening to these messages, I'm also getting the kids out of their winter gear. Kieran was definitely feeling better, which was good considering I hadn't even picked up his antibiotics from the pharmacy yet. But as I was taking off Kaya's hat, I took a good look at her. She'd been a bit sick since Wednesday but, unlike Kieran's, her fever though consistent had been quite low. And the night before she had started the same alarmingly horrible cough that Kieran had. But she had never never seemed as sick as Kieran had so I didn't really pay much attention. But looking at her then, I just knew that something was very wrong. She was boiling hot, her eyes were all glazed and watery and she just looked generally awful. She had barely eaten all day and I tried to give her a bottle, but she just wasn't interested.

I called the doctor's office, which by this time, was only open for another hour, and they told me to come right in, so I pack both kids back into their winter gear and the car and off we go. When the Dr. saw us sitting her in examination room, she gave me a look that clearly meant "oh my god, here's a panicking mother who doesn't even realize that pneumonia isn't contagious" but after she listened to Kaya's man-sized cough, raspy lungs and wheezy breathing, and heard about her low but prolonged fever, we had our second pneumonia diagnosis of the day. And now I have two children with asthma puffers and breathing masks and a fireplace mantle lined with pharmaceuticals.

Black Friday, indeed.

What Would Jesus Do?

2008-11-20T20:25:00.000-08:00

You know how when you hear about some horrible domestic incident on the news and there are always friends, neighbours, teachers who report after the fact that they saw the warning signs and yet did nothing? I've always hoped that I would be one of the people who WOULD do something. Say, if I heard screaming coming from a house or something that I would call 911 rather than just keep walking and assume it's none of my business.

Sometimes though it's not so simple.

I have blogged about our neighbours before. We have the cranky old people beside us: some less cranky old people across from us: and the family next door consisting of a mousy wife, two young daughters and the weird -overly-chatty husband who can have the same conversation with me once a week and never seem to remember. Despite the rampant neighbourhood gossip about this man being a raging drunk and having fights with all the neighbours, we've actually never once seen anything totally out of the ordinary. In fact, it sounded like in the years before we arrived our little street was a regular Knots Landing (I'd say Melrose Place, but that would imply that my neighbours had either looks or money, and alas, neither is the case). Apparently there was lots of fighting and drama all over the place. Now its just sort of dull. I think the people who we bought the house from were a huge part of the drama and when they moved things seemed to have settled down.

Periodically though, this seemingly nice but odd family next door have crazy arguments. I once heard the father and his preteen daughter having a screaming fight over Elton John. (The daughter thought, predictably, that Sir Elton was lame). What struck me about the argument was that there was no air of "jest" about it. There was fury on both sides and it seemed so silly. Then about a year ago, one of Eric's clients came to our front door reporting that our neighbours were, as she put it,"having a domestic." Anyway, I just sort of decided that they are a hot tempered family because this will happen and the next day it all seems fine and they are off camping for the weekend or asking us to sign their passports so they can go to Disney World.

Then a few weeks ago, I was woken up from a dead sleep at about 1:30 by what sounded like a group of teenagers on the street. It was a Tuesday and Eric was at a band practice and I hadn't heard him come home yet, which was odd because 1:30 would be late for him on just a practice night. The voices were not going away and as I sat up in bed I realized that a fight was going on outside. I also realized that Eric WAS home and with him was their new lead singer, Erin. Erin was trying to leave but, as it turns out our neighbours were having a crazy huge fight in their driveway and she was sort of afraid to go outside. Eventually, as it became clear that the fight was not going to end, she left and as the door opened I could hear the yelling as if it was on our doorstep. The wife was screaming something about how "he always does this when she has to get up in the morning." Anyway, I guess they were NOT expecting to see anyone leaving our house because as soon as they saw Erin they shut up and I'm hoping were sufficiently embarrassed and went back inside. Again, the next day, all is well.

Then last night, something really bizarre happened. It was about 9 pm, and coincidentally Erin is just arriving at our house again. We'd had a snowstorm and the roads were bad so Erin's husband had called to make sure she had arrived, as she doesn't have a cell phone. So, when Eric saw her car pull up he went outside to give her his phone. And the neighbours are at it again. This time, while Eric was outside, the wife came running out of the house screaming: "Help Me! Help Me!" but then ran back inside and then about a minute later, came out again screaming "Help Me! Help Me!", then the daughter (who's about 14)came outside and seemed really embarrassed and got the mother back in the house and I think that was the end of it.

I was thinking about calling 911, but didn't. I think if Eric hadn't seen the daughter come to the door, perfectly fine, I might have. Because really if I ran out the house screaming for help, I'd like to think that someone would actually HELP. But something about the situation seemed more "crazy" than "emergency". .

Still...all day, I've felt guilty. What if there is something really bad going on? What if one morning I wake up not to an argument, but an ambulance? Last night, it felt like calling 911 would be a big deal. Eric seemed to think the wife was drunk. But still, something obviously isn't right over across that fence. I'm sort of worried that they have crossed a line from harmless and, dare I say, even a bit funny, to something that I need to start worrying about.

Anyway, I think next time (and something tells me there WILL be a next time) I will call the police. When it comes right down to it , there are worse things than embarrassment.

Everybody Out of the Pool!!

2008-11-13T19:06:00.000-08:00

Just in case you thought you had read the last breastfeeding blog from me, be warned, here comes another. But, don't worry, it doesn't involve me...just my ever-present opinions.

There was a news story in the Toronto Star yesterday about a woman who was asked leave a public pool because she was breastfeeding. This woman is asking the Ontario Human Rights Tribunal to look into it, and on the surface I would think...rightfully so. Right now, there is a huge "Anytime, Anywhere" breastfeeding campaign going in this region and surely this is exactly what they mean.

Really?

Here's the story: the woman was in the pool talking to a group of friends when her 20-month-old daughter started to get fussy, so she moved to the steps of the pool to breastfeed her daughter there. The female (and coincidentally pregnant) owner of the pool, asked the woman if she would mind moving to the change room or the viewing area where she might be "more comfortable". And thus begins yet another war....

Now, legality aside, there are some key words above that make me pause. Those words are public pool; 20-month-old; steps.

Come ON.

First of all, why would anyone, legally able or not, WANT to feed her baby (ahem, toddler) in a public pool that probably has seen more pee than a Yonge St parking garage stairwell? Mix that pee (and God knows what else) with pool chemicals and that DOES sound like a nutritious, tasty meal. It reminds me of the time we dropped Kieran's soother on the floor of The Brick. I WANTED to give it to him so we could continue shopping in peace, but didn't because that would have been gross. Perhaps if I had scraped my boob across the floor and fed him in the doorway that would have been more acceptable?

Secondly, was the 20-month-old THAT hungry that she could not wait to be removed from the pool? She's not exactly a newborn, nor even a baby. Not to criticize her parenting...well, YES, I'm going to criticize her parenting! How about telling the girl, "not right now, Mommy is in the pool talking to her friends?"

And finally, the pool STEPS. Convenient for you perhaps, but for the other pool users, perhaps not so much.

This mother said she felt ashamed and embarrassed to be singled-out and asked to leave, but I can tell you right now, that although I support breastfeeding 100 per cent, I think this woman is an oddball.

Normally, because I was far too cowardly to even think about public breastfeeding, I consider those who do as brave. In a bathing suit it would border on heroic since there is no scenario I can imagine where this can be done discreetly. (Which, by the by, I'm sure is a main part of the reason why the woman was asked to leave and the ick-factor just a lucky defense.)

There are of course, people who feel quite strongly on both sides of the issue. Lots of supporters are saying things like "this never would have happened if she was bottle-feeding." Well, probably not, because unless she had the bottle hidden up her tankini, she would have had to leave the pool to go get it and I would HOPE would not go back to the pool steps to bottle feed her child.

No, in my oh-so-humble opinion, human rights violation or not, it just seems like outright self-centredness on the mother's part. Surely the only person benefitting from the "pool steps breastfeed" was the woman herself...after all, she didn't have to cut the conversation with her friends short to deal with her child. It was not to the benefit of the daughter, who probably has been fed in warmer, cleaner and more comfortable places in her day. Obviously, the pool owner is not benefitting...her pool is now the site of pro-breastfeeding demonstrations.

I would even be surprised if the greater good, which is to say, the generalized acceptance of public breastfeeding, will be served. I'm sure advocates would be happier if the woman championing their cause was a teensy bit wiser but then again, they probably don't care since any publicity is good publicity.

Anytime, anywhere, indeed. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to feed Kieran his lunch. In a rest stop bathroom. On the floor. Its legal. And delicious.

They're not Just For Breakfast Anymore....

2008-11-12T12:11:00.000-08:00

So..how long does it take to boil an egg? I think it's something like 3-5 minutes for soft boiled and 10-15 for hard boiled. But, here's a trick question. How long does it take to boil an egg until it explodes into a billion hard-boiled smithereens?

That would be an hour and a half.

I went out last night with the girls for dinner and some serious girl talk, which we haven't done in ages. I got home probably about 12:30 or so and was immediately struck by this horrible smell in the house. I tentatively walked into the kitchen and at first everything looked sort of okay, but also sort of off....then, as I looked closer, I see small unidentifiable yellows bits all over everything. The stove, the floor, the counter, the ceiling - basically from one end of the kitchen to the other and (as I found today) even into the living room.. It wasn't until I looked in the sink and saw the burned carcass of a pot with charred black bits all over it that I started to figure out what might be happened. There had obviously been some kitchen catastrophe of which Eric had attempted to clear away, albeit half-heartedly.

To answer the next obvious questions of what, how and why, I needed to locate my husband who was lurking downstairs on this computer, and looking quite sheepish when I walked in. Yes, he put on eggs to boil for his next morning's breakfast and then went to put Kieran to bed, fell asleep himself and woke up an hour and half later to the sound of eggs exploding like firecrackers all over the house. Trust me, I'm not sure what was worse... the smell of burned eggs or the process of chipping burned yolk of the ceiling.

Breakfast is ready!

Genny on the Town

2008-11-07T19:14:00.000-08:00

Eric's band has yet another new female lead singer. I believe this is #5 in the past 18 months. The singers have all been varying degrees of good with flashes of great, but it has taken them a long time to find just the right fit...and I'm thinking, fingers crossed, that this one is keeper. Not just because she's really good (probably the best yet), but also because I cannot take the eternal drama of them finding a new female lead, rehearsing endlessly and then her ultimately leaving/being asked to leave. Drama, I tell you and quite exhausting.

Anyway, Eric suggested that last Saturday might be a good day to go see them since they were playing at relatively popular bar downtown. Now that the band is doing very well, they are playing at bars that people actually go to. This is a big change from the early days when me and my drunk friends might be the only patrons at some boring pub. But I thought it was a great idea - he has been playing so often that I have more or less forgotten that I used to make an effort to attend most of his gigs.

It was going to be my first night away from the Papaya since she was born. Almost seven months. Still, I was more than ready, so I imposed on the goodwill of my brother and sister-in-law for the second night in a row (Halloween being the night before) and arranged to have the kids stay over there overnight.

So, off we went. The bar, which I had been to before, has a real reputation of being a cougar bar and I remembered being shocked at exactly how many older ladies were there. What was even more shocking was that those exact same older ladies are apparently STILL going. It was a crazy mix of young and old. Like a tacky wedding with a good band. And, without a word of a lie there were two ladies, who were clearly pushing 70, all dolled up and rocking out the dance floor. In true Grandma-fashion they were even holding their ears because the band was "too loud." I had our camera and spent an inordinate amount of time trying take their picture. I took shot after shot of them while pretending to take shots of the band. (Later, my curiosity getting the better of me, I engaged one of them in conversation for awhile...apparently, while I sit at home watching reruns of "What Not to Wear" they hit that bar every single Saturday night.)

