I need something, something like the movie-version President of the United States has. I need a big, red button that I can hover over, threateningly, whenever my girls are fighting and generally making my life miserable. I need a button that says "you know what girls? I can end this, right here, right now. You know why? Because I'm the effing President of your little lives, serving consecutive terms until you are 18 years old. Welcome to My Democracy!!!!!! Bwahahahahaha!"
Charlize Theron will play me in the movie (wait, can Linda Evangelista act?) Gollum and The Kraken will play Edie and Grace, respectively.
That's where I'm at today.
Friday, April 27, 2012
Thursday, April 26, 2012
It's not like I'm trying to get them to eat escargots.....
I have a quick question (oh, it’s never quick, is it Meanie). After 10 years of being a Mom I have learned that Dr. Google and parenting books only make me paranoid and feel like a sub-par parent (omg, did you read What to Expect When You’re Expecting? Remember that part where she wrote that if at the end of the week you are craving a sweet treat, to indulge in her recipe for homemade muffins sweetened with prune puree? Haaaaaaa, when I was pregnant, I needed a sweet fix at the end of every day/hour/minute and fed myself at the trough of the local Bulk Barn!)
But I digress. My girls are pretty picky eaters. Grace is much better now though, and at least has a willingness, when coaxed, to try something new. For a while she wanted us to pay her a dollar to eat, but even without consulting Google/parenting books I know that is wrong (right?) Edie’s idea of trying something new is to lick it and then loudly proclaim that she doesn’t like it (you imagine this is done as eloquently and discretely as a member of royalty. I like picturing Queen Elizabeth doing the same thing).
I am so tired of eating “kid-friendly” fare and developing menus for the 10 and under crowd and another for the 29 and under crowd (shut up). This week I started a new strategy, again, without consulting any professionals. I decided to make one meal each night, the kids have to try it, and if they don’t like it, the peanut butter, bread, jam and VERY dull butter knife (you don’t know my kids) is laid out on the counter for them to make themselves a sandwich. Themselves. They have to make it. Not me. I’m eating/enjoying something with more than three ingredients and likely multicoloured/multi-textured. Am I going to create nutritionally challenged kids? Is this cruel? Will this send them to the therapy couch down the road (well, they are headed there anyways, this can just be added to their laundry list of complaints).
Tell me though, does this seem like a fair tactic? I really want your opinion. (Oh, and my parents did make me eat escargots. They didn't tell me what they were though, all I knew is that I loved the garlic butter the little snails were bathed in. I must of been kind of stupid though, what else could they have been?)
But I digress. My girls are pretty picky eaters. Grace is much better now though, and at least has a willingness, when coaxed, to try something new. For a while she wanted us to pay her a dollar to eat, but even without consulting Google/parenting books I know that is wrong (right?) Edie’s idea of trying something new is to lick it and then loudly proclaim that she doesn’t like it (you imagine this is done as eloquently and discretely as a member of royalty. I like picturing Queen Elizabeth doing the same thing).
I am so tired of eating “kid-friendly” fare and developing menus for the 10 and under crowd and another for the 29 and under crowd (shut up). This week I started a new strategy, again, without consulting any professionals. I decided to make one meal each night, the kids have to try it, and if they don’t like it, the peanut butter, bread, jam and VERY dull butter knife (you don’t know my kids) is laid out on the counter for them to make themselves a sandwich. Themselves. They have to make it. Not me. I’m eating/enjoying something with more than three ingredients and likely multicoloured/multi-textured. Am I going to create nutritionally challenged kids? Is this cruel? Will this send them to the therapy couch down the road (well, they are headed there anyways, this can just be added to their laundry list of complaints).
Tell me though, does this seem like a fair tactic? I really want your opinion. (Oh, and my parents did make me eat escargots. They didn't tell me what they were though, all I knew is that I loved the garlic butter the little snails were bathed in. I must of been kind of stupid though, what else could they have been?)
Wednesday, April 18, 2012
(A few) Reasons Edie Will Need Therapy
-Today, putting away her laundry I smiled at a particularly cute, polka dotted pair of undies. So tiny, so sweet....so size TWO! Omg, I have been cramming Petitie Edie's butt into size 2 underwear for my own cute fix. The shame.....(she's 7....)
-Again, putting away her laundry, I grimaced over the inevitable single clean sock when lo and behold, I spotted it's (dirty) mate by her bed. Did I do what a good mother would do and toss the dirty one in the laundry? Hell no. I assessed it as being not that dirty (yeah, I smelled it, judge away) and bundled it with the clean one. Let's be clear that this is not about laziness folks, it is about my desire for perfect order somewhere in my life, and so be it if it is in Edie's sock drawer.
-When Edie brought home ANOTHER sparkly Rainbow Magic I didn't even hide my groan of anguish. Luckily I'm sick so I was able to cover and say it was a weird cough, but still, have you read these things? They are so inane, so mind numbingly boring where the same verbs "beaming" and "grinning" are used ad nauseum and the use of "and then she disappeared into fairy sparkle" is used wayyyyy to often as a means to end a chapter. I HATE THEM! But Edie loves them, so yeah, I'm screwed.
-This one is for both girls, I remind them daily the perils of scurvy and go into detail of how it affected the crew of Franklin's lost Arctic Expedition when I empty their lunch bag and see uneaten fruit/veggies. 128 people died yo.
So yeah, I have my own reasons for requiring therapy, who am I to not leave a legacy of sorts?
-Today, putting away her laundry I smiled at a particularly cute, polka dotted pair of undies. So tiny, so sweet....so size TWO! Omg, I have been cramming Petitie Edie's butt into size 2 underwear for my own cute fix. The shame.....(she's 7....)
-Again, putting away her laundry, I grimaced over the inevitable single clean sock when lo and behold, I spotted it's (dirty) mate by her bed. Did I do what a good mother would do and toss the dirty one in the laundry? Hell no. I assessed it as being not that dirty (yeah, I smelled it, judge away) and bundled it with the clean one. Let's be clear that this is not about laziness folks, it is about my desire for perfect order somewhere in my life, and so be it if it is in Edie's sock drawer.
-When Edie brought home ANOTHER sparkly Rainbow Magic I didn't even hide my groan of anguish. Luckily I'm sick so I was able to cover and say it was a weird cough, but still, have you read these things? They are so inane, so mind numbingly boring where the same verbs "beaming" and "grinning" are used ad nauseum and the use of "and then she disappeared into fairy sparkle" is used wayyyyy to often as a means to end a chapter. I HATE THEM! But Edie loves them, so yeah, I'm screwed.
-This one is for both girls, I remind them daily the perils of scurvy and go into detail of how it affected the crew of Franklin's lost Arctic Expedition when I empty their lunch bag and see uneaten fruit/veggies. 128 people died yo.
So yeah, I have my own reasons for requiring therapy, who am I to not leave a legacy of sorts?
Tuesday, April 17, 2012
The Anatomy of a Cold
I was so sick yesterday. The most horribly sick I have a felt in a long time. As I lolled about on my bed, in and out of consciousness, I told myself that I should write about my experiences.
Friday: Windy day, a strange little feeling in the back of my throat – like a crumb from my Cobb’s Bakery (darlings I live in Oakville now!) scone got lodged on my uvula and no amount of throat clearing, sniffing and, errr, snorting (sorry!) would disengage it.
Saturday: Awoke with a slightly sore throat, but no matter, it was Gracie’s first big swim meet and all attention was focused on her. Edie a little pale, complaining of a sore throat and she had a runny nose, but this did not stop me from engaging in some serious cuddles/kisses/sharing of water bottle (when will I learn?) throughout the day. After the swim meet we went off to the pub (en famille, no roster of babysitters established yet in this here town). Throat feeling mighty tickily now, but two pints of Guinness later, tickly quickly turns to warm and fuzzy.