I just kept taking pictures. I got tons of photos of the band and my friends and even had a new one picked out as my new Facebook profile picture. At one point, alcohol interfering in my iffy ability to work the camera to begin with, I ended up on video mode and so I went ahead and videoed a few songs, which caused me to run out of room on the memory card. I put the camera away, but then, some young guy started to actively hit on one of old ladies! It was a golden moment and I felt I needed to get a picture, so I went ahead and deleted a bunch of stuff I had shot earlier and then started to take more pictures of what was happening on the dance floor which, the time at least, I considered to be real hilarity. Alas, the last pictures of the night were clearly those taken by a drunk person of drunk people. All off centre, blurry, stupid. But I was happy and figured that out of the dozens of pictures I took - at least earlier in the night - SOME had to be good.

So, the next day as I languished on the couch feeling decidedly ill and postponing the pickup of my little darlings, Eric took a moment to download the pictures I had taken.

Except they were All Gone. All that was left was the horrible 20 or so that I had taken just before last call when nobody should be either driving nor operating a camera. I vaguely remember the camera asking me to confirm that I wanted to delete photos on a screen that was unfamiliar to me, but those pints of Creemore did not allow me to stop and think for a moment. So we lost it all. Not just that night either. It was goodbye to all the Halloween pictures, and everything from several months before that, which I am choosing to NOT think about. (Sure I can put the kids back in their Ladybug and Cow costumes...but I would always know it was staged and the true moment lost.)

Still, all in all, it was a good night, but I'm still mad. All I have left is the memories of two old ladies in their pearls and heels, dancing to "I Kissed a Girl" and "500 Miles". And tomorrow night, as I watch Stacey and Clinton mock yet another unfortunate slob in their cruel three way mirror, I will think of them and shed a tear.

Halloweenies

2008-10-31T18:56:00.000-07:00

I always thought there were two types of people in the world...crazy Halloween people and, well, everybody else. I'm pretty sure we all know a crazy Halloweenie...someone who lists the day as their favourite holiday and starts planning next costume in early summer.

I am not one of those people.

After my trick or treating days were done, and Halloween became a day to only dress up for zero reward, what was a mild dislike of the holiday, morphed over time into a full blown loathing. It became, along with New Years Eve, what I call, a "high pressure holiday". I always felt like I needed a really cool costume but it took me forever to come up with the idea. All through high school and university there were always Halloween functions so every year I would wait until the last minute and then come up with an idea that required a lot of work - face paint, hair colour, the works. For example, I would be a "bag of garbage" - filled a garbage bag full of balls of newspapers and covered my face in dirt. I have always be willing to look like an idiot on Halloween.

But then one year about 7 or 8 years ago, I went to a Halloween house party and I knew I was done with the day for good.

I had decided to go to this party as a "person falling out of a building". This required making my hair stand upright, and inserting a lot of coat hangers into my clothes to make them appear windblown. Like I said, a lot of work. So, with my hair full of about nine cans of hairspray and coat hangers hand-sewn into the seams of my shirt so it stood upright above my head (and when someone asked what I was, I told them I was falling from a building, put my hands up in the air and screamed "AAAAHHHH!") I walked into the party and looked around and realized just what I hated about Halloween...it's that nobody else seems to put in much effort or is willing to look silly for the night. You have your prom queens, your Elviras, your brides, your princesses (which is wearing your prom dress with a tiara)... basically people just taking their fancy dresses out of the closet and making themselves pretty for the night. And there I am having taken hours hand sewing coat hangers through the seams of my shirt while some girl takes her black witch robe and hat out of its cellophane wrapper and is done. (Don't get me started on the guys..mechanics, doctors, farmers. The occasional pimp. All boring.)

Shortly after this party debacle, the day slid even lower as "pretty costumes" have now officially been replaced by "slutty costumes'. This year, I knew the "sexy" transition is 100 per cent complete when my niece told me that at a Halloween store there was a costume that was a"slutty nun." Please, I'm OK with the sexy barmaid, the sexy nurse and even the sexy cat, but can't our friggin' NUNS be left alone?

Anyway, having sworn off dressing up, I turned my attention to handing out candy. No dressing up required. The first year I did this I lived in a ground floor apartment right downtown with my sister and I told her that I wanted to hand out candy. She had lived in the apartment longer than I and warned me that they got a LOT of kids, so I bought probably about 20 bags of candy. She was right about it being crazy... I got home from work at 5:30 and there were hundreds (and hundreds) of kids swarming the neighbourhood. By six I was giving kids one tiny pack of Chiclets each and I was out of candy by 6:15. (That was also the year that at about 9:30 the doorbell rang and some man in his forties was standing on our doorstep holding a shopping bag in one hand and a cigarette in another and asking if we had any candy left. Creepy.)

Now with the arrival of children the day has become more enjoyable again. Since Eric's band was playing and he wasn't around we turned off our own lights and went to my brothers house. Kieran (dressed as a cow) had a ball trick or treating with his two cousins....even though he ran out of steam after about 25 houses and had to be carried to the next 25. (At least he's a small cow).

So, assuming Kieran doesn't need to be carried every year, there may be hope for the day. One year we may even go so far as to decorate our house up all Halloween-y and play scary music at the doorstep.

However, rest assured, I will never, EVER dress up as a slutty nun.

You're a Serial Killer, Charlie Brown

2008-10-28T20:02:00.000-07:00

That old classic "It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown" was on TV tonight and I thought it might be fun to introduce Kieran to some of the stuff I watched when I was little. Thankfully, time and progress haven't rendered it completely unwatchable like say, Mr Rogers Neighbourhood, which I notice is being replayed on PBS and is the Most. Outdated. Program. Ever.

I was immediately struck by how different these old cartoons are from the pablum that kids are fed today. Kids shows today are all either about love, caring and sharing or they are relentlessly educational. And, really, after a character asks a question, do they have to pause for 3-5 seconds for kids at home to yell out the answers, every single bloody time? (I'm talking to you Dora).

But, back to Peanuts... I'd forgotten how cruel those kids are. Funny, but cruel. Seriously, poor Charlie Brown gets a Halloween Party invite and is immediately told by some bitchy girl that it was be a mistake and that he was on the list of kids that weren't supposed to be invited. And it's downhill from there. He's then the loser that opens himself up to further ridicule by cutting a million eye-holes in his ghost sheet and is the kid that gets only rocks while trick or treating.

This leads me to wonder...we all know that Charlie Brown never, ever catches a break, but that must have taken its toll over time. How much rejection and negativity can a little kid take before he's putting Snoopy in the microwave and learning how to make bombs off the internet? Perhaps next we'll see him being followed around by an A&E camera crew as they chronicle his downward spiral into a world of drugs and prostitution?

All I know is that we haven't seen the last of Charlie Brown and if I was Lucy Van Pelt, well...I'd be practicing my psychiatry under an assumed name.

See you at Christmas, Charlie Brown. Stay Strong. (But if you cannot fight your urge to kill...I'm going to give you Caillou's address. Can't stand that kid.)

Thanks for Calling

2008-10-25T20:13:00.001-07:00

So, the phone rang the other day, one of the dozens of telemarketing calls that I field on a daily basis. This time, it was someone asking for 30 seconds of my time to do a survey on water usage. Seemed innocuous enough, so I answered a couple of questions regarding my use of tap water vs bottled water and then forgot about it.

A few days later, the phone rang again, and after I answered, I rolled my eyes because I should have known. It was the water survey people again, this time saying that due to my participation in their survey I had been especially selected to receive a free Shoppers Drug Mart Gift Card, all I had to do is have someone come to the house to perform a simple water quality test.

I should have hung up right away, but, although I'm pretty good at cutting off telemarketers I ended up listening to the girl, mainly because I sort of wanted that gift card. But, unless you do actually hang up on them, it's easy to get trapped. So, of course, I wound up with an appointment to have someone come to the house to test our water, even though I know all they want is to sell me some sort of filtration system.

What was irritating me however was the fact that they kept stressing that my husband needed to be present for the appointment. I knew that when I made the appointment that he wasn't going to be home, but since I had zero intention of buying anything, I figured I'd let them tell me how bad our water was and then get the gift card.

About five minutes after I hung up with the girl, the phone rang again, this time it's the "supervisor" just re-confirming the appointment. By this time, I knew I'd made a mistake and was going to be in for the hard sell. Anyhow, the supervisor stressed again that my husband needed to be home. It seemed painfully clear to me that they need the husband to be home because their systems are so atrociously expensive that wives use the old "I'll need to clear this with my husband" schtick to get rid of the sales guy (otherwise known as the "water tester").

Seeing my easy out, I said that, in fact, my husband was NOT going to be home at that time after all. The woman paused and then said that they were going to have to cancel the appointment. (Cue my sigh of relief). But the woman went on to say that they don't allow their testers to come when the husband isn't home because "its unsafe for the woman." And that to protect all parties they prefer not to leave their male technicians alone with female homeowners.

So, hold the phone here, sister.

What exactly are you trying to say? Are you telling me that your technicians are a bunch of lecherous perverts who've been known to assault or harass unsuspecting stay-at-home moms? Or are you insinuating that your innocent technicians are mere prey to us wily stay-at-home-minxes? And furthermore, does Rogers know this? I wonder, because they have never requested a man be present when they come to install cable.

Thanks for worrying about our collective safety water people, but I'm calling you out on this one. Don't try to pretend that you are concerned about my safety because I don't actually believe it. Granted, I would rather NOT be at home alone with any of your apparently creepy technicians but now that you've mentioned that I need to be worried about my safety, I'm even less likely to have you come over to perform your little water test. And also, what if I didn't have a husband? What if I was single or divorced? Does that mean that I can never know if my water is poisoning me?

So, obviously, I am ignoring any further calls from my "friends" all Lifetime Water and I have since registered into the "Do Not Call" database. It's for my own safety.

Babies. Election. Satan. Not necessarily in that order.

2008-10-18T18:53:00.000-07:00

So, for the first time since the Papaya was born 6 months ago, I had a baby (and toddler) free day yesterday. Almost 8 hours of pure selfishness...and you know what? Nice as it was, I'm not sure it was worth the $30 I paid in extra daycare costs.

Not that there was anything wrong with the day itself, but the reality is...Kaya is just zero trouble. Seriously. This child just goes with the flow. Happy. Kicks her legs in unbridled joy when she realizes that you are about to pick her up. She has suffered teething and a really nasty cold with no personality change. Unless you wipe her nose, in which case, she screams and thrashes like Satan being burned with holy water.

What made me realize that I had wasted my money was when I went to pick the kids up from daycare and the sitter tells me that Kaya is the "best baby she's ever had." (Guess they didn't go after her with a Kleenex). I wasn't surprised but my second thought was...why did I bother? I realized that although I can move a lot quicker when I'm not lugging an almost 16-pounder in an infant carrier everywhere, it's not a big deal.

On a related note: we may have to tone down the use of the nickname "Papaya" since she is clearly beginning to think that is her name. Not sure I can stop now though.

****

We had a lovely Thanksgiving weekend. Spent in the leafy utopia of North Andover, Massachusetts, where of course it was NOT Thanksgiving, but Columbus Day. I'm sure my brother and his family are among the few in the town who mark the Columbus Day weekend with turkey and wine. OK, maybe just the turkey. I suspect there are many people who spend the day guzzling wine. How could they not when confronted by the endless, hate-filled, drawn-out, country-dividing spectacle that is the American Election. Whatever the outcome, the end cannot come soon enough. The only thing I'll miss about the election being over is Tina Fey as Sarah Palin. (Its funny cause its TRUE.)

What a complete contrast to the speedy snoozefest that was the Canadian election. which was a face off between two of the LEAST interesting candidates in the entire history of mankind (let alone Canadian politics). And, of course, we ended with the same result we had going in. Thanks for wasting our time and money Harper, you dead-eyed fool.

***

For the Love of Little Girls

2008-10-08T07:39:00.000-07:00

I was at Toys R Us yesterday. I was meeting a friend for coffee and was early so I wandered around the store to see what I could buy. It's funny with the second baby...you realize just how little you actually NEED. Not just because you already have everything, which you do, but because you realize how quickly the stuff you do buy gets relegated to the closet or the storeroom.

Which is why, while standing in line to purchase a $15 tray in order to extend the life of Kaya's Bumbo, I was behind a family with a loaded cart full of unnecessary items. The Deluxe Baby Bath Spa and Shower was one of them. So was the Video Baby Monitor and a $90 diaper pail. If I had been standing behind these people when Kieran was a newborn I may have been jealous, but this time I just thought they were suckers.