Sunday: Gah, stupid feeling still at the back of my throat and I feel kinda tired. No matter, I have dinner guests coming tonight! Edie looking quite pale, dramatically languishing on the couch with only iCarly bringing her any respite. I call the dinner guests to warn of impending plague, but this gal lives life on the edge and happily came with her family anyways. Sneezing begins. I wishful think and convince myself that I must be getting some allergies - my Mom equates all sneezing/running noses/coughing/red eyes with “every damn thing is in bloom right now”! Dinner party is fun, wraps up early enough for me to go to bed at a decent. I am a hockey play off widow now, so any witty banter/night cap before bedtime has all evaporated. I am exhausted, I retire.
Early Monday morning: I am officially dying. My throat, my Gawd my throat! I am in so much pain, how can Jo just, just, just SLEEP there while I lie here in such agony! I take a Tylenol and fitfully go back to sleep. The cruel alarm sounds and I have to get up. I have to make the girls their lunch and get them to the bus stop. Wasn’t I making my own lunch at their age (ahhh, no, in fact, Mom made it til I went off to university). Can’t they walk themselves to the bus stop? (ummm, no, who would carry their backpacks for them?) Like a fevered Sherpa, I escorted them to the bus stop and carried their scooters home. Based on my appearance, the neighbours probably thought I got my drink on early that morning and was drunkenly taking my parenting responsibilities quite seriously. I get home and pass out reading the Hunger Games.
Lunch time: I awake, almost crying, because I woke up thinking that if I was ever the Hunger Games, feeling sick like I did, I would have been killed. Katniss could kick my sick ass. Sniff. Poor me. I start watching Forgetting Sarah Marshall, heh heh. Funny. I feel a little better. Gah, I don’t feel better, at all! I am sooooo sick! I can’t move! Who will get the kids off the bus? I pick up the phone and call, the Father. Can you pleaaaaase come home? I can’t lift my finger let alone my body to collect the girls this afternoon (I rarely ask Jo to come home like that, he knows I am now officially dying). God I am so sick. I take my temperature to confirm this, in case I need medical evidence – yes, there is a fever registering. I pass out, knowing he will take care of everything.
Late afternoon: I kind of hear the girls come home – Jo must have told them how sick I was – I vaguely remember them staring at me wide eyed from the doorway – I feel sad, wondering how they will live without me because I AM DYING. Edie solemnly presents me with a Lego pyramid. We make eye contact and acknowledge this is likely the last gift she will ever give me. Grace yells at me from across the house and asks for a glass of water, then sighs “never mind, I’ll get it myself”. Touching gestures from both children.
Dinner time: I attempt to explain dinner preps to Jo, kids still need to eat all food groups and stick to their schedule, even if I’m unwell. I’m told later they had frozen pizza and ate at difference times. Sniff. The family unit is already falling apart without me.
Early evening: They brought me the crappy laptop upstairs. Just because I’m dying doesn’t mean I don’t want to get my social media on – but I can’t get internet connection on the damn laptop, so I just stare at the “sorry” page and feel sorry for myself until I pass out, again.
This morning: I awoke in the spare bedroom – two possible scenarios - I either made like a wounded animal and snuck off to die quietly or Jo was snoring and seriously compromising my “get a good night’s sleep” instructions from everyone. The fever broke though, and while I am far from feeling 100% better, I’ve made it to lunchtime without crying out of pity for myself.
But seriously, how would you survive the Hunger Games with a cold? Oh, and how do 7 year kids bounce back so quickly?
*This is dedicated to all the single parents out there because wow, I could not have gotten through yesterday without the second parent.
I was so sick yesterday. The most horribly sick I have a felt in a long time. As I lolled about on my bed, in and out of consciousness, I told myself that I should write about my experiences.
Friday: Windy day, a strange little feeling in the back of my throat – like a crumb from my Cobb’s Bakery (darlings I live in Oakville now!) scone got lodged on my uvula and no amount of throat clearing, sniffing and, errr, snorting (sorry!) would disengage it.
Saturday: Awoke with a slightly sore throat, but no matter, it was Gracie’s first big swim meet and all attention was focused on her. Edie a little pale, complaining of a sore throat and she had a runny nose, but this did not stop me from engaging in some serious cuddles/kisses/sharing of water bottle (when will I learn?) throughout the day. After the swim meet we went off to the pub (en famille, no roster of babysitters established yet in this here town). Throat feeling mighty tickily now, but two pints of Guinness later, tickly quickly turns to warm and fuzzy.
Sunday: Gah, stupid feeling still at the back of my throat and I feel kinda tired. No matter, I have dinner guests coming tonight! Edie looking quite pale, dramatically languishing on the couch with only iCarly bringing her any respite. I call the dinner guests to warn of impending plague, but this gal lives life on the edge and happily came with her family anyways. Sneezing begins. I wishful think and convince myself that I must be getting some allergies - my Mom equates all sneezing/running noses/coughing/red eyes with “every damn thing is in bloom right now”! Dinner party is fun, wraps up early enough for me to go to bed at a decent. I am a hockey play off widow now, so any witty banter/night cap before bedtime has all evaporated. I am exhausted, I retire.
Early Monday morning: I am officially dying. My throat, my Gawd my throat! I am in so much pain, how can Jo just, just, just SLEEP there while I lie here in such agony! I take a Tylenol and fitfully go back to sleep. The cruel alarm sounds and I have to get up. I have to make the girls their lunch and get them to the bus stop. Wasn’t I making my own lunch at their age (ahhh, no, in fact, Mom made it til I went off to university). Can’t they walk themselves to the bus stop? (ummm, no, who would carry their backpacks for them?) Like a fevered Sherpa, I escorted them to the bus stop and carried their scooters home. Based on my appearance, the neighbours probably thought I got my drink on early that morning and was drunkenly taking my parenting responsibilities quite seriously. I get home and pass out reading the Hunger Games.
Lunch time: I awake, almost crying, because I woke up thinking that if I was ever the Hunger Games, feeling sick like I did, I would have been killed. Katniss could kick my sick ass. Sniff. Poor me. I start watching Forgetting Sarah Marshall, heh heh. Funny. I feel a little better. Gah, I don’t feel better, at all! I am sooooo sick! I can’t move! Who will get the kids off the bus? I pick up the phone and call, the Father. Can you pleaaaaase come home? I can’t lift my finger let alone my body to collect the girls this afternoon (I rarely ask Jo to come home like that, he knows I am now officially dying). God I am so sick. I take my temperature to confirm this, in case I need medical evidence – yes, there is a fever registering. I pass out, knowing he will take care of everything.
Late afternoon: I kind of hear the girls come home – Jo must have told them how sick I was – I vaguely remember them staring at me wide eyed from the doorway – I feel sad, wondering how they will live without me because I AM DYING. Edie solemnly presents me with a Lego pyramid. We make eye contact and acknowledge this is likely the last gift she will ever give me. Grace yells at me from across the house and asks for a glass of water, then sighs “never mind, I’ll get it myself”. Touching gestures from both children.
Dinner time: I attempt to explain dinner preps to Jo, kids still need to eat all food groups and stick to their schedule, even if I’m unwell. I’m told later they had frozen pizza and ate at difference times. Sniff. The family unit is already falling apart without me.
Early evening: They brought me the crappy laptop upstairs. Just because I’m dying doesn’t mean I don’t want to get my social media on – but I can’t get internet connection on the damn laptop, so I just stare at the “sorry” page and feel sorry for myself until I pass out, again.
This morning: I awoke in the spare bedroom – two possible scenarios - I either made like a wounded animal and snuck off to die quietly or Jo was snoring and seriously compromising my “get a good night’s sleep” instructions from everyone. The fever broke though, and while I am far from feeling 100% better, I’ve made it to lunchtime without crying out of pity for myself.
But seriously, how would you survive the Hunger Games with a cold? Oh, and how do 7 year kids bounce back so quickly?
*This is dedicated to all the single parents out there because wow, I could not have gotten through yesterday without the second parent.
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
Let's just say I was growing ever so frustrated tonight when I couldn't figure out how to log into blogger.com. After many attempts, I realized I was trying to log into something called blobber.com, whooops, it's been awhile.
I WISH I had tons of things to report, but I don't. I bought a Mac, and I like it but I hate auto-correct, mostly because it makes me realize that I have a humungo vocabulary of strictly made up words (like humungo, I had to correct the auto-correct, humungo is a word dammit, oh god, my poor children).