Having said that I must make a small confession. I have bought almost NOTHING for our daughter. Ninety-nine percent of her clothes are either hand-me-downs or gifts. Basically, all I have bought for this child is diapers and formula. I have even been making my own baby food this time (a lot of it is peaches.) However a few weeks ago I saw the 1-2-3 Tea for Me Exersaucer. All of a sudden I felt really sorry for this little girl who sleeps on football sheets and uses toy cars as teethers. I wasn't being frugal... I was being cruel!! So, after thinking about it for a few days, Eric told me to just go buy it already. So, I did. And she loves it. And its pink. With a musical teapot and a little purse with fake/chewable money and a layer cake. So, I guess maybe I'm a sucker after all.

One other item that Kaya has which Kieran didn't was a Christening gift from a friend of mine called the "Dream Screen." It's a little video player that attaches to the side of the crib and when the baby pulls a little bug it starts playing music along with a mesmerizing video. I usually put this on for her during the day as entertainment rather than at night because it seems a bit loud and bright for nighttime. Although, the other night, she woke up and was inexplicably fussy so I turned it on for her and left the room. I came back a few minutes later to check on her and was slightly alarmed. In a dark room, the Dream Screen casts the exact same blue glow as a television. I half expected to look into the crib and see Kaya passed out in a bowl of Mr Noodles and the screen scene changed from a computerized nature scroll to a Singles Phone Chat Infomerical. She's going to be ALL SET for the University years.

You Tell Him Kieran

2008-10-07T12:01:00.000-07:00

Let's cut to the chase. Where have I been? In short, my two year old stopped napping (sniff, sniff).

I had really hoped that he would hold out until closer to three, but here we are barely past two and the naps are history. Or at least, the predictable naps are history. If I'm incredibly unlucky he will fall asleep while I'm making dinner or in the car and then, in addition to no nap, he'll be up until 10. That's a LOT of two year old.

Consequently, he's become quite attached to me. He's disdainful of just about everyone else, turning his head angrily away if someone else so much as speaks to him. Sometimes this even includes his father.

Yesterday, Eric and I were discussing me finding time to take another cake decorating class. The conversation goes like this:

Gen: I'm thinking of taking another class.

Eric: You should. Just do it.

Gen (voice rising in exasperation): I WOULD but your stupid schedule doesn't give me any free day.

Eric (voice rising in return exasperation): Well, just pick a day and TELL me and I'll clear.....

Before he can finish, Kieran comes flying out of absolutely nowhere and puts himself between me and Eric. He turns to his father and starts wagging his finger at him. "DO NOT YELL AT MOMMY."

HAHAHAHAHAHA.

Just Peachy

2008-09-19T18:51:00.001-07:00

After a flurry of blogging the past few weeks, I see it all came to a crashing halt. It's been a boring type of busy lately.

Last week, much of my free time was spent getting ready for the baby's christening, cleaning, shopping, cake making blahblahblah. The day went very well, thank you for asking. Except of course that it was the one day all month where the Humidex goes to nuts and we had to keep cranking the AC up lest the guests melt into a puddle round the shrimp ring.

The rest of the time I have been drowning under a mountain of...peaches. Peaches. Hundreds of peaches.

A friend of mine has a 4 peach trees in her backyard, and this year, for whatever reason (most likely the copious rain) they have produced ridiculous amounts of fruit. I think she has peaches numbering in the thousands. So last week, I went to her house and we picked peaches (me off the tree, Kieran off the ground), brought them home and I went to work freezing, baking and pureeing them into baby food. I used them all up and was patting myself on the back for being both thrifty and domestic-goddess like.

Then earlier this week,since we hadn't had any for several days, Kieran started to ask for peaches so I went out a bought a big basket. The next day, the peach-friend calls to beg me to come back and take more. So, reluctantly I go to her house and lined up in her entryway are three overflowing bags of peaches. I pray she isn't expecting me to take all of them, but she was. I lug them home and drop them on our doorstep and today figured I had to start doing something with them. It wasn't the warm and fuzzy (pun intended) domestic experience of last week. This week the peaches are on their last legs...huge rotting spots on many of them, and covered in 8 trillion fruit flies. Sometimes I would reach into the bag and my hand would just hit mush. I'm pretty sure they were actually rotting in front of my eyes as I was sorting through them. But, I went back to work, finding all the good ones and pureeing MORE baby food (poor Kaya is going to have peaches every day until she's 2), freezing more bags for protein shakes and future crisps and smoothies and then even made a cobbler for dinner. After what felt like hours, I gave up and took about 40 out the green bin and dumped them in. Then I turned around to see that i still have a full bag remaining...not to mention the basket that I bought a few days ago. Uncle.

And this weekend...we are picking apples. Luckily, I loathe cooked apples - no pie crust or cobbler topping can distract me from my hatred, so no baking frenzy will take place. Selfish I know, however, the fruit flies will have a new place to call home.

Tidbits...or Timbits. Mmmm Timbits

2008-09-09T18:15:00.000-07:00

So, I read somewhere that if you haven't lost the baby weight by 6 months you never will. I need to know what they mean by "never". Is that statistically never or empirically never? No matter. I still have five weeks.

Lance Armstrong is planning a comeback to racing. Please. Can't anyone stay retired any more? Next thing you know my Dad will come out of retirement to go back to teaching. It's all so predictable. Besides, what does he (Lance, not my dad) want to prove? That he's found yet some new way to escape steroid detection? Call me cynical and jaded. Call me irresponsible, but I for one do not believe that man won 6 (or was it 7) Tours de France (Tour de Frances?) completely clean. Can't he just stick to dating starlets?

The baby slept for 12 hours solid last night. Seven-thirty to seven-thirty and not a single peep in between. I fully expect three wise men show up at our door bearing gifts for the new messiah. Which will be nice...I'll finally find out what the hell myrrh is.

Eric bought a couple of Scratch and Win tickets the other night. My ticket (boringly) consisted of scratching four symbols and then winning the corresponding prize at the end of the line. On my second line I won $50. Whoo Hoo! Then I won $5... whoo hoo. Then I won $20....then I read the rules. Apparently I needed to have 4 matching symbols, not three like I thought. I continued to scratch the ticket and by their rules I won nothing. By MY rules I won $100,175.

We went last week to update our Health Cards. Since Eric had to replace his anyway (his wallet still MIA) and since mine is one of the old, raggedy Red and White jobbies, we all went. It was the usual rush of getting two kids out the door for an undetermined length of time, so I was a bit frazzled when we finally hit the road. We finally got to the right place and had just settled in waiting for our number to be called.
Me: "Thank God we don't have to get our picture taken. I totally forgot to brush my hair."
Awkward Pause as I look around the room and see cameras flashing all over the place.
Me: "Ohhhhh."
Eric: "How did you not know this?"
Me: "The kids cards don't have pictures..."
Eric: "You're an idiot."
An idiot, with frizzy unbrushed hair and an official document to prove it.

We went to watch Eric's playoff baseball game on Sunday night. I was not-so-secretly-hoping his team would lose, so he would have Sunday night's free again. Watching baseball with babies is scary. I kept having visions of foul balls smashing into soft baby skulls. (See? Scary thought, right?) We didn't stay long. And they lost, so our work was done anyway.

I'm waiting anxiously for the Fall TV season to start. I actually watched The Hills for the first time ever last week. Is that show supposed to be real? I'm not sure what the hell is going on, but everyone on it is a complete tool. I followed that up with a little 90210 which is Lance Jonesing itself back onto our lives. It's the same stupid show as 15 years ago, only this time there's a black kid. Yawn.

Water Wars

2008-09-05T06:12:00.000-07:00

Sadly, I have no new Internet rumours to report today. This saddens me as my life, as you will see from the next entry, is quite dull otherwise.

I know I have mentioned past run-ins with the neighbours on both sides. The old people who get all bent out of shape about Eric's clients parking on the street are a total write off. But the younger people on the other side are OKish. Or, the wife and kids are OK. The husband though is creepy. For a few months he forgot my name and was calling me "Jezebel". How brutal is that? We know he's a drinker, but I'm never sure if he's also sort of stupid because he asks me the same questions every time we have a conversation.

Anyway, he is currently refilling his pool after having the liner repaired and he asked Eric yesterday afternoon, just as we were heading out for a few hours, if he could borrow our hose. Eric said OK. Obviously, we are totally naive because we didn't think anything of it until we come home and see that he's borrowing our hose all right....still hooked up to our water. So, at about 10 pm last night the water was still running so we figured enough is enough and turned it off. Literally seconds later, the guy is banging at our door explaining to Eric that he'll pay us blahblahblah, so the water got turned back on.

This morning at 7, I get up and I can STILL hear the water running so I go outside to turn it off. I'm just coming back into the house and there he is over the fence. "Oh, sorry about the hose, Jezebel." What? Is this guy standing over the hose all night? Does an alarm sound inside his house if our hose stops? I was out there for five seconds! Anyway, I told him I was turning it off, but he said he would give us $100 and then give us more if our water bill was crazy. It still pisses me off though. I'm not sure if I'm being unreasonable and un-neighbourly, but his pool takes 20,000 litres of water! Why do we have to be responsible for half of it?

It's better when your neighbours are NOT talking to you I think.

Politically Incorrect

2008-09-02T09:30:00.001-07:00

I'm not so much into politics, American or Canadian. I like to know a little bit about most issues so I can get by at a dinner party and vote with a clear conscience. Of course, if there is something that particularly interests me, I'll go to great lengths to learn a lot about it. But in general I prefer other types of news...like gossip.

But when politics and salacious gossip come together....it's fabulous.

Simply put, I am fascinated, BEYOND FASCINATED with the current scandal that is unfolding in the US regarding Sarah Palin, John McCain's questionable pick as his presidential running mate.

First of all, I'm going to come right out and say that Sarah Palin is the kind of woman I loathe, both in real life and politics. She is a gun-loving conservative of the highest order, is anti-abortion (even in the case of rape), wants creationism taught in schools AND believes sex ed is teaching "abstinence only". And she has poofy blow-dried hair, which may or may not be held up by a banana clip.

No, Sarah Palin and I would NOT be friends.

Oddly, my dislike of Palin started way before she ever entered into the American election race. No, I first disliked her back in April after I gave birth to the Papaya.

Kaya was born on April 13. Sarah Palin, who is 44, gave birth to a son on April 18. So, the uncertainty and randomness of childbirth was still fresh in my mind when I heard about this Alaskan Governor whose water broke while on state business in Texas. What did this woman do? No, no, she didn't check into the neareast Dallas hospital. She did what any mother of four (soon to be five) would do...she stayed in Texas to give her speech that night, then without telling anyone at the airline that she was in labour (or soon should be), boarded a plane to fly from Texas to Alaska (with a stopover in Seattle no-less). She landed in Alaska, then drove past some fancy medical centres in Anchorage to give birth to her son in a hokey small town hospital an hour away. Did I mention that she had gone into labour one month early and her son was born with Down's Syndrome, which they knew about before hand? At the time, I distinctly, remember thinking: "is this woman a MORON?" I thought this was THE most irresponsible thing I had ever heard.

The childbirth rule is simple: the more children you have the faster labour goes. Now, "Three-Failed-Labour-Inducing-Gel-Gen" will be the very first to admit that there are exceptions to every rule, however that does not change the fact that you just DON'T know that YOU'RE going to the be that exception. How did this woman know she wasn't going to give birth on the plane? What a horrible, unforgivable, risk to take with the life of your baby. As a brand new mother I was offended by this woman's reasoning which seemed to boil down to some sense of misguided Alaskan patriotism. After all, I'm sure the baby would rather be alive than "Alaskan".

Fast forward four and half months and, low and behold, this woman of questionable judgement is (rashly in my mind) chosen as John McCain's running mate. Her, and naturally her fresh-scrubbed family, are thrown into the intense media spotlight. It takes only a few short days before rumours start to surface, that Sarah Palin's fifth baby was not hers at all, but was, in fact, the son of her now-17-year-old daughter.

Sure it's a vicious rumour, but for me, it's like everything clicked into place. You sure wouldn't be worried about flying across the country (two countries, in fact) if you weren't actually pregnant.