Are you all DYING to know what I have been up to? Well, I am one very domesticated individual. That sentence makes me sound like I was feral at one point and a move to Oakville has tamed me. Well, I wasn't exactly feral before, but some days I feel like one of those long haired white cats that people put bows in their bangs, whereas in Ottawa I NEVER felt like that - if anything I felt like that cat with a chewed ear and leaky eye (sniff, I miss my drinking buddies!).
I kid, I kid. I am meeting some wonderbar (gah, again, auto-correct! Wonderbar is a perfectly decent descriptive word!) people. I've got my wine drinking buddy, coffee buddies, movie buddies and I've targeted a few other wine drinking buddies for future binges (I'm looking at you Dana and Julie). The one demographic I haven't penetrated yet (heh heh, penetrated) are the Gays. I miss you. Is there gay-ban in Oakville? Must research. I've tried googling gays in Oakville but let's just say the search results are not intended for a 39 year old minivan driving mother of two.
I've ventured into Toronto on a few occasions and simultaneously felt Alive! and drastically Out of Touch! Time to clamour for the fashion news - gah! What's this? Fashion Television has been cancelled????? But wait, I don't want to wear flowery shorts pulled up to my rib cage with an ironic fedora sooooooo ....
Anyhoooo, I'm good, I'm good. Here is where I make my false promise that I will blog everyday, but you can't take my first born if I don't. Wait, actually you can take her, but that's a blog entry for another day (I just felt like the Friendly Giant, you may get the reference if you are old like me).
I WISH I had tons of things to report, but I don't. I bought a Mac, and I like it but I hate auto-correct, mostly because it makes me realize that I have a humungo vocabulary of strictly made up words (like humungo, I had to correct the auto-correct, humungo is a word dammit, oh god, my poor children).
Are you all DYING to know what I have been up to? Well, I am one very domesticated individual. That sentence makes me sound like I was feral at one point and a move to Oakville has tamed me. Well, I wasn't exactly feral before, but some days I feel like one of those long haired white cats that people put bows in their bangs, whereas in Ottawa I NEVER felt like that - if anything I felt like that cat with a chewed ear and leaky eye (sniff, I miss my drinking buddies!).
I kid, I kid. I am meeting some wonderbar (gah, again, auto-correct! Wonderbar is a perfectly decent descriptive word!) people. I've got my wine drinking buddy, coffee buddies, movie buddies and I've targeted a few other wine drinking buddies for future binges (I'm looking at you Dana and Julie). The one demographic I haven't penetrated yet (heh heh, penetrated) are the Gays. I miss you. Is there gay-ban in Oakville? Must research. I've tried googling gays in Oakville but let's just say the search results are not intended for a 39 year old minivan driving mother of two.
I've ventured into Toronto on a few occasions and simultaneously felt Alive! and drastically Out of Touch! Time to clamour for the fashion news - gah! What's this? Fashion Television has been cancelled????? But wait, I don't want to wear flowery shorts pulled up to my rib cage with an ironic fedora sooooooo ....
Anyhoooo, I'm good, I'm good. Here is where I make my false promise that I will blog everyday, but you can't take my first born if I don't. Wait, actually you can take her, but that's a blog entry for another day (I just felt like the Friendly Giant, you may get the reference if you are old like me).
Monday, February 06, 2012
Ying and Yang
Item 1) Grace received her first “grounding” yesterday. From 1:00 to bedtime she was sequestered to her room as punishment for her crimes. The hilarity that ensued (I had to hide my admiration in her abilities) was in the form of sticky notes on a fishing rod she fashioned out of silly putty, yarn and a stick. Edie was recruited as the town cryer to announce when a new note had been drafted for my literary consumption – a job she took very seriously as she planted a chair at the base of the stairs for the better part of the afternoon to await a new note. The notes were basically an almost 10 year olds rendition of Johnny Cochrane pleading not guilty. It actually made for a very peaceful afternoon. Which leads me to....
Item 2) I found my Pixies CD when unpacking a box during my peaceful afternoon. Not sure if this is a good or bad thing. It’s for sure good thing Martha Stuart styles because the Pixies are amazing, and you should like them, and they bring out all kinds of feelings and memories for me. It’s for sure a bad thing because they bring out all kinds of memories for me. Memories like going to a Pixies concert when I was super young, across the river from where we lived, with an older guy who had a car who I had only met via telephone. I lied to my parents about who I was going with, I gave no information to anybody about who I was going with and I just went in youthful bliss and fearlessness. I didn’t focus too hard on how I was going to get home, what time I was going to get home, or what repercussions there might be. I was just focused on the moment of me going to the Pixies concert. It all turned out okay, the guy wasn’t a creep, (or he wasn’t into 90 lbs when wet white painted face/hair dyed black young teenage girls). Thank goodness.
While I can bask in the memories, shake my head at my selfish and scary antics, I can’t help but think oh eff, I’m the parent now, and I’m going to be on the receiving end of whatever craziness my own girls heap on me. Yesterday Grace was quickly and swiftly schooled on what happens when you break the rules. After my trip down memory lane, I fear the day when I might not know what rules are being broken.
Ugh, why do I have to analyze EVERYTHING!
Item 1) Grace received her first “grounding” yesterday. From 1:00 to bedtime she was sequestered to her room as punishment for her crimes. The hilarity that ensued (I had to hide my admiration in her abilities) was in the form of sticky notes on a fishing rod she fashioned out of silly putty, yarn and a stick. Edie was recruited as the town cryer to announce when a new note had been drafted for my literary consumption – a job she took very seriously as she planted a chair at the base of the stairs for the better part of the afternoon to await a new note. The notes were basically an almost 10 year olds rendition of Johnny Cochrane pleading not guilty. It actually made for a very peaceful afternoon. Which leads me to....
Item 2) I found my Pixies CD when unpacking a box during my peaceful afternoon. Not sure if this is a good or bad thing. It’s for sure good thing Martha Stuart styles because the Pixies are amazing, and you should like them, and they bring out all kinds of feelings and memories for me. It’s for sure a bad thing because they bring out all kinds of memories for me. Memories like going to a Pixies concert when I was super young, across the river from where we lived, with an older guy who had a car who I had only met via telephone. I lied to my parents about who I was going with, I gave no information to anybody about who I was going with and I just went in youthful bliss and fearlessness. I didn’t focus too hard on how I was going to get home, what time I was going to get home, or what repercussions there might be. I was just focused on the moment of me going to the Pixies concert. It all turned out okay, the guy wasn’t a creep, (or he wasn’t into 90 lbs when wet white painted face/hair dyed black young teenage girls). Thank goodness.
While I can bask in the memories, shake my head at my selfish and scary antics, I can’t help but think oh eff, I’m the parent now, and I’m going to be on the receiving end of whatever craziness my own girls heap on me. Yesterday Grace was quickly and swiftly schooled on what happens when you break the rules. After my trip down memory lane, I fear the day when I might not know what rules are being broken.
Ugh, why do I have to analyze EVERYTHING!
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
Follow up to the last post - sooooome drama has been abatted. I worked in Edie's classroom on Monday, and will continue to do so until I find work and can't do it anymore. Am I helicoptering my child? I dunno, maybe. She's just so damn smotherable. I guess I need to feel like I'm doing everything I can to help her through this rough patch. Besides, I get to wear a special badge and pinney with a big orange X on it identifying me as a volunteer. That's pretty special, don't deny it. That being said, when I did volunteer on Monday, I did hear a couple of kids invite her to play with them and she shyly declined. When I asked her about it she said she would rather hang out with the recess monitor because she (Edie)is her official helper. I introduced myself to the helper (identified by the special pinney and badge, I hope I look as cool as she does) and she is a lovely woman, kind and warm and I get why Edie feels safe with her. Maybe Edie is networking in her own little way, attaching herself to an authority figure, who kids flock to at recess, and Edie gets to meet them this way, slowly, on her own terms.
I did observe in the Grade 1 classroom The Table though. Oh you know it girlfriends, the table of 4 girls who form that exclusive club that is oh so difficult to break into. They just have that air about themselves, they are the "It" girls and they know it. I don't think Edie realizes these girls are mean girls yet; she did try to sit at their table but she was shooed away (I managed to retract my claws, forked tongue and medusa hair JUST in time) but Edie did seem unfazed by them and moved to a different table fairly seamlessly.
I think I have figured things out though. In Ottawa Edie grew with her friends from daycare, preschool to public school. Same kids from the beginning. Edie is quirky, no doubt about it, but that is all her friends knew about her, so they were accustomed to her and accepting of it. If Edie wanted to sit in a corner and talk to imaginary unicorns and spread glitter all around, it was fine. If the next day she wanted to join in on that game of hide and go seek, perfect. That's just Edie. Maybe it is just going to take a bit of time before things settle. Meanwhile, I need to diplomatically teach her that mean girls=suckage, confident unique girls=awesome.
I promise in my next post I will be back to blogging about what a crappy mom I am and how much wine I drink, pinky swear promise!
I did observe in the Grade 1 classroom The Table though. Oh you know it girlfriends, the table of 4 girls who form that exclusive club that is oh so difficult to break into. They just have that air about themselves, they are the "It" girls and they know it. I don't think Edie realizes these girls are mean girls yet; she did try to sit at their table but she was shooed away (I managed to retract my claws, forked tongue and medusa hair JUST in time) but Edie did seem unfazed by them and moved to a different table fairly seamlessly.
I think I have figured things out though. In Ottawa Edie grew with her friends from daycare, preschool to public school. Same kids from the beginning. Edie is quirky, no doubt about it, but that is all her friends knew about her, so they were accustomed to her and accepting of it. If Edie wanted to sit in a corner and talk to imaginary unicorns and spread glitter all around, it was fine. If the next day she wanted to join in on that game of hide and go seek, perfect. That's just Edie. Maybe it is just going to take a bit of time before things settle. Meanwhile, I need to diplomatically teach her that mean girls=suckage, confident unique girls=awesome.
I promise in my next post I will be back to blogging about what a crappy mom I am and how much wine I drink, pinky swear promise!
Thursday, January 12, 2012
Sad.
When I was brushing Edie's hair this morning, she looked in the mirror and burst out crying "I don't like myself!" and the tears flowed and she crumbled into my lap, burying her head into my neck and sobbed. I couldn't get the reason for the breakdown out of her, she just repeated that she just doesn't like herself very much. Fighting back my own tears, I cooed all the things a Mommy should say, how wonderfully smart and funny and amazing she is. Shhhh shhhhh you are so very special and so many people love you.
She eventually calmed, the bus long gone at this point. Grace, Edie and I cuddled on the couch and read a Fly Guy book (always good to put a smile on anyone's face) and the sadness was over. I drove them to school, looking in the rearview mirror for hints of sadness, depression or anxiety in her beautiful, beautiful eyes, but there were none.
The knots have not left my stomach yet. I have not battled depression or anxiety for awhile now, but I will always remember what it felt like. And to hear my little Edie utter those words, I felt like I had been punched in the stomach. I would take that punch over her suffering any ill thoughts against herself.
I fought back more tears when she came home today with this picture:
Toughest. Job. In. The. World.
When I was brushing Edie's hair this morning, she looked in the mirror and burst out crying "I don't like myself!" and the tears flowed and she crumbled into my lap, burying her head into my neck and sobbed. I couldn't get the reason for the breakdown out of her, she just repeated that she just doesn't like herself very much. Fighting back my own tears, I cooed all the things a Mommy should say, how wonderfully smart and funny and amazing she is. Shhhh shhhhh you are so very special and so many people love you.
She eventually calmed, the bus long gone at this point. Grace, Edie and I cuddled on the couch and read a Fly Guy book (always good to put a smile on anyone's face) and the sadness was over. I drove them to school, looking in the rearview mirror for hints of sadness, depression or anxiety in her beautiful, beautiful eyes, but there were none.
The knots have not left my stomach yet. I have not battled depression or anxiety for awhile now, but I will always remember what it felt like. And to hear my little Edie utter those words, I felt like I had been punched in the stomach. I would take that punch over her suffering any ill thoughts against herself.
I fought back more tears when she came home today with this picture:
Toughest. Job. In. The. World.
Thursday, January 05, 2012
I am either the worst parent in the world, or the best. And I'm really not sure which it is.
My kids love me. They adore me. And I have discovered since being a homemaker, and being home with them over the Christmas "holidays" (the word holiday to a stay at home mom, is just effing cruel), that my children really dig me. They like me so much that I can barely raise an eyebrow without them asking me "what are you doing why did you do that are you leaving the room? can i do what your doing? i'll just sit here with you do you want play a game? i'll go outside if you go outside, what should I wear today you pick it out! do you like this show I'll like it if you like it......you get the picture. They have made friends in the hood and at school, which is great, but at the end of the day they want me. I should be eating this up. I should be tickled that they adore me so much. But I hesitate to think it is because they think that I Am The Best. I think I traumatized them somewhere along the way and they fear abandonment for some reason. I can't remember abandoning them ever, and no, weekly date nights don't count. But they seem angsty when they think I'm going disappear on them. I don't drink THAT heavily that I would have accidentally abandoned them somewhere, so where is this coming from? I can't blame the move, because they have always kind of been this way, but I'm noticing it ten-fold now that I am home with them. Huh. June Cleaver or Mommy Dearest? I really don't know which tattoo to get.
My kids love me. They adore me. And I have discovered since being a homemaker, and being home with them over the Christmas "holidays" (the word holiday to a stay at home mom, is just effing cruel), that my children really dig me. They like me so much that I can barely raise an eyebrow without them asking me "what are you doing why did you do that are you leaving the room? can i do what your doing? i'll just sit here with you do you want play a game? i'll go outside if you go outside, what should I wear today you pick it out! do you like this show I'll like it if you like it......you get the picture. They have made friends in the hood and at school, which is great, but at the end of the day they want me. I should be eating this up. I should be tickled that they adore me so much. But I hesitate to think it is because they think that I Am The Best. I think I traumatized them somewhere along the way and they fear abandonment for some reason. I can't remember abandoning them ever, and no, weekly date nights don't count. But they seem angsty when they think I'm going disappear on them. I don't drink THAT heavily that I would have accidentally abandoned them somewhere, so where is this coming from? I can't blame the move, because they have always kind of been this way, but I'm noticing it ten-fold now that I am home with them. Huh. June Cleaver or Mommy Dearest? I really don't know which tattoo to get.
Thursday, December 08, 2011
Tap tap, is this thing on????
Allow me to introduce you to Oakville Meanie, a lot like Ottawa Meanie, but kinda stepford-y.
So Jo and I moved to Oakville last week - we had originally had our hearts set on Toronto, the city, but the hoods we desired proved to be too expensive for us. To afford a house there, a child would have been sold (hmmmm) a second child would have had to sell her zhu zhu pet collection and recorder (hmmmmmmmm) and the husband would have had to sell his 50" plasma t.v. which is perpetually tuned into a football game (hmmmm) in order to afford one. Waaaaiiiit a minute, WTF????? That would have been perfect!
All kidding aside, the homes that we could have afforded in TO were absolutely minuscule, expensive, and not necessarily in the school district we wanted. So, we started looking in Oakville, where the houses are bigger, more affordable and there is room to run and make noise. Jo works in Mississauga so his commute makes sense. I am not working at the moment so it doesn't really matter where I am. And really, I can online shop anywhere you plop me, so whatevs.
The girls are attending what is turning out to be THE BEST SCHOOL EVER!!!!!!! Grace announced to me that the teacher has a fidget box for kids who need to fidget with things whilst being instructed. Amazing. Edie came home from her second day at school beaming because WE DON'T HAVE TO LEARN MOMMY, TODAY WE MADE PLAYDOUGH!!!!!!!!!! Uh huh Edie, and how did you make the playdough? Well, we meathured 1 cup of baking thoda (she's missing a front tooth) wif 1/2 a cup of corn thtarch and some water!!!!!!!! Yup, she didn't learn anything there at all. And today they are off to meet Robert Munsch on a field trip. Nothing against their school in Ottawa, but that is pretty effing kick ass. Next thing you know there will be a field trip to go see Social Distortion. Yeah, I'll be volunteering for that one.