After doing a bit of research, keeping in mind that it can be hard to differentiate fact from fiction on the internet, it would appear that this rumour has some serious legs. As in, the daughter apparently was removed from school for 5 months last year for "mono", and the fact that Palin sprung the news of her pregnancy on a shocked public when she was 7 months pregnant didn't look it.

Believe it or not, I think I actually would prefer that this woman would try to pass off her unwed teenage daughters baby as her own for presumably, the sake of her career and and her reputation, rather than believe that she would be so cavalier as to risk her baby's life as she indisputably did. Or maybe I wouldn't. Whatever the scenario, the woman is an idiot.

But it's not over yet!

Yesterday the news breaks that NOW Sarah Palin's teenage daughter is 5 months pregnant. What?! They apparently decided to announce the pregnancy to dispel the growing rumours about baby Trig's parentage. Since when is "She wasn't pregnant then, but NOW she is" an appropriate defense?

My mind is just about the explode.

Could this be an elaborate cover up of monumental proportions? Could Bristol Palin be pregnant...for the second time?Far less likely, and I'll only mention it because it would be hilarious...could they be faking her pregnancy now ? After all 5 months is a very convenient length of time to be pregnant when trying to dispel rumours that a 4.5 month old is not yours.

Regardless, that "abstinence only" education has worked like a CHARM.

All I can say is that I do feel horrendously sorry for the teenaged Bristol who gets the short, pointy end of the stick no matter what scenario turns out to be true. Because to live out whatever drama she's been living, under the global media spotlight, must be a nightmare. The best thing for poor Bristol would be for her mother to withdraw from the ticket. I might actually gain some respect for the woman if she did that.

I have no idea where this will go....perhaps the truth is exactly what has been publicly put forward. I have no idea and I don't really care. But the simple fact that this scandal is attached to a US Presidential Election makes it irresistible. Can it last? Is there more to come? If my head is going to explode, what about John McCain's? We all know he's not getting any younger.

America...this could be your First Family!!

See You in September

2008-08-31T18:14:00.001-07:00

First of all, OMG it's my third post in as many days. OMG, I just typed OMG. Stop the insanity.

So Blogland, it's my birthday today.

I've always had an iffy relationship with my birthday. For anyone potentially planning a baby, please avoid if possible August 31 . I won't pretend is as bad as Christmas or its vicinity, but still, it's bad.

Here's the thing. For my entire childhood we spent our summers out at our camp. (That would be a "cottage" to anyone who is not from the North and is envisioning either a campground or a cabin with bunkbeds and organized sports.) My dad being a teacher, we moved out to camp the day after school was out and moved back to town literally the day or two before school started. My parents were, and remain, cottage die-hards.

So this summertime move meant that I wound up with a group of camp friends and a group of school/town friends and never the two did meet. The problem? By August 31, all my camp friends (none of whose parents were remotely as die-hardy as mine) had all moved back to town and, as for my school friends, I hadn't seen them in what seemed like forever and since our camp was a half-hour out of town, they weren't going to get dropped off for a few hours of Pin the Tail on the Donkey. So, I wound up never really having a party per se. I think maybe some of my camp friends stuck around but since we'd been joined at the hip for 10 weeks, I'm sure it was not much different than any other day, except there was cake. My parents would give a me a Doodle Art or new pair of snazzy polyester Gauchos (that was a bad year) and that would be that.

Some years, depending on when school started, there was nobody around but us and we would be busy packing, sweeping and closing up for the winter. On those years, I'm sure we would have stopped for cake, but the mood was always slightly off.

When I started university, I found that my birthday was always spent on the road on the way to Ottawa. Or in Ottawa, where I wasn't yet in touch with any returning university friends. In those days, since my brother lived in Ottawa, I think I spent a few birthdays with him taking me out for a pity dinner.

Finally, when I was officially all grown up and the end of summer no longer meant re-location, I figured things would heat up, and admitedly I had a couple of good years, but nothing to write home about. (Or blog about for that matter.) Finally, when I was about 27, I decided to take matters in my own hands and DO something. Something fun. So, I decided to fly to Halifax where one of my good university friends was now living. (Shout out to Dar, who I don't think reads this blog!!) She was/is a good partier, so we planned quite the shindig for Saturday night although technically my birthday was Sunday. She got a huge group of friends together, the vast majority of whom are actors and gay. Sounds like a good time, right?

It started off great...we went out for a nice seafood dinner and then to bar to meet up with a few people and I remember thinking to myself, Halifax is awesome, the people are all ready for a good time, THIS was a FANTASTIC idea! Then all of a sudden, I notice that people seem to be gathering around a TV in the bar and things have started to get really quiet. I'm still drinking and pretending that nothing is weird, but finally, the situation could no longer be ignored. I joined the crowd gathered at the TV to find out that Princess Diana had been killed in a car crash (well, she clung to life for a few more hours so that her official date of death could be August 31 in all time zones). NOOOOOOooooooooooo! No! I want another round of drinks, not an international incident!!!! Instead of feeling horror and sadness, I was pissed. Gay actors are NOT interested in any type of party when princesses are killed. Party over.

The next day, I forced my friend to go barhopping in the afternoon, but Halifax was a ghost town, as most people were still holed up in their living rooms glued to their televisions.

And on it goes. After that, I officially threw in the towel and decided that, as far as my birthday is concerned, I should keep my expectations as low as possible. And I have. I started to just invite a good group of friends to a favourite restaurant for low-key dinners. All good.

Then I got married, and figured, well now at least I'll never have to worry about being ALONE on my birthday. Even, if everyone else is camping or squeezing in one more weekend at the cottage, my husband and children will at least be with me. Although par for the course, last year, I remember I took the day off work because I was a) getting a new furnace installed and b) barfing my brains out at 8 weeks pregnant.

So, this year, I should not have been surprised when Eric sheepishly asked if it was OK if his band accepted a gig (Friday, Saturday and Sunday nights) in Grand Bend. Remember my expectations are always low, so I said OK, and proceeded to make some plans for the weekend so at least it wouldn't be totally wall-to-wall me-and-babies. And aside from a few passive-aggressive attempts at making Eric feel guilty, I was fine.

Until today. August 31.

Instead of sleeping in until almost 8 as they have been all summer, both kids are up at 7. I blearily make coffee, feed the cats and settle in for some repeat episodes of Mighty Machines. (OOOH, it's the one about the sawmill!) My parents call, and while we're chatting, Kieran who has been potty training for the past few days and doing really well, decides to stand on the arm of a chair in the corner and pee directly into his plastic bucket of Mega Blocks. I get off the phone and start mopping up and then dump all the blocks into the sink to be washed. I start to tidy up a bit, and walk outside to put a few things in the Blue Box only to see that some kind animal has spread the contents of our festering Green Bin all over the driveway. I try to shovel up the rotting, fly-infested organics and but finally have to resort to using my hands to get the last of it. Gross.

I go inside, finish cleaning, get Kieran breakfast, and while I'm off getting the baby dressed, I hear him screaming. He, is standing on his booster, unable to get down, peeing all over the dining room table, chair and floor. So much for potty training. And breakfast. And dinner invites to anyone who reads this blog. I toss him in the bath, disinfect the dining room and start getting dressed. Eric has arranged for a babysitter to come for 1130 and I'm going downtown to meet a friend for brunch at noon. At 1125, Eric calls. His wallet is gone. Lost, stolen, hiding in the bottom of his duffle bag perhaps, but gone.

Seriously. I am devoid of all sympathy and tell him so. The only place left that it could be is some music store in Grand Bend that doesn't open until noon. The babysitter has arrived. She's a high school girl that Eric trains, seems perfectly lovely and intelligent and I hurriedly go through the basic instructions. At some point she says, she's never babysat an infant, so I go into more detail, but I'm only going to be gone a few hours, and am anticipating that both kids will be napping while she's there.

I email Eric the bank phone number to cancel his cards and head off. I'm on the road 10 minutes, not even out of Mississauga when the phone rings. It's not, as I hoped, Eric with a found wallet. It's the babysitter...Kaya is crying inconsolably and she doesn't know what to do. Ten minutes, I've been gone and it's already disintegrated into calling the parent? NOT a good sign. I tell the girl to give Kaya a bottle or put her in the swing, both surefire tricks. Five minutes go by and she calls again. The baby is still wailing. I contemplate turning around but suddenly she says that it sounds like Kaya is settling and all is good.

I have a lovely afternoon full of brunch and Frappucinos. I come home and everything is fine.

Both kids are now in bed. Its quiet. Eric's wallet is still MIA and I just ate Kieran's leftover soup (from lunch) for my birthday dinner. On TV, are the annual obligatory Princess Diana tributes to mark my day. A very peaceful evening to bookend to a chaotic, and mostly disgusting morning.

Bring on September 1.

Want to Buy a Breastpump?

2008-08-29T20:48:00.001-07:00

I'm conflicted.

My beloved Kaya, who is now exactly 4.5 months old, is soon going to be a fully formula fed baby. My goal was to breastfeed for 6 months, so I've fallen short of what I would have considered success and way short of the 12 month goal that is currently recommended by most, if not all, pediatric associations.

Now, considering Kieran was only breastfed (and not nearly exclusively at that) for 2 months, I guess I should feel good that I hung in for twice as long, but instead, I just feel guilty and selfish. I read the articles. I know the facts. It's the whole grass vs astroturf argument. Natural vs synthetic. Formula, I'm sure was invented to save lives and not to make it easier for future mothers like myself to read email during feeding time.

But people, the fact remains that I just don't enjoy it. Like, at all.

Now I realize that, if I were a stellar mother, my enjoyment should not matter. What should matter is what is best for my child. But I'm being seduced by the bottle. Oh, how I love the bottle. (I'm talking baby bottles right now, the "I love wine" post will come later on.) And what is more...Kaya loves the bottle. If she so much as sees it out of the corner of her eye, her head whips around, excorcist-like, to stare at it. When I bring it close, she grabs the bottle with her little hands, chomps down the nipple like it might get away and sucks away with what can only be describe as relief-tinged-joy which eases into total relaxation. This does not happen with breastfeeding. She is quite blase about breastfeeding...in fact, I'm sure that should she be able to articulate her thoughts she would be saying something like..."Mom, I can barely breathe down here...I think it's time to put those bad boys away." Or something like that.

So, I have lasted almost four and half months. Let's call it almost five. In fact, by the time she is fully weaned, it might BE five months and which point I can start revising history to say I lasted "just over five months." See? That is the guilt is talking.

When I was struggling with Kieran, my mother, who had four perfectly healthy formula fed babies, said that in her day, breastfeeding was something "only poor people did." Times have certainly changed and I would agree, rightfully so. But for me, and for Kaya, I think our time is almost done.

Bring on the wine.

Back to Regularly Scheduled Programming....

2008-08-28T18:52:00.000-07:00

Forgive me for my last ranting post. I'm calmer now. Although perhaps it was a nice refreshing change from my usual boring "mommy blogs"?

Regardless back to mommyland we go...

So, I have been successful in fixing Kaya's napping issues. Or rather, she fixed the issues herself and would undoubtedly roll her eyes at me trying to take credit for her success. I was only sort of half-heartedly trying to get her to transition her naps from the swing to the crib last week and then suddenly, more or less on her own, this week we have a solid morning and afternoon nap happily in the crib, almost three hours each. I love this baby.

Of course, Kaya's apparent new napping schedule is quite distressing to Kieran. All day (excluding his own nap) all that kid wants to do is ride his bike around the neighbourhood. Now, I seem always be saying that we can go when Kaya wakes up. When he hears this, he runs to her door and screams "Wake Up Kaya!!!" which of course she doesn't. Poor Kieran.

I've also started potty training the boy. What a messy job THAT is. He'll sit on the potty and go, but that doesn't mean, of course that anything lands in the potty itself. It's like visiting the Trevi Fountain, only more erratic and less tourists. Little boy potty training must be why God invented the Swiffer Wetmop.

Long weekend ahead of me...and Eric is out of town with his band. This prospect is distressing to me, since this long weekend also happens to be my birthday. The thought of three days and nights on my own is boring the hell out of me already. Throw my birthday into the mix, even if it just means that I get out of diaper duty for a day, and its much, much worse.