As for me, I'm easing into things. As you can imagine, I was VERY popular in Ottawa, turning down invitations left right and centre, feted by all walks of life just for being me. Okay, I exagerrate. But I did have a really solid group of friends (you know who you are, don't make me write your names). And by solid I mean I did that Oprah thing a few years ago where I got rid of all those people in my life who were negative in any way (or made me feel fat), so you can imagine what an amazing circle of friends I left behind, some of whom I saw on an almost daily basis. Thank Latoya Jackson for email, Facebook, Pinterest, Twitter and....ummm, am I missing anything? No, don't tell me, I don't need anymore distractions.
Anyhoooo, with all these methods of communicating, I feel like I'm still in the loop somewhat. But, I do have to get out there and meet some people. I think I'll start next week.
But here I am, blogging again, Christopher, Lexie, consider this one dedicated to......you. I'll try and be better at it.
Allow me to introduce you to Oakville Meanie, a lot like Ottawa Meanie, but kinda stepford-y.
So Jo and I moved to Oakville last week - we had originally had our hearts set on Toronto, the city, but the hoods we desired proved to be too expensive for us. To afford a house there, a child would have been sold (hmmmm) a second child would have had to sell her zhu zhu pet collection and recorder (hmmmmmmmm) and the husband would have had to sell his 50" plasma t.v. which is perpetually tuned into a football game (hmmmm) in order to afford one. Waaaaiiiit a minute, WTF????? That would have been perfect!
All kidding aside, the homes that we could have afforded in TO were absolutely minuscule, expensive, and not necessarily in the school district we wanted. So, we started looking in Oakville, where the houses are bigger, more affordable and there is room to run and make noise. Jo works in Mississauga so his commute makes sense. I am not working at the moment so it doesn't really matter where I am. And really, I can online shop anywhere you plop me, so whatevs.
The girls are attending what is turning out to be THE BEST SCHOOL EVER!!!!!!! Grace announced to me that the teacher has a fidget box for kids who need to fidget with things whilst being instructed. Amazing. Edie came home from her second day at school beaming because WE DON'T HAVE TO LEARN MOMMY, TODAY WE MADE PLAYDOUGH!!!!!!!!!! Uh huh Edie, and how did you make the playdough? Well, we meathured 1 cup of baking thoda (she's missing a front tooth) wif 1/2 a cup of corn thtarch and some water!!!!!!!! Yup, she didn't learn anything there at all. And today they are off to meet Robert Munsch on a field trip. Nothing against their school in Ottawa, but that is pretty effing kick ass. Next thing you know there will be a field trip to go see Social Distortion. Yeah, I'll be volunteering for that one.
As for me, I'm easing into things. As you can imagine, I was VERY popular in Ottawa, turning down invitations left right and centre, feted by all walks of life just for being me. Okay, I exagerrate. But I did have a really solid group of friends (you know who you are, don't make me write your names). And by solid I mean I did that Oprah thing a few years ago where I got rid of all those people in my life who were negative in any way (or made me feel fat), so you can imagine what an amazing circle of friends I left behind, some of whom I saw on an almost daily basis. Thank Latoya Jackson for email, Facebook, Pinterest, Twitter and....ummm, am I missing anything? No, don't tell me, I don't need anymore distractions.
Anyhoooo, with all these methods of communicating, I feel like I'm still in the loop somewhat. But, I do have to get out there and meet some people. I think I'll start next week.
But here I am, blogging again, Christopher, Lexie, consider this one dedicated to......you. I'll try and be better at it.
Monday, September 26, 2011
Oh my gods with everything going on in my life I have nothing to write about. Like nothing. As if I’m planning the biggest move of my life and I have nothing to say about it. Maybe it’s because I don’t want to ruin everything with my bad karma juju. I don’t want to write too much about “How To Sell Your Home and Buy a Home in City Much Larger and Much More Expensive Than Your Current City”. But can I blog bitch slap the people who have come through my house and made comments such as “I am disappointed in the landscaping”. The word “disappointed” is sooooo pretentious. I would much prefer that you say “I effing hate the landscaping”. It would make me feel all punk rock and growly instead of kind of ashamed, like I disappointed my grade 1 teacher. I also want to freak out a little bit at the person who opened our drawers. Yup, my unmentionables drawer was open (trust me, I checked that they were closed before our open house - I like to set traps for people). What were you looking for nosy parker? The drawers are not part of the sale, there was no need for you to take a peek in there. I know IKEA Malm furniture is almost irresistible to touch and explore, but c’mon. You’re lucky you got my pretty things and not Jo’s collection of Joe boxers. I also don’t particularly like it when I get a message that someone wants to come through our house, in 45 minutes. And I live about 20 minutes from work. And of course that call came the day that I relaxed a little and left the house looking like someone actually lives in it (because god forbid someone walks through your house thinking it has something of a personality.....no, we are going for complete sterile anonymity here with a splash of life in the form of a strategically place pine comb).
Please, buy my house. I will even throw in my chest of drawers if you do!
And now the Happy Portion of today’s blog post.
Movie review. Well, I felt like a dirty birdy last week when I went to go see Drive with Ryan Gosling. Have you seen this movie yet? OMG, if you have, and you are a lady (or a gay-dy I s’pose) you KNOW what I’m talking about when I say elevator scene. Sweet baby Beiber if Gosling could put those kisses in a can and sell them.....
Another movie review (putting smart glasses on). 50/50. Was privy to an advanced screening (wow, the glasses really work, that intro did sound smart didn’t it!?) of this flick and it is put-your- popcorn-down good. It’s about cancer, which is bad, but it has so many “real” moments in it (did I mention my glasses are also hipster glasses?) that you literally laugh and cry and feel really uncomfortable at times. Go.
Another movie review (smart glasses off, pants off too whaaaatttt???) Crazy Stoopid Love. Again, if you have seen this, I Had the Time of My Life will never be the same for you either.
T.V. Review. Ummmm, not really a review, but just curious if the X Factor has made anyone cry more than twice? Me neither, but that would be really crazy if it did, right?
Well, that’s about it. I wish I had more interesting stuff to write about but my regular little subjects (Grace and Edie) have no stimulation at home (because when you are selling your home you have to hide every toy, crayon, object o’ fun) and so I find them slack jawed in front of the t.v. wayyyy too much and that doesn’t provide much blogging fodder.
Please, buy my house. I will even throw in my chest of drawers if you do!
And now the Happy Portion of today’s blog post.
Movie review. Well, I felt like a dirty birdy last week when I went to go see Drive with Ryan Gosling. Have you seen this movie yet? OMG, if you have, and you are a lady (or a gay-dy I s’pose) you KNOW what I’m talking about when I say elevator scene. Sweet baby Beiber if Gosling could put those kisses in a can and sell them.....
Another movie review (putting smart glasses on). 50/50. Was privy to an advanced screening (wow, the glasses really work, that intro did sound smart didn’t it!?) of this flick and it is put-your- popcorn-down good. It’s about cancer, which is bad, but it has so many “real” moments in it (did I mention my glasses are also hipster glasses?) that you literally laugh and cry and feel really uncomfortable at times. Go.
Another movie review (smart glasses off, pants off too whaaaatttt???) Crazy Stoopid Love. Again, if you have seen this, I Had the Time of My Life will never be the same for you either.
T.V. Review. Ummmm, not really a review, but just curious if the X Factor has made anyone cry more than twice? Me neither, but that would be really crazy if it did, right?
Well, that’s about it. I wish I had more interesting stuff to write about but my regular little subjects (Grace and Edie) have no stimulation at home (because when you are selling your home you have to hide every toy, crayon, object o’ fun) and so I find them slack jawed in front of the t.v. wayyyy too much and that doesn’t provide much blogging fodder.
Thursday, September 08, 2011
This just struck me as hilarious. Edie had one of her epic meltdowns the other afternoon, right around dinner time. We opted for option A: go to your room and cool down (option B would have had Children's Aid on our doorstep in record time).
This meltdown involved blood, sweat and tears (well, not blood, it just reads better that way) which resulted in her hair being all medusa-like and askew.
When dinner was ready, Jo looked over at me and said "Should we release the Kraken?"
This is how nicknames are born people.
Thursday, September 01, 2011
Hey kids, want to feel better about your day?
Against my better judgement, I stayed up too late and watched the final episode of "The Kennedys". Against my better judgement, I read one too many chapters of BossyPants by Tina Fey (so funny). My lack of judgement made me go to bed wayyyy past my bedtime.
I awoke from a brutal nightmare (I couldn't find my minivan and there was a terrorist attack going down) at around 2 a.m. I got back to sleep eventually, only to be woken up by Edie who also had a brutal nightmare (giants yo). After a game of musical beds/pillows we settled in her bed and fell asleep. I was woken up by Grace around 4:30 who was suffering from nightmares too scary to even talk about (wasn't sure if I should call bullshit on that or not). Too tired to fight, I flopped into her bed, amazed at her strength and ability to wrestle all the blankets from her mother and I curled up the fetal position and sucked my thumb until I fell asleep.
When the cruel cruel alarm went of from my bedroom at 6:45, I was still in Grace's room and couldn't whack the snooze button so I HAD to get up to shut the damn thing off. Whoops. Something was amiss. Oh, one of my eyes was sealed shut, that's all Have I mentioned that I have brutal seasonal allergies? Well, this week they have manifested themselves into various eye pleasing ways, such as the golf ball sized hive on my forehead a couple of days ago (I don't have bangs, just sayin') and a crusty shut right eye this morning. But life must go on. I attempted to wake the girls who were very cranky from their disturbed slumber last night and I had to get them out the door by 8:00 for their camp outing today. While I was trying to get them up, the phone began ringing incessantly. When I finally picked up the phone (I have the ability to say WHAT! FUCK! with a simple chilly "Hello" in these instances) it was Jonas reminding me to empty the pool skimmer or elsebadthingswillhappenanditwillallbemyfault (he's been out of town this week).
Okay, so, with one eye shut and my robe falling open I went outside to empty the stupid damn skimmer. When I picked it up I let out a blood curdling scream because there was a dead frog floating in it. I am irrationally scared of 3 things in life 1) Zombies 2) Cannibalism (have you seen The Road?) and 3) Frogs. So, kindly picture a one eyed, robe flapping open crazy haired mama screaming and running around in her back yard, all while her little darlings are inside watching Phineas and Ferb, eating their Cheerios, oblivious to it all.
I won't even go into the epic fit Edie pitched when I attempted to get her moving towards the door, but it did involve her slamming Lambey to the floor (poor Lambey, NOT his fault) and a few solid rounds of "you don't love me". While this chaos was going done, Grace thought it would be a good time to ask me about Halloween and what she should dress up as, what hood in Toronto we were going to trick or treat in etc etc. Forgive me Grace for not engaging in this particular conversation at this particular moment in time.
And, not sure who I think I am, but I also put on white jeans just to tempt the Fates this morning.
Feel better about your morning? You're welcome.
Against my better judgement, I stayed up too late and watched the final episode of "The Kennedys". Against my better judgement, I read one too many chapters of BossyPants by Tina Fey (so funny). My lack of judgement made me go to bed wayyyy past my bedtime.
I awoke from a brutal nightmare (I couldn't find my minivan and there was a terrorist attack going down) at around 2 a.m. I got back to sleep eventually, only to be woken up by Edie who also had a brutal nightmare (giants yo). After a game of musical beds/pillows we settled in her bed and fell asleep. I was woken up by Grace around 4:30 who was suffering from nightmares too scary to even talk about (wasn't sure if I should call bullshit on that or not). Too tired to fight, I flopped into her bed, amazed at her strength and ability to wrestle all the blankets from her mother and I curled up the fetal position and sucked my thumb until I fell asleep.
When the cruel cruel alarm went of from my bedroom at 6:45, I was still in Grace's room and couldn't whack the snooze button so I HAD to get up to shut the damn thing off. Whoops. Something was amiss. Oh, one of my eyes was sealed shut, that's all Have I mentioned that I have brutal seasonal allergies? Well, this week they have manifested themselves into various eye pleasing ways, such as the golf ball sized hive on my forehead a couple of days ago (I don't have bangs, just sayin') and a crusty shut right eye this morning. But life must go on. I attempted to wake the girls who were very cranky from their disturbed slumber last night and I had to get them out the door by 8:00 for their camp outing today. While I was trying to get them up, the phone began ringing incessantly. When I finally picked up the phone (I have the ability to say WHAT! FUCK! with a simple chilly "Hello" in these instances) it was Jonas reminding me to empty the pool skimmer or elsebadthingswillhappenanditwillallbemyfault (he's been out of town this week).
Okay, so, with one eye shut and my robe falling open I went outside to empty the stupid damn skimmer. When I picked it up I let out a blood curdling scream because there was a dead frog floating in it. I am irrationally scared of 3 things in life 1) Zombies 2) Cannibalism (have you seen The Road?) and 3) Frogs. So, kindly picture a one eyed, robe flapping open crazy haired mama screaming and running around in her back yard, all while her little darlings are inside watching Phineas and Ferb, eating their Cheerios, oblivious to it all.
I won't even go into the epic fit Edie pitched when I attempted to get her moving towards the door, but it did involve her slamming Lambey to the floor (poor Lambey, NOT his fault) and a few solid rounds of "you don't love me". While this chaos was going done, Grace thought it would be a good time to ask me about Halloween and what she should dress up as, what hood in Toronto we were going to trick or treat in etc etc. Forgive me Grace for not engaging in this particular conversation at this particular moment in time.
And, not sure who I think I am, but I also put on white jeans just to tempt the Fates this morning.
Feel better about your morning? You're welcome.
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Ummmm, I had kind of a fun night last night. And a quick disclaimer, nobody reads this blog, and I am certainly not being paid by anybody to write reviews or promote anything, so these words are pure.
A friend of mine who is a good friend to have because she is so freaking gung ho and enthusiastic about EVERYTHING (let's run the 1/2 marathon! let's train for it 4x a week at 5:45 in the morning! Let's go for a hike in Gatineau! Let's do this! Let's do that!) signed us up for something called Supperworks. This is one of those services where you go with a group of other people and basically put meals together for your freezer for quick and easy week night meal preparations. Now, I'm usually wary of these things because it involves a) other people (stranger danger! stranger danger!) b) work stations that involve measuring which means a potential for math (they used my voice for Teen Talk Barbie whose recorded message was "Math is Hard!" c) these things usually take place in strange parts of town with names like Orleans and involve highway driving and roundabouts to get there and d) did I mention I don't like strangers?
Well, after a bumpy start (we got lost getting to this "Orleans" place) the night quickly took turn a turn for the better when the hostess for the evening asked me "red or white" and upon hearing my answer promptly handed a glass of wine. Well played Supperworks. I then looked around the room where I would be spending the next 2.5 hours and saw 7 bright and clean stainless steel workstations with recipes, instructions and fresh ingredients posted above them. Ummm, Gwyneth Paltrow - is that you hiding in the corner????
My friend and I had picked 9 meals to make (which we split in 2, sharesies y'all) and off we went. My friend made me do the first one (to get over my fear of "new") and I did great. While she made the second meal I took time to reflect on the other clients in the room and promptly judged and categorized them in about 5 minutes flat. Here are a few that stood out:
1) The Unusually Diverse Couple. I am all for diversity and mixing up the cultures but this couple really stumped me. He in his mid-fifties I'd say, white, and ringing my gaydar loud and clear. She, East Indian I'd say, early forties and super attentive to her partner. I think they were romantically linked because the touched each other a lot. I tried to eavesdrop to determine the nature of their relationship and whether or not they had kids, but they didn't give ANY clues as to their status. Hmmmm. Very interesting.