Stay tuned...there may be another rant coming...

Attention Welmert Shoppers....

2008-08-23T11:13:00.000-07:00

Many people who know me, know of my intense dislike of a certain huge discount store. My hatred of this store, which we will just call Welmert, is based on the following indisputable facts: that it's insanely busy; it's full of rude shoppers clogging the aisles with their big blue carts; and by far the worst offense - it's consistently slow and understaffed checkouts. (Why have 20 closed registers and only have 2 or 3 open? To mock your shoppers? It drives me stupid.)

Every time I go, which is rare, I vow to never shop there again, but then I see a sale price and decide to try it once more. But I'm done. Do you hear me Welmert? Done.

It started few weeks ago. We had to buy a new lawnmower and they had the best price. Off we went one evening at 7:30 - packing up the kids even though we were nearing their bedtime. We got to the store, found the lawnmower, located our own dolly and picked up a few sundry items - which ARE remarkably priced - and headed to checkout. This part took us 20 minutes tops. At checkout, 2 are open for people with more than 10 items, the lineups are all backed up well into the clothing displays. It's now 8 pm and the kids are tired, but I take Kaya out of her carrier and let Kieran wander around the store while Eric waits. And waits. And waits. He's in the line for about 30 minutes before finally its his turn. But the price of the lawnmower is scanning at $50 higher than advertised. The girl rings for the manager and then stands there staring at her nails. 5 more minutes go by, I count 24 people lined up behind Eric and no manager appears. I sooooo want to leave but we NEED that lawnmower and God knows when Eric will have another free evening, so I bite my tongue. Finally a manager comes over to the checkout area delivering extra bags (NOT answering our cashiers call) and we explain the situation. She pulls us out of the line and checks the flyer but there are no lawnmowers in it. So, we have to go all the way back to the seasonal section and physically show her the sign and then she OKs the sale price. I'm pissed at such a total waste of my time and am about 2 seconds away from telling her that they should be ashamed of making people wait 45 minutes to pay for their crap, but I refrain. We leave...it's 9pm.

That night, coincidentally, we are going through all our summer photos and trying to decide which to print. After shopping around we realize that Welmert is advertising 15 cents a print and nobody else even comes close...so I cave. The prints, all 160 including some 5x7s and 8x10s, are ready the next morning so I go pick them up, there is no line and I'm happy. So happy, that while I'm there I look into their portrait studio and decide that I'll book a session for the kids. (They are advertising a pretty good portrait deal for $7.99 whoo hoo!). I'm happy until I get home and see that EVERY single photo has a big scratch line through it. Every one, including the 8x10 etc. So back I go, fuming and they reprint all the photos. Fine.

So, yesterday was the portrait appointment. I made it for 6pm so Eric could be there and it was early enough that I can still get the kids home at a decent time. We dress them up in their matchy-matchy navy and white outfits and go.

It starts out OK, except that Kieran is being uncooperative. The set up for a toddler and baby is less than ideal as the carpeted hump they have the baby propped up on precludes Kieran getting close to her unless he's willing to put his arm around her, which he isn't. We convince him to lean in a couple of times and kiss her, but although cute in theory the photo is of the back of his head, blocking her face. But without him leaning into her, the photo set up looks stupid. So we abandon the two-shot and take some individually. Kaya is an budding supermodel - smiling and laughing- but the photographer is having trouble and keeps saying the camera isn't taking shots when she's pressing the buttons. Same thing for Kieran. But after about 45 minutes we have enough and we're done.

Now apparently, a few days prior, the studio had made the big switch to digital, so the photographer had told us ahead of time that when we were done we sit at the computer and they show us some of the "optional enhancements" they can now make to the photos right there. The photographer picks only the 8 or so (of 35 total) that she thinks are best and one by one pulls it up and without any input from us makes some kind of enhancement to it...for example: cute photo of Kaya with a navy shirt and white background NOW can have a huge hot pink "PRINCESS" printed on it. We watch her go through and butcher most of the photos - adding ridiclous crayon borders and typing "Giggles!" beside a laughing Kieran shot. In the middle this her computer crashes (surely it was protesting her lack of taste). Kieran is starving and rolling on the floor. Kaya is starving and fussy and this is taking FOREVER. We hate all four photos of the kids together and but do we have a cute series of three photos of Kieran laughing that they put side by side in what they are calling a "collage" and there is one shot of Kaya that we absolutely love. We're thinking of going ahead and ordering that when the photographer says the cost for the three photo "Kieran collage" is $179. For a moment, I'm thinking...she must mean they are a $1.79 but I get her to repeat the price and its $179, plus $80 for the frame.

Exsqueeze me? You KNOW you're Welmert, right?

I realize now that the $7.99 package sign is gone and I ask about new package prices. The girl gets a little flip book out, which is apparently top secret as she sheilds it from my eyes, and says the cheapest package is now $79.99. I see. So, I ask about getting the photos on a CD which she had mentioned earlier was now available. That is $99. What if we go with no package and just get one 8x10 of each child..that would be $9.99 per sheet. OK, we'll do that just to get the frak out of there. The picture of Kieran we like best is off center so she zooms it in a bit and then tells us that if we print the zoomed in version, even though its correcting her error, it's another $6. She can tell we're pissed now. But we pick another of Kieran that is at least centered and confirm the order. We would have left empty handed but we had wasted over 2 hours now and I wanted something to show for it.

Anyway, both kids are now crying and we pack up our stuff and leave. We get home...its almost 8:30, I'm trying to get the baby to bed and Eric is giving Kieran dinner and I see the message light is flashing. It's Welmert. We forgot to pay for the two photos before we left and if we don't go back to the store that night and pay, its going to cost us an additional $9.99 Call Back fee.

Screw you Welmert, I'm going to Bellers.

Higher, Faster, Stonger of the Preschool Variety

2008-08-17T18:55:00.000-07:00

So, as happens every 2 years, I'm addicted to the Olympics. I, who normally couldn't care less about sports (unless you count the years the Blue Jays won the World Series) can watch anything as long as it happens during these two weeks. Even ridiculous Olympic sports like Show Jumping, which as far as I can see should be in the Horse Olympics, not the human ones. But still, for me it's all about the actual races...anything based on speed where you can see first, second, third all at the same time. I'm increasingly lukewarm about any sport where judges (or animals) are involved. Swimming, rowing, running...those I can watch all day. I'm not even sure if I care that they are all drugged, I still love it.

Also, Michael Phelps is hot.

Anywhoo.

Back to real life, which has been relatively quiet since we got back from Thunder Bay...

I had a horrible "incident" at one of the Early Year programs this week. We went to one of the sing-a-long classes where the kids all sit in the middle of the room and they wheel in all the old people behind them. There was one particularly decrepit looking woman who seemed mostly paralyzed from the neck down sitting in a wheelchair behind us.

As it turns out, this class is like a giant Health Hustle, or for those who may not get the 80s reference, it involves songs that make kids do things of the "jump up if you're wearing red" variety. There was one song that involved tossing a bean bag to the person next you. Kieran, who is always really slow to warm up to these classes (I secretly hopes he finds them as lame as I do) happened to love the bean bag song. He jumps up and starts throwing his bean bag around and before I can stop him, he whips one with incredible-unforeseen-force, right into the face of the old, paralyzed woman behind us. I run over to the woman and grab the bean bag which is now sliding off her face and am apologizing profusely, but this woman, like something out of a bad comedy movie is FURIOUS. She starts yelling and swearing and asking "what the hell I'm doing hitting her in the face." It was brutal. The lady beside her, which I think may have been her daughter, was telling me it was OK and that she didn't know what she was saying, blahblahblah. But it was totally awkward and it look about three people and, finally, a rousing rendition of a "Bicycle Built for Two" to calm her down. Needless to say, as soon as the class was over we took off.

Maybe really, really old people and little children aren't the greatest mix.

Nice Potatoes

2008-08-08T09:08:00.001-07:00

I don't have a lot of time today, but I felt like updating since I haven't logged on since we got home earlier this week.

It feels like we were gone forever. I will spare you all gory details of my absolute horror when we pulled up in front of the house. Instead of seeing my cute (to me, at least) little house, with its tidy, happy little garden, there weeds close to two feet tall all over the front lawn. The garden was almost 90 percent weeds. Everything was either overgrown or dead. Not the welcome I had hoped for, but in Eric's defense, he was wounded for the two weeks prior to his arrival in Thunder Bay, so I suppose gardening/mowing was the last thing on his mind. Still, I almost wanted to take a picture of the lawn, but realized there is no need. The scene in burned into my brain forevermore.

I spent the next few days, unpacking, cleaning and weeding and now things are more or less back to normal.

Now that Kieran is going to daycare two days a week, I decided to partake some more in some of the programs offered at our local Early Years Centre. We walked over on Tuesday to the Centre down the street...the one, I have mentioned that is located inside a Long Term Care facility. The building is under total renovation and the Centre, which used to be located in a nice room off the lobby has been relocated (temporarily, but for at least a year) to a former residents room in one of the wards. The relocation happened while I was gone, so it took me forever to find the new room and can I just say, I was sort of creeped out.

You can't really tell this from the lobby, but Long Term Care really isn't a happy "retirement residence." No, it's more like a hospital. An old hospital. One without air conditioning or enough nurses. To get to the new room I had to wheel my stroller past all these rooms full of old people lying in their pyjamas on hospital beds. It didn't seem very kid-friendly any more. The new room is OK, but I felt sort of uneasy and I think Kieran sort of felt it too.

So yesterday since we were trapped in the house in the middle of yet another rainstorm, I packed up the kids in the car to go the other EYC (the one with all the Filipino nannies and the mommies and their BMW SUVs.) They have also done a remodel. Now, there is Starbucks inside. Not a real Starbucks (which would be far preferable), but a little storefront complete with Starbucks logos, cups and laminated menu cards. I can now go up to a four-year old barista, invariably named Bella, and order my own pretend Venti Sumatra Decaf Extra Bold No Foam. Shudder. I think I prefer the creepy hospital setting.

Is maternity leave over yet?

One last note: after dropping off Kieran at daycare today I made a run to the grocery store as we have out-of-town friends coming over. Kaya was in a good mood and was happy as a clam in her carseat as I shopped. Happy, smiley babies always get lots of attention, so I wasn't surprised when an older lady veered out of her way to come over to peer into my cart where I had the carseat resting. I'm all set to start rhyming off the baby particulars (she's 4 months, her name is Kaya, yes she's a pretty good sleeper) when the woman says: "Nice Potatoes!"

"Uh, thanks. They're local..." I sort of stammer and the woman continues on her merry way.

Sorry Kaya, they WERE nice potatoes.

Less is More

2008-07-28T09:54:00.000-07:00

Re-reading my last blog, from the very start of our vacation - back when I was young and naive, I see that I was still deluded that 5 weeks with my two children here at my parents was a great idea. Big sandy beach which a nice, swimmable lack, what could go wrong? Now, 4 weeks in, I feel the need to rethink the wisdom of this trip.

First of all , to take a two year old for this long from his routine has been less than wonderful. He's so far out of his usual element that he's overstimulated, constantly underslept and often plays so much that he is plain worn out by late afternoon. He refuses to nap, falls asleep in a chair at about 5 and then will not go to bed properly and the next day, we start all over again. The result has been a cranky, clingy child - one who is prone to screaming child when he's frustrated about something or sometimes even if just leave the room. Add into this mix a 3-month-old, who, wonderful though she may be, is still only a 3 month old and "WILL NOT BE IGNORED, DAN" (yes, that is a random Fatal Attraction reference) and you have a not-so-relaxing vacation.

So, I'm exhausted as well. Since Eric (more on him later) has just arrived, today is the first day that I feel more relaxed. No coincidence this is my first blog update since he left. Other vacation firsts...today was my first time out in the kayak, first time lying down in the hammock and last night, the first time I have had a block of sleep longer than 4 hours.

Of course, Eric's arrival has already helped enormously. Not that my parents don't help because they TOTALLY do (not to mention that I don't have to cook, clean or do laundry), but unlike with my parents, I don't feel guilty asking him to do anything or better yet, he just DOES it. Guilt, unnecessary though it might be, is exhausting.

Now for Eric. He is currently sitting in the Emergency Room at hospital. Again. Playing baseball back at home two weeks ago he slid into second base (SAFE!) and in the process ripped off a grapefruit sized patch of skin on his leg. To make a long story short, this has resulted in a serious infection, 2 trips to the walk in clinic, 3 trips to Emergency, twice a day nurse visits and round the clock intravenous anti-biotics, both at home and here. (My 4 hours block of sleep was accompanied by the rhythmic wheezing and occasional beeping of Eric's IV pump. )

After scrambling to arrange for his nursing care here (he thought he's be done on Saturday), not to mention trying to arrange security clearance to fly with his cooler full of liquid medicine, he arrived yesterday all IV'd up. When he showed us the wound I cannot imagine how it looked before the 14-day course of antibiotics because it still looks hideous. Kieran, who was so happy to see his Daddy, took one look at his leg and wouldn't go near him after that- and still won't unless the wound is properly bandaged, and thus hidden away. Frankly, I don't really blame him. And obviously, IV at camp, with a baby and a toddler, is less than ideal. He cannot swim, sauna, play on the beach or give children baths. Having Kieran climb on him is nothing short of an act of pure courage and Kaya has already yanked on the tube with her surprisingly strong baby grip.

Anyway, I suspect today's trip to the hospital will result in an yet another extension this continued nightmare since I'm quite sure that no doctor worth his degree will look at the leg and take him off the antibiotics just yet. The minor upside for Eric (besides having his family around him) is that he now gets his nursing care on the deck overlooking Lake Superior.

So, I'm looking forward to heading home and getting back into regular life. I'm going to have to break Kaya of numerous bad habits that she has acquired here (Napping in swing? Check? Sleeping in my bed? Check. Nursing to sleep? Check.) Most of all, I want my sweet two year old back. Hopefully, the clingy, cranky version stays here....

Road Trip

2008-07-01T11:04:00.000-07:00

We have arrived in Thunder Bay...finally. We had a relatively bad trip...keeping in mind, of course, that the bar for bad trips was set quite high last summer when, six weeks pregnant, I threw up every 45 minutes for two solid days. This time, I think the trip would have been GREAT, and started off so, until we were about 45 minutes past Sudbury.

Sailing along, making great time, we came to a dead stop at a motorcycle/car accident that looked as though it had happened about 3 minutes earlier. We were about 10 cars behind the actual accident and after about 10 minutes or so 8 cars in front of us managed to get by until the police/ambulance arrived and stopped everyone. And so we sat on this highway for at least an hour, and as there was only one car in front of us, we saw quite clearly, the whole thing. We watched as they loaded what we now know was a dead body into the ambulance. Then the OPP came up to our car and said they were closing the highway for the next 4 hours and that we had to turn back.

Now, what you may not realize if you are not from the north, or any other area that can legitimately be called "the boonies", when this happens you are out of luck. There is no alternate route. No back roads that join back to the highway. The OPP does not set up a detour to keep the traffic moving. Nothing. So, unless we wanted to travel back 3 or 4 hours to join the only other highway that will take you through Timmins and Cochrane (umm, no thanks) we were stuck. So, we headed back to Sudbury which took forever as we had to travel though ANOTHER OPP blockade that was questioning all cars about what they saw in relation the accident. We assume they were trying to find witnesses or possibly there was a hit and run element to the whole thing. The accident happened around 3 pm, and we know they finally opened the highway at 11 pm, so I guess we're lucky we were among the first to find a hotel.

So, yeah, we ended up staying in Sudbury, which worked out fine as the hotel had a pool that Kieran loved and was quite nice. Except the next day our drive was 12 hours. That's 12 hours not including stops for breast feeding, diaper changes, wails of "uppy! uppy!" or just persistent baby screaming that needed attention. What a long day. We arrived here at almost 10 pm and were exhausted.

Let the vacation begin....we need it!

Gay Pride

2008-06-28T18:14:00.000-07:00

I went downtown today. I used to live downtown, or close to it, for a good 10 years and I enjoyed it. Took the subway everywhere and cabs everywhere else. Then I bought a car and started to spend less and less time in the downtown core, instead choosing to do my shopping at places that had free parking, until finally I gave up and just moved to the burbs, where I remain.

Anywho. A friend of mine invited me downtown to partake in a pedicure and her favoured salon at Yonge and Bloor, so off I went. And guess what else was going on? The Pride Parade. It seems like every time I make plans, they coincide with a parade. I have never once been to a parade of any sort but I am always caught in parade related traffic. So today, upon realizing that the salon actually overlooked the parade route, I was quite happy to be able to actually SEE an event instead of just enduring the irritating traffic by-products. Except, as it turns out, the traffic jams are the most interesting part of the parade. I'm wondering...did I miss something? Granted, I couldn't see the first 10 minutes whilst my toenails dried, but afterward, we went to a restaurant and sat in the window to watch. All I really saw was people walking down the street in what may or may not have been groups. Just people, run of the mill people. People with backpacks and babies and bicycles. (And before anyone jumps all over me screaming "that's the point! We're all the same!" I know. I know. But it was a parade and aren't parades supposed to be totally over the top?) And then all of a sudden there were street cleaners and city trucks and it was over. I didn't see a single float. Nary a rainbow or a drag queen to be had. Just people walking and people on the sidewalk, watching those people walking. THIS is what all the fuss is about? Really?

And speaking of gay....George Michael came on the radio today while I was getting my pedicure. I used to totally LUUURV George Michael (musically, at least) and hadn't heard any of his old songs in years, until recently, as he enjoys the obligatory retro resurgence in popularity. The song on the radio was Father Figure. A classic, sure. And apparently was ALSO a favourite of the two girls sitting next to me.

Girl #1, suddenly, without warning, BURSTS into the song. I was quite alarmed, as were all three Vietnamese pedicurists. Then, as the chorus started, her friend joined in. And they both belted out the chorus like they were front row at his concert. I have never seen this happen before - or at least, nowhere that didn't serve alcohol. And the worst part, as jarring as it is, you sort of have to pretend its normal. I went back to my outdated Flare magazine and the pedicurists went back the our callouses and paraffin treatments and the girls just kept singing. Go George. You still rock, apparently.

On another note, tomorrow we leave for Thunder Bay. It's hard to pack for a month long trip, so instead of trying to decide what may or may not be handy to have, I'm just bringing it all. Strollers, booster seats, baby swing, bikes, riding toys, bouncy chairs, bumbo, bathtub, train tracks and practically every item of clothing that currently fit my children, for all weather eventualities. So yeah, I need to get back to work.

Wish me luck.

Edit to Add: OK, I saw some internet photos of the Pride Parade and apparently, there WERE a few rainbows. They really must have crammed a lot of action into the first 10 minutes because what I saw was exceedingly colourless.

Short and Sweet

2008-06-20T18:27:00.000-07:00

As I'm sure lots of parents do, I get weekly emails from a babycare website telling me what exactly, developmentally speaking, my child should be doing this week. When Kieran was first born I read every single one as if it were the law. I remember thinking that it was vitally important that he, say, "tracked objects with his eyes", or "made sounds other than crying" right on time. Then I realized that these emails were doing nothing but causing unnecessary stress, so I basically stopped reading them, unless something really caught my eye.

Like this...

This week, the subject line was "How Tall Will Your Child Be?". Now, let me backtrack a minute here. I am under exactly zero illusions that either of my children will be tall. I am not tall. Eric, like probably every single one of his Chinese ancestors, is not tall. My family, with the notable exception of one brother who tops six feet (oooh! a giant!!) is generally more or less average height.

My first clue that Kieran might not be a tremendous basketball player came very early...basically starting with his feet. He wore his Robeez 6-12 months slippers well past 18 - 20 months. I have Baby Gap socks of that same time frame (6-12 mos) that I haven't even bothered to put on him because they look gargantuan to me.

My next clue is that, now that summer is back, I have realized that he can still wear most of his summer clothes from last year. Comfortably. I cannot buy him pants for a two year old because they simply fall right off.

So, in short, I get it, the boy is wee.

Then this week, comes this "How Tall Will Your Child Be" email. It required me to plug in some salient facts..his age (2), current height (2 ft, 7 inches) and weight (24lbs) and mine and Eric's heights. Press Enter.

Result: "At age 18 your child will be 5 feet 3 inches tall." WHAT?! That's actually SHORTER than me! (I'm 5 feet and 3.5 inches, thank you very much). Sure, that would be OK on a girl...but for a boy?? That's shoe lift territory! Give the poor kid a break, will you, God?

So, great. Even with their "plus or minus 2 inches" disclaimer, I'm still horrified. I know I should never have taken the quiz to begin with, but now I cannot erase what it told me from my brain.

I hope the 'Your child this week" emails continue and give me more helpful insights and links. Maybe next week, it will give me tips on how to groom my son for his future as a jockey and the messages will continue into his teen years to include ideas on how to comfort him when he cannot get a date because nobody wants the "little guy" for a boyfriend.

No thanks. My only pathetic revenge is to unsubscribe from these pointless emails. That, and rent Seabiscuit.

Splish Splash

2008-06-10T11:52:00.000-07:00

We made it through Kieran's second birthday party. It was a success, especially after I pared down the guest list from last year to exclude people without kids. Last year, we invited tons of people, everyone came, and I was frazzled - especially since my mother was in town and "helping." (Which really means just creating more stress.) The invites also went out quite late since the party was supposed to be THIS weekend, until we realized that Eric is out of town this weekend with his band.

Of course, the weather forecast was threatening thunderstorms, but instead we got a blistering heat wave with full on humidity. At least the kids could cool down with their water toys, but the adults literally had to sweat it out. - although the Slip N' Slide looked quite tempting. Even the baby was too hot, resulting a newborn strip down - a perk at that age.

Sure the party is work, but overall, the major time sucker is the cake. I decided this year to do individual cakes, covered in melted chocolate icing. Not only did I grossly underestimate how much chocolate I would need, necessitating an emergency 11th hour chocolate run, but it takes about 5 times as long as regular icing and costs 10 times as much. But it was quite delicious, so overall it was worth it.

Kieran received his own wooden train set, which I think he has played with non stop since we set it up. He even takes the train cars to bed with him and wakes up still clutching them to his chest. He now officially even prefers the train set to going outside which is sort of a nice change.

We did go to a new park yesterday -one right down the lake. There is a little beach, so Kieran got to dip his feet into Lake Ontario which looked to refreshing and pristine, but which, in actuality, is teeming with bacteria and filled with sludge. There is also, we discovered, a splash pad at this park. We weren't prepared for water play, but it was so hot that I let him run in with his shorts and TV shirt on. The boy is a real screamer too. By far the loudest child there, squealing with glee every time he got splashed. (Which made me wonder...why isn't everyone squealing when they get splashed? At what age do we stopping finding this utterly joyful?)

There were maybe only about 20 other kids there (three of which were named Nathan) as it was still morning, but, the vast majority that were there were accompanied by their Filipino nannies who all hang out in large groups, more or less oblivious to everyone else. The few other parents were clearly stay at home Splash Pad professionals. Standing at the edge of the water in their Save Darfur T-shirts, feeding their kids organic granola bars, and fully equipped with blankets, picnic baskets and water toys. They all generally sat together...although I'm not sure if they came together or if that's what stay at home moms do. I was totally out of place with my hot jeans, lugging a huge diaper bag that has a million things in it, none of which were towels, blankets or a change of clothes for Kieran. Also, thinking that we were just going to be hanging out at the playground, I had also stupidly decided to forgo the stroller and brought Kaya in her awkward car carrier, a cumbersome nightmare if ever there was one.

I finally left dragging a soaking wet toddler and a wailing underfed and undernapped baby. Although they all totally ignored me, I'm quite sure that as we left, the Nannies and Mommies were all rolling their eyes at my unpreparedness. Or maybe not. But I was glad to escape back to my air-conditioned house, feed my child his Zoodles (which, btw, do NOT resemble any animals that I can think of) away from any watchful eyes. And once both kids were napping, I did a bit of research into Darfur. Just in case.

The More Things Change....