2) The "We Don't Eat White Rice/Food Ever" mother daughter team. Well. These two crawled up my ass immediately. I was making a fish dish beside them and was asking my friend about what rice to compliment the meal, white or brown? Well, if Mother didn't pipe in with one of those country club jaw clenched voices and state that her and her daughter NEVER eat anything white and that brown EVERYTHING is soooo superior to anything white. And daughter looked at us kind of evil kind of snobby and reinforced the words NEVER and EVERYTHING after her mother spoke them. Really? Do you two really exist? And they marched around the place without ever smiling. What really frustrated me was the daughter was soooo pretty and had a lipstick on that I really wanted to ask her about, but she was just one of those people I didn't want to give the satisfaction of knowing that someone coveted something she owned. Yeah yeah yeah, don't worry, I know I have issues.
3) The CEO/CFO Of An Important Company Who Doesn't Have Time For Idle Chit Chat. This lady killed me. She obviously came from work as she was still in her power suit. She did trade her heels for birkenstocks, which I suspect she matched to her outfit (for all you readers, this isn't really necessary, same goes for Crocs and Uggs, in fact, I think matching them with your outfit might make it kinda worse). Anyhoooo, I attempted a little chit chat with her while casually making quesidillas beside her but I could I tell that I thoroughly disgusted her with my pointless conversation and wine drinking. What took me 2.5 hours to do she was done within 45 minutes and she had merged Apple and Microsoft in the process (I kid, I kid).
4) The Lost Guy. I'm not really sure what his story was. He seemed to be there by himself. Maybe he signed up to meet chicks? I'm not really sure. It's like he signed up, realized it was not at all what he expected, but couldn't just leave, but also didn't really want to put nine meals together by himself for the next couple of hours. He did drink his glass of wine (I was watching him in case he didn't, I would have asked if I could have his share) but I kind of lost track of him. I think he just left.
5) Lady Just Had a Baby and Just Had to Get Out of The House for Couple of Hours. I left this woman alone. I heard her talk to the hostess and my spidey senses told me not to make friendly with her. She just wanted to be alone, anonymous and drink wine for the next 2.5 hours. I'm pretty sure she was the last to leave.
There were more people there but these ones really stood out. The "We Don't Eat White Rice/Food Ever" mother daughter team gave us snark when we were settling up at the end of the evening so it gave me extra satisfaction to ask the hostess lots and lots and lots and lots of questions so I could hold them up even longer than necessary (which is kind of mean, maybe their brown rice was kicking in?) I really am a meanie sometimes.
So, long story short, I would totally do this again. I have nine meals in my freezer ready to go which I'm sure Jo and I will enjoy immensely (the girls will laugh in my face when I suggest they try them, of this I am sure as well).
A friend of mine who is a good friend to have because she is so freaking gung ho and enthusiastic about EVERYTHING (let's run the 1/2 marathon! let's train for it 4x a week at 5:45 in the morning! Let's go for a hike in Gatineau! Let's do this! Let's do that!) signed us up for something called Supperworks. This is one of those services where you go with a group of other people and basically put meals together for your freezer for quick and easy week night meal preparations. Now, I'm usually wary of these things because it involves a) other people (stranger danger! stranger danger!) b) work stations that involve measuring which means a potential for math (they used my voice for Teen Talk Barbie whose recorded message was "Math is Hard!" c) these things usually take place in strange parts of town with names like Orleans and involve highway driving and roundabouts to get there and d) did I mention I don't like strangers?
Well, after a bumpy start (we got lost getting to this "Orleans" place) the night quickly took turn a turn for the better when the hostess for the evening asked me "red or white" and upon hearing my answer promptly handed a glass of wine. Well played Supperworks. I then looked around the room where I would be spending the next 2.5 hours and saw 7 bright and clean stainless steel workstations with recipes, instructions and fresh ingredients posted above them. Ummm, Gwyneth Paltrow - is that you hiding in the corner????
My friend and I had picked 9 meals to make (which we split in 2, sharesies y'all) and off we went. My friend made me do the first one (to get over my fear of "new") and I did great. While she made the second meal I took time to reflect on the other clients in the room and promptly judged and categorized them in about 5 minutes flat. Here are a few that stood out:
1) The Unusually Diverse Couple. I am all for diversity and mixing up the cultures but this couple really stumped me. He in his mid-fifties I'd say, white, and ringing my gaydar loud and clear. She, East Indian I'd say, early forties and super attentive to her partner. I think they were romantically linked because the touched each other a lot. I tried to eavesdrop to determine the nature of their relationship and whether or not they had kids, but they didn't give ANY clues as to their status. Hmmmm. Very interesting.
2) The "We Don't Eat White Rice/Food Ever" mother daughter team. Well. These two crawled up my ass immediately. I was making a fish dish beside them and was asking my friend about what rice to compliment the meal, white or brown? Well, if Mother didn't pipe in with one of those country club jaw clenched voices and state that her and her daughter NEVER eat anything white and that brown EVERYTHING is soooo superior to anything white. And daughter looked at us kind of evil kind of snobby and reinforced the words NEVER and EVERYTHING after her mother spoke them. Really? Do you two really exist? And they marched around the place without ever smiling. What really frustrated me was the daughter was soooo pretty and had a lipstick on that I really wanted to ask her about, but she was just one of those people I didn't want to give the satisfaction of knowing that someone coveted something she owned. Yeah yeah yeah, don't worry, I know I have issues.
3) The CEO/CFO Of An Important Company Who Doesn't Have Time For Idle Chit Chat. This lady killed me. She obviously came from work as she was still in her power suit. She did trade her heels for birkenstocks, which I suspect she matched to her outfit (for all you readers, this isn't really necessary, same goes for Crocs and Uggs, in fact, I think matching them with your outfit might make it kinda worse). Anyhoooo, I attempted a little chit chat with her while casually making quesidillas beside her but I could I tell that I thoroughly disgusted her with my pointless conversation and wine drinking. What took me 2.5 hours to do she was done within 45 minutes and she had merged Apple and Microsoft in the process (I kid, I kid).
4) The Lost Guy. I'm not really sure what his story was. He seemed to be there by himself. Maybe he signed up to meet chicks? I'm not really sure. It's like he signed up, realized it was not at all what he expected, but couldn't just leave, but also didn't really want to put nine meals together by himself for the next couple of hours. He did drink his glass of wine (I was watching him in case he didn't, I would have asked if I could have his share) but I kind of lost track of him. I think he just left.
5) Lady Just Had a Baby and Just Had to Get Out of The House for Couple of Hours. I left this woman alone. I heard her talk to the hostess and my spidey senses told me not to make friendly with her. She just wanted to be alone, anonymous and drink wine for the next 2.5 hours. I'm pretty sure she was the last to leave.
There were more people there but these ones really stood out. The "We Don't Eat White Rice/Food Ever" mother daughter team gave us snark when we were settling up at the end of the evening so it gave me extra satisfaction to ask the hostess lots and lots and lots and lots of questions so I could hold them up even longer than necessary (which is kind of mean, maybe their brown rice was kicking in?) I really am a meanie sometimes.
So, long story short, I would totally do this again. I have nine meals in my freezer ready to go which I'm sure Jo and I will enjoy immensely (the girls will laugh in my face when I suggest they try them, of this I am sure as well).
Thursday, August 25, 2011
I have really really bad allergies. When I woke up this morning I looked in the mirror and my eyes did not look like my own. So I did what any normal woman would do and pretended that I FINALLY had the Elaine Erwin eyes (fyi favorite supermodel of the 80's/90's, and yes she was a supermodel) that I have always coveted. I spritzed on my Chanel no. 19, got dressed in a flowy feminine top and white jeans and catwalked to the kitchen channeling my inner goddess. There may or may not have been an internal soundtrack playing Salt'n'Pepa in my head.
Elaine Erwin alter ego was quickly crushed, no decimated, by a husband who snorted and said I looked like I got beat up in my sleep, and by the girls who kept asking me what was wrong me and why did I look so weird.
Huh. So now I am channeling Rocky Balboa in drag.
Thursday, August 18, 2011
And I thought I was bad....