2008-06-04T11:32:00.000-07:00

Whilst I wait for my soon-to-be-two-year-old's birthday cake to bake (I know, I'll say it for you.."Two already? Dang, time flies!"), I thought I might jump on the computer for a quick blog update. Except, my blog updates are never quick and I can guarantee that the cake will be baked well before I hit Publish on this sucker.

His party is on Saturday - nothing exciting planned, as he is only two and needs very little in the way of amusement and/or friends. We are holding it outside and the weather, as per usual, is going to be lousy. I would much rather be blogging about the the joy of the springtime outdoors, or perhaps even, as someone who has lived through a Melanoma diagnosis, droning on about the perils of too much sun instead of the perils of too much crappy daytime TV.

But babies and TV are really all I have.

The other day, in a fit of boredom/curiousity, I tuned into Days of Our Lives. When I was 13 years old, I used to set the Betamax religiously every day to tape the show and remember rushing home from school to watch it. (Settling down in front of the TV with my cord-attached remote control, no less) But I was semi-obsessed with the show...Bo and Hope, Patch and Kayla...those were the days. Well, apparently, those still ARE the days. I almost fell over when I tuned it and there were Patch and Kayla on the screen, expecting a baby. Not exactly fresh-faced anymore...it all seemed so tired and creepy. Sort of like the New Kids on the Block reunion.

As for the baby...my angel is back. Her descent into fussy baby-dom was shortlived, and I'm chalking it up to a growth spurt. She did a 7.5 hour stretch of sleep last night. I have decided that one of the most gratifying noises in the world is the sound of a seven week old waking up in the night, crying out a bit and then, just as you are blearily throwing off the covers to rescue her, the noises stop and she's out for a few more hours. Love it, love it, love it.

Anyway, one of Eric's clients gave him a Playstation 3 in lieu of cash as payment. (We also have a neatly mowed lawn, trimmed hedges, garage cleaned and trash hauled away - barter is alive and well in these parts. )And now we are the proud owners of, among other things, Guitar Hero. I'm pretty bad. It brings me back to my childhood (pre-Days of our Lives obsessed) when I took piano lessons and after about 5 years and going through every single beginner book in existence without advancing to any of the piano grades, my teacher called my mother to say teaching me piano was a waste of his time and her money. For me, music is for listening, not playing...even virtually.

Cake is done.

What's in a Name Anyway?

2008-05-26T18:15:00.000-07:00

We had a lovely woman stop by tonight to drop off some gifts for the wee Papaya. This is one of Eric's former gym clients when he worked at a club downtown. Although we don't know her very well at all, she has taken quite a shine to Eric and by extension, the rest of us.

Anyway, she came by, laden with gifts (yeah!) and a pie (shouldn't have it, but, yeah!). And, as she's oohing and aahing over the baby, she tells me how much she LOOOOVES the name Kaya.

We have had a very positive response to the name overall, even though I was a little bit concerned that people would consider it a "made up" type of name. I had never heard it before, but one day, on my commute home from work, it just popped into my head. I mentioned it to Eric (who hated practically every name I ever suggested) who actually liked it. Regardless, it does exist in baby name guides.

For the vast majority of my pregnancy this baby was going to be named Rachel, which was the name we had picked out should Kieran have been a girl instead of a truck/train loving boy. However, as my second pregnancy went the on, the name started to sound tired and decidedly blah. When people would ask if we had any names picked, I would say that we were leaning towards Rachel and we often got a very lukewarm response. Even my family was iffy on the name and it just started to feel wrong, so during my 8th month of pregnancy, we made the switch to Kaya, kept Rachel as a middle name and never looked back.

According to one baby book the name Kaya is of Scandinavian decent and means "pure". Rachel means "innocent lamb". So, yes, our daughter is named "pure, innocent lamb Lam." Even with the double, "lamb/lam" I like the gentle flow of the meaning.

Our guest tonight is of Japanese descent and as she's telling me how much she loves the name, she leans in to me and whispers, even though there is nobody else around except the baby: "Kaya means 'mosquito net' in Japanese."

Sweet.

And I Don't Think I Have the Reciept

2008-05-20T19:21:00.000-07:00

I think I broke the baby.

And it was going so well too...

Don't get me wrong, the Papaya is still an excellent baby. During the day she is usually as good as gold, and cries only when necessary. She smiles all the time and is generally happy and contented. And our nights were pretty good with both us getting good five hour blocks of sleep. And then I stepped in.

Because her 5 hour blocks of sleep occurred only when sleeping in our bed, I knew it was time to move her into her own crib, in her own room or risk waiting too long and then REALLY having a problem. The crib transition was last week... and it was going OK.

THEN, wise mother that I am, I decided that I needed to impose an actual bedtime and put her to bed awake. Maybe its just a coincidence, but suddenly its all gone to hell. Everything. If I put her to bed awake she cries. If I put her to bed asleep, she's awake in 5 minutes and cries. When she does fall asleep, her limit for sleep in the crib is 2 hours and then she wakes up and doesn't want to go back. I know the key is to be consistent. If she's going to sleep in her crib, and I want her to fall asleep awake, I have to work at it, but I'm weak. I keep thinking to myself...she's only 5 weeks old, why I am putting us both thru this? So, I give in and then, obviously, I'm back to square one. And we're all tired.

One night her wailing woke up her brother, who proceed to wake up about 3 more times after that and then was up for the day at 6:20, while Kaya was finally quite content to sleep in our bed until 8 am. Arrgh.

Last night, it took three hours to get to sleep in her crib, she was up two hours later, two hours after that, 45 minutes after that, then 5 minutes after that and 5 minutes after that. So, at 5:45 she was back in our bed, sleeping like the proverbial baby.

Anyway, I'm just tired. Yesterday, in the space of an hour I managed to smash an entire bottle of balsamic vinegar on the kitchen floor (beyond gross), clog the vacuum after sucking up Kieran's wayward sock and put rice in the rice cooker and then completely forget to turn it on. So, dinner was late (and dry), Eric had to take apart the vacuum to fish out the sock, and I'm still finding shards of glass and vinegar splatters in odd places in the kitchen.

I know this will all pass and soon enough Kaya and her stupid mother will both be sleeping like babies, but in the short term...YAWN.

The Royal Papaya

2008-05-12T19:51:00.000-07:00

Where is the time going? I'm having trouble updating this blog (obviously). Whenever I have the time, I don't seem to have much to say and when I'm busy I have a million topics to blog about but can't make the trip down the stairs.

Things are going quite well here in Maternity Leave World. Kaya (also now known around these parts as Kaya Papaya or more recently, the Royal Papaya) remains a dream baby. She is coming very close to possibly even sleeping through the night. Although, I suspect reality will come crashing through shortly, since we are going to move her from her cradle in our bedroom into her big, lonely crib in her almost-finished Tinkerbell bedroom. Although, when I say she's in her cradle, she sort of isn't really. The problem with having the cradle right beside our bed is that I have developed a really bad habit of, when she starts to fuss, just lifting her into the bed and thus buying an extra 4 hours of uninterrupted sleep. I know this is a bad habit, but as I've always said, no one makes great parenting decisions anywhere between 1 and 5 am.

Because the Papaya is such an angel, the days don't seem as long as they did with Kieran as a newborn. Even when Kieran is not in daycare, he still takes a good three hour nap and today, they both slept for the same three hour stretch. I couldn't believe it. I took the time to make soup, and I don't know what is more alarming...that I had all the ingredients to make soup, that I had time to make soup, or the fact that I MADE SOUP. Lentil soup. With spinach.

We also dropped into the Early Years Centre today. I hadn't set foot in the place since the ill-fated "Infant Mother Goose" class I did with Kieran when he was around three months old. (Too bad, I wasn't blogging at the time, I would have had LOTS to rant about..starting with the horrendous "Mommy Circle Time" where we had to go around the circle and say "Something that made you happy this week and something that made you sad this week." Gag.) Anyway, I figured I would start fresh because I now have a two year old to entertain. So while I'm looking at the class schedule, we go into the play area and Kieran, not surprisingly, attaches himself the the Brio Train Table. The boy is obsessed with trains. And he plays and he plays and finally after about a hour the Royal Papaya begins to fuss, and since the chances of me breastfeeding in anything resembling public is nil, I tell Kieran we had to leave...and he looks up at me, waves, and says "Bye!" and turns back to his train. When I finally put my foot down and told him we were ALL leaving, I was treated to my first full blown two-year-old tantrum. He screamed, and kicked and wailed and finally, one of the employees from the Centre had to carry Kaya out the car while I dragged a struggling Kieran who was wailing "TRAINTRAINTRAIN" all the way to the car. So, I guess Kieran liked the Centre.

I also found out that there is an Early Years drop in centre at the Retirement Home on my street. Literally about a 1 minute walk from my house. So, I'm sort of pleased about that. It runs every morning and even offers some "inter-generational" programs. I feel that a class filled with Toddlers and Geriatrics (which I doubt is the class name, but wouldn't that be sweet if it was?) will give me LOTS to blog about!

This Post Was Coming Sooner or Later

2008-05-01T13:45:00.000-07:00

If you don't want to read anything about breastfeeding, then you might as well stop now.

But, here is today's rant...I read online that the process of making breastmilk burns 1000 PER DAY. Let me take a moment to point a finger at someone (or the entire breastfeeding industry) and say: "Ummm...BULL- CRAP."

I'm sorry, but I don't believe it for a millisecond.

Before I continue let me just pause to say I do believe 100 per cent that breastfeeding is the way to go. No question about it. However, I also think that it's far more difficult than most new mothers anticipate or than most people tell you. And that having a new baby can be such a challenge that anyone who feels it's not for them, or simply cannot handle it should not be made to feel like a failure.

However...anyone who knows me at all will not be surprised to learn that I'm not one of those mothers who find breastfeeding magical and spend the time staring loving at my baby. I really don't like it all that much. It's boring, unbearably painful (at least for me...still) and time consuming. Instead of contemplating the miracle of life, I usually wind up watching crap on TV because either the remote control is nowhere near me or there is just nothing remotely watchable on. OR in the middle of the night, I fall asleep and wake up 2 hours later with a crick in my neck and I shuffle back to bed only to be woken up 1 hour later to do it all again. However, I am doing considerably better this time around than I did with Kieran...which was a struggle from day one (although with him I lasted almost 3 months before officially throwing in the towel, I had been dangling the towel for most of his young life).

THIS time, I haven't had to supplement with formula even once. And, although it's still ridiculously painful, Kaya is simply a much better "latcher" and seems to be able to go far longer between feeds than Kieran ever did. So...I'm breastfeeding to my full potential and yet, let's just say that I don't think I'm burning 1000 calories a day. If I was, say, going for an hour jog every day, I would think after 3 weeks there would be more visible results, but to be honest, I still think I'm as shlubby as the day I came home from the hospital, which is no surprise to me. I know I'm not one of those crazy-fast metabolism people who are going to fit into their pre-maternity clothes within a week of giving birth - but I don't want to be misled or outright lied to.

I guess it's still early....possibly two months from now, I will put up another post saying that the 1000 calorie per day burn is NOT merely breastfeeding propaganda (and Ill post pictures to prove it!)...but somehow I doubt it.

On the upside...my new favourite joke when trapped on the couch for 40 minutes while Kaya slowly sips her lunch while Kieran demos the house unhindered, is to tell Eric that I'm "working out". He doesn't think that joke is nearly as funny as I do.

So, Here We Are...

2008-04-27T09:28:00.000-07:00

Kaya is now officially two weeks old. In some ways, it feels like she has been here forever, so its hard to believe that its only been two weeks. What a good baby though. Slept five hours solid last night and today has been asleep (more or less) waking up every three hours to eat. I love it. All my fears about juggling two babies seem to be, at this point, quite unfounded. We'll see if it lasts....I could still be in for a very, very rude awakening.

Although, I will say that things have been a bit boring. How can I update this blog when all I have to say is "went to the grocery store, Kaya slept the whole time?" Or "went to the park...people are quite intrigued by our new stroller." Or, my personal favourite "watched a Baby Story marathon on TLC" this afternoon. I don't even LIKE a Baby Story, so how I can expect other people to be interested?

Anyway, on another note: I've decided that "vacation" is over and its time to get this old, formerly pregnant body, back into some semblance of shape.

But first...a nap. Oooh...and lunch.

The Parental Departure....

2008-04-19T18:29:00.000-07:00

It's already been a whole week since Kaya's arrival. She is still asserting her status as the Anti-Kieran. Loves both being in the car and the stroller (while he screamed in both for about the first 5 months). She sleeps the vast majority of the time and for hours long stretches. Of course, I fully expect this to change, but I'm enjoying it for now.

I will admit I'm NOT enjoying the return to night wakings and night feedings, but I keep reminding myself that its just temporary....ish.

My parents have left for home today though. I'm torn between relief and fear. My Dad is completely amazing. He worked non-stop while he was here - putting up new walls, shelves, drywall, he even regrouted our entire bathroom. He and Eric lay a new flagstone path outside and he fixed all the little things in the house that Eric has been meaning to do but hasn't. As Eric says...he really forces you to bring out your A-game because the man just does not stop.

And there is my mother. Sooooooo tiring. She is also an amazing help with both the baby and Kieran. She did all the cooking and cleaning for the past three weeks, but the problem is that her help - which I really do appreciate - comes with a high price. Her criticism is just constant and all consuming and exhausting. Oh sure, she'll cook dinner but you have to listen to a virtually endless holier than thou litany of how healthy her and my father eat, how they always eat their leftovers, how they don't waste a single thing, how they eat everything in the freezer, how they buy everything fresh, how they eat small portions, how they shop around for the the cheapest everything and it goes on and on and on. And that's just dinner related. She does it with everything...laundry, diaper changes, household duties, exercising. Nothing we do is ever as good as her. I spent the last three weeks rolling my eyes and biting my tongue and thinking how I never, ever want to be like her - even if we means that we sometimes throw out our leftovers or buy overpriced groceries or find a package of meat shoved way back at the freezer that winds up in the garbage because its been there for two years.

Anyway, now we are a family of four on our own for the first time. I think we'll be just fine.

A Baby Story

2008-04-15T06:49:00.000-07:00

So, after all my ranting of the time it was taking to actually induce labour....boy did it happen fast!!!

I will spare all the gory (and let's face it, childbirth is gory) details. However, I feel like I need to update from where I last left off....

After the third gel application, there was no sign of labour, so on Sunday morning, suddenly, the hospital calls.... and they want me in, ASAP. We get there, check in, and I feel like a triage regular. The doctor comes in and I hear the nurse give her my update...the doctor quietly confirms my "freak of nature" by saying: "She's not in labour after THREE gels AND she's already had a baby?!" So, apparently, enough is enough. They are putting me on the drip.

After that, things happen fast. And I mean fast, I get installed in a lovely birthing suite and Eric settles in with his laptop, prepared for a long day like we had with Kieran. We start watching a movie (Eric's brings the selection of No Country for Old Men, American Gangster and Enchanted. The first two seem HIGHLY inappropriate, so we put on Enchanted.) Halfway through, I tell the nurse I need the epidural and from that point on everything is QUITE fuzzy. Except I know this...a few hours later, I had a baby girl. (See how I skipped the details...?)I will say, FOUR pushes and she was out. Nobody was more surprised than me.

Here are the particulars: her name is Kaya Rachel and she weighs 7lbs, 5 oz. (Which leads me to believe that she was NOT overdue at all...no idea why they went with the April 4 due date, instead of the ultrasound based April 10, but whatever). She is absolutely perfect....all fingers, all toes are present and accounted for. She is a very sweet baby, cries only when her diaper is being changed, and has huge dark eyes. So far, a real keeper.

Anyway, exactly 25 hours after she enters the world...we're already at home. I could have used another night in the hospital, but Kaya certainly didn't need it...so here we are.

Kieran is thrilled with his little sister. He obviously forgot about her presence overnight because, when I got up this morning and brought her into the living room his eyes went wide like it was Christmas and he yelled: "Baby!" He spends a lot of time kissing her.

Anyway, she is being a real angel...she's asleep in the seat beside me...continuing to prove she is the polar opposite of her brother, who from the get-go did not like to be ignored while Mommy surfed the net....Sweet.

Now I'm Just Mad

2008-04-12T11:43:00.000-07:00

I thought for sure I was in labour last night. At about 4 pm, I started contractions and waited as they become stronger, closer and more painful, just like the books all say. Then at about 9 pm just, when I was thinking about calling Labour and Delivery, suddenly the contractions went from 5 minutes apart to 9. Then 7 minutes. Then 3. Then 9. Then stopped. Fuck.

So, I woke up this morning and, as instructed called Labour and Delivery at 8 am only to be told that they were too busy and call back at noon. At noon, they said call back at 5. Unless of course, they call me in...which seems bloody unlikely.

All I have to say is "how busy IS this goddamn hospital?" Why bother STARTING the induction if they don't actually care to finish it? And furthermore, how USELESS IS this freakin' gel?

I would be less cranky about this if they hadn't told me about the two stage induction and that I would be having this baby on Friday. Why not just book me for a non-stress test and then let me go another week and then ACTUALLY induce me? It's the mental stress that is the hardest to deal with I think.

The problem with this "rotating doctor" system, as nice as it is during the pregnancy, really sucks at the end because there isn't anybody in charge. None of the doctors know me or have even seen me more than twice. And now, 8 days overdue and halfway through an induction, I'm only in the hands of a rotating triage nurse who is basing my baby's birth according to a hospital schedule rather than anything medical.

If they put me off again at 5....no matter when you live, you're going to hear me snap.

The Miracle of Childbirth

2008-04-11T10:11:00.001-07:00

Obviously, there are lots of things I don't understand about hospital procedures and giving birth. Or in my case, NOT giving birth.

After my regular almost 41 week OB appointment on Tuesday, the doctor told me that they would be doing a two stage induction, starting with the insertion of a gel on Thursday night. The gel is a synthetic hormone that mimics what your own body would produce to make the circumstances favourable for dilation etc. and theoretically, can start labour. After the insertion, you wait overnight and if you don't go into labour from the gel alone, you go back to the hospital the next day for the Oxytocin drip, which really WILL start labour.

Okey dokey, right?

No.

They called me to hospital yesterday at about 3 pm. This gel application process is supposed to take about a hour. We got there and got all hooked up to the monitors and waited for the doctor to come do the exam. And waited. And waited. Then the nurse whispers to me that there is MAJOR emergency and the doctor is really tied up and is going to be awhile. After about 3-4 hours of sitting on this really uncomfortable narrow gurney, a resident finally comes in to do the exam, but needs the doctor's approval before she can actually apply the gel. Finally, the doctor arrives, and we have to wait an hour after the gel is inserted to make sure that I don't go into labour (which would be good) or have an overreaction to the gel (which would be bad.)

After I'd been sitting for another hour with zero labour pains to be had, I finally was so uncomfortable that I had to sit up and lean forward. A few minutes later a new nurse who we'd barely seen comes in - looks at me and says "Oh, now you can't go home!" I'm not sure what this mean....I think for a second that the monitor magically shows that I am having contractions or something, but no, I was NOT allowed to sit up. WTF? I'd been there for 5 hours total, had sat patiently for the hour after the gel and knowing I was not in labour and would be going home shortly, leaned forward to ease my agony. Didn't matter, the cranky, power hungry witch made me stay hooked up for another 15 minutes - just to be sure.

Fast forward to this morning, the gel application resulted in zero change in my status, they just did it again and sent me home with the same instructions...if you don't go into labour come back tomorrow at 8 am. And even worse, they may do the EXACT same thing AGAIN tomorrow. They can apparently do this up to 4 times. Why did nobody mention this to me until today? There is a chance that they won't start a Oxytocin drip until Monday. Although the doctor and the nurses have said that would be highly unusual and since this is my second baby, they think today's gel application will start the labour. Whatever. I'll believe it when I am doubled over in pain.

According to the nurses the baby looks "fabulous" and is happy as can be right where it is. Clearly, there is no medical reason to induce me further - at least not today. This is good news in a way....while I was there today there was a woman coming over from the OB's office who had "no fetal movement" and hearing things like that always puts things into perspective for me. I am happy that the baby is doing well and there is no distress. I am fine, albeit, bored and uncomfortable.

And so the waiting continues....

High Baby, not Hi Baby.

2008-04-08T12:39:00.001-07:00

Had my 41 week (yeesh) doctor's appointment today and, not surprisingly, it looks like unless a miracle occurs I'll be induced on Friday. The doctor said the baby was still really high, and in fact, I quote, as she is doing the exam: "Oh this baby is high. THAT's your problem. High. High.High.High.High." And, apparently, I'm showing zero sign of doing this myself. So, inducement it is. I would rather have done this naturally, and if the doctor had given me any indication that I might be ready in the next few days I may have waited, but since there are no signs, I'm going to go for it.

I start with a gel application on Thursday night, come home and go back the next day for the water break/inducement. I can feel ALREADY that if this baby is so high that I'm in for another long labour.

But at least there is light at the end of the tunnel...

Still Waiting

2008-04-06T21:36:00.000-07:00

So, I removed the "baby due date ticker" because now that I am officially 3 days past my due date it is counting upwards. I'm sorry, but after watching that number tick downwards for several months, I cannot bear to see it get bigger again. It's just too depressing.

Yes, I still wait. Zero sign of any impending labour. I took a full hour's walk yesterday, took Kieran to the park even - which involves lots of chasing and lifting. Nothing. Tried it again today. Nothing (so far). I guzzle raspberry tea like it's going out of style (still delicious!) I try to do as much as possible around the house because I keep thinking that something will trigger labour, but alas.

But I guess at least we missed the unlucky 04/04 date. Eric softened his worry about it when someone pointed out that since the two 4s add up to 8, which is the LUCKIEST number in Chinese, that our child may have escaped the bad luck anyway . How random is that? Regardless, the poor kid is going to have ONE 4 in his/her birthday...unless I manage to defy science and give birth in May...which actually seems possible at this point.

And, I might as well wrap up with a mother update...have I mentioned yet that my mother is NOT one to coddle anybody? I believe I may have mentioned this. No one is immune from her "tough love" approach and this more or less also includes Kieran. Don't get me wrong...she is a wonderful grandmother and Kieran adores her... but believe it or not, the woman can actually NAG a toddler. She thinks it's time he got rid of his soother...which I happen to totally agree with. I hate it myself and had fully planned to get him off it AFTER the new baby arrives. I've told her about a million times now that I think doing it just days before his little world is going to change is both cruel and pointless. To her, this matters not. Every time he has it, or asks for it, she has to tell him he's too old, he's not a baby, he doesn't need it , blahblahblah. Right now he just cries when she takes it away, but I swear, if he could roll his eyes at her, he would. (One day he will, I'm sure, it's something we all learned quite young).

And this morning, Eric was especially happy when he stumbled into the kitchen barely awake and looking for coffee, that she immediately berated him for not taking the garbage out last night like she asked him to. I don't even think she started with a "Good morning". I started to laugh, but then again, I'd already had my coffee. Eric didn't think it was QUITE so funny. Apparently it doesn't matter who pays the mortgage, we are ALL still her children.

Oh Baby, please hurry before somebody snaps.

One Day to Go - or Not.

2008-04-03T07:13:00.001-07:00

Hmmm...so here I am - officially one day before my due date. I was 4 days early with Kieran, and apparently, you're supposed to be even earlier with your second. So much for that.

So, I'm waiting around at home. There really are few things as boring as this...it's not really nice enough to go outside yet, I cannot shop for this child because I don't know the gender, my kitchen is re-organized, the house is clean and I think if I have to wait another week, I'll lose my mind.

Yesterday's doctor appointment was a perfunctory as usual. Pee stick, weight, blood pressure, baby heartbeat, stomach measure and then "see you next week." The doctor was there for apx one minute...if that. I mean, its not like I really expected much else, but at 40 weeks, there still isn't so much as a "let's take a little look-see."

On the upside, I found this absolutely phenomenal Raspberry Mint Tea from a specialty tea store which is just delicious. It was $6 dollars for enough to make about 6 cups, but totally worth it. Raspberry tea is one of the supposed "labour inducements." Obviously, it's ineffective as a labour inducer, but nevertheless, I think it's quite the find.