So, when you decide to move, you quickly realize how much crap you have. How does this happen? My nature, my natural instinct is to hate and repel clutter and random bits and pieces that don't serve a purpose yet here I am cleaning out cupboards and drawers and baskets and shelves and clearing out the CRAP. Three-quarters of our worldly possessions are now at the Salvation Army. Many of these worldly possessions include the girls' precious items. And by precious items I mean CRAP. If I had tried to get rid of this stuff when they were home there would of have been Greek tragedy of sorts composed right there on the spot. Everything is special, nothing can be thrown out, yadda yadda yadda. Where do these little mini hoarder instincts come from? Even an old container of bubble gum bubble bath that proved to cause mysterious rashes on the girls after bathing in it was deemed too special to throw out (I know, I know, why didn't I throw it out myself after the mystery hives appeared? I have my own issues I suppose). A bottle of dried up nail polish could not be tossed - Edie claimed she could resuscitate it with some *magical fairy water*.
To make a long story short, after a visit to my parents house, the mystery of the girls tendency to amass and store their riches was at least partially solved. It's in their DNA . When looking for some Tums in my mom and dad's medicine cabinet, look what I found:
I'm pretty sure this can be tossed now.
So, when you decide to move, you quickly realize how much crap you have. How does this happen? My nature, my natural instinct is to hate and repel clutter and random bits and pieces that don't serve a purpose yet here I am cleaning out cupboards and drawers and baskets and shelves and clearing out the CRAP. Three-quarters of our worldly possessions are now at the Salvation Army. Many of these worldly possessions include the girls' precious items. And by precious items I mean CRAP. If I had tried to get rid of this stuff when they were home there would of have been Greek tragedy of sorts composed right there on the spot. Everything is special, nothing can be thrown out, yadda yadda yadda. Where do these little mini hoarder instincts come from? Even an old container of bubble gum bubble bath that proved to cause mysterious rashes on the girls after bathing in it was deemed too special to throw out (I know, I know, why didn't I throw it out myself after the mystery hives appeared? I have my own issues I suppose). A bottle of dried up nail polish could not be tossed - Edie claimed she could resuscitate it with some *magical fairy water*.
To make a long story short, after a visit to my parents house, the mystery of the girls tendency to amass and store their riches was at least partially solved. It's in their DNA . When looking for some Tums in my mom and dad's medicine cabinet, look what I found:
I'm pretty sure this can be tossed now.
Monday, August 15, 2011
Gaaaack!
As you may have read, we are moving. Packing up, picking up and leaving for Toronto. I really think people with children should reconsider ever moving anywhere until the kids are launched. A few reasons:
1) Children will dig up toys with 10,000+ pieces that they haven't played with in months once they get a whiff that tidy house is required. These toys are intricate enough that they require days upon days of setting up, and any hint of dismantling or putting them away will result in tears, devastation, and cries of "Why do we haaaaaaave to moooooove!" Grace currently has a structure composed of hundreds of bright, colourful straws and joints in the the works - and this is being engineered in the hallway of course because she doesn't want her own room cluttered. Edie is currently throwing down a story-line akin to Gone With the Wind, which is being re-enacted by a kajillion Polly Pockets (epic, absolutely epic stuff with multiple costume changes, and no, the discarded costumes do not get put away in the designated Polly Pocket box).
2) They will also detect freshly painted walls and washed windows and draaaaaaag their fingers along them,which is a crime in itself, but a travesty of justice after they have consumed freshly baked, warm and oozy peanut butter and chocolate chip cookies.
3) They will cry with zero abandon over the loss of friendships due to the move, and then after I work my ass off to arrange play dates they flippantly state that they would rather stay home with me, actually.
4) When asked to clean their rooms up, they will do a seemingly remarkable job, but when I go to do their laundry I go gray with the realization that they have stuffed their clean, neatly folded laundry (that I asked them to put away days ago) into their dirty laundry bags, and there is no way to way to distinguish the clean from the dirty. I outta just shove the kids in my frontloader at the end of the day.
5) They will prove over and over again, that at ages 6 and 9, they are indeed not too old for sippy cups (buy stock in paper towels yo). Milk, orange juice, apple juice, it all gets spilled. Except water. They are remarkably adept at not spilling water.
Actually, husbands get in the way of a move tremendously as well, for the following 2 reasons:
1) They (and by they I mean Jo) give no warning at all that they painted the floor of the utility room, and look put-off when you tell them you walked through their wet paint.
2) The beautiful marble counter tops that have been buffed and polished to a sheen that they have never had before are immaculate and void of any clutter, except for a lone, homeless baseball cap. If eyes could bleed.......
Someone should do a head count at the end of the day our our first Open House - I can't guarantee their safety after these episodes.
As you may have read, we are moving. Packing up, picking up and leaving for Toronto. I really think people with children should reconsider ever moving anywhere until the kids are launched. A few reasons:
1) Children will dig up toys with 10,000+ pieces that they haven't played with in months once they get a whiff that tidy house is required. These toys are intricate enough that they require days upon days of setting up, and any hint of dismantling or putting them away will result in tears, devastation, and cries of "Why do we haaaaaaave to moooooove!" Grace currently has a structure composed of hundreds of bright, colourful straws and joints in the the works - and this is being engineered in the hallway of course because she doesn't want her own room cluttered. Edie is currently throwing down a story-line akin to Gone With the Wind, which is being re-enacted by a kajillion Polly Pockets (epic, absolutely epic stuff with multiple costume changes, and no, the discarded costumes do not get put away in the designated Polly Pocket box).
2) They will also detect freshly painted walls and washed windows and draaaaaaag their fingers along them,which is a crime in itself, but a travesty of justice after they have consumed freshly baked, warm and oozy peanut butter and chocolate chip cookies.
3) They will cry with zero abandon over the loss of friendships due to the move, and then after I work my ass off to arrange play dates they flippantly state that they would rather stay home with me, actually.
4) When asked to clean their rooms up, they will do a seemingly remarkable job, but when I go to do their laundry I go gray with the realization that they have stuffed their clean, neatly folded laundry (that I asked them to put away days ago) into their dirty laundry bags, and there is no way to way to distinguish the clean from the dirty. I outta just shove the kids in my frontloader at the end of the day.
5) They will prove over and over again, that at ages 6 and 9, they are indeed not too old for sippy cups (buy stock in paper towels yo). Milk, orange juice, apple juice, it all gets spilled. Except water. They are remarkably adept at not spilling water.
Actually, husbands get in the way of a move tremendously as well, for the following 2 reasons:
1) They (and by they I mean Jo) give no warning at all that they painted the floor of the utility room, and look put-off when you tell them you walked through their wet paint.
2) The beautiful marble counter tops that have been buffed and polished to a sheen that they have never had before are immaculate and void of any clutter, except for a lone, homeless baseball cap. If eyes could bleed.......
Someone should do a head count at the end of the day our our first Open House - I can't guarantee their safety after these episodes.
Guess what folks, I'm moving! The Meanie family is picking and moving to
Toronto at the end of the month/early September. It's been a long time
coming - we have been trying to leave Ottawa for the past, oh, 11 years or
so. The first move was to be to Bermuda. Jo and I couldn't get pregnant,
so we decided to take advantage of our childless status and a job
opportunity in Bermuda for Jonas beckoned us. Pretty much the day we
popped our visas in them mail, I found out Grace had taken up residence in
my uterus. Well, Ottawa is a nice place to start a family, right? The
next adventure came approximately 4 years later, with an opportunity in
Toronto. Yay! We thought. Bright lights, big city, here we come! We
sold our house really quickly in Ottawa, headed to Toronto in February to
look for a home and then realized a) Toronto is really, really expensive b)
I loved my job at the time and c) Jo wasn't crazy about the job that was
taking him to the big smoke. Retreat! Retreat! A new home in Ottawa was
purchased and the Meanies huddled together surrounded by familiarity. The
next attempt was Edmonton - now I don't want to knock Edmonton, but I'll
just say it was not our first choice to live there, and I wasn't terribly
disappointed when this opportunity was squished by personal matters at
home. Now, by this point in time, we were rocking our 'hood, mingling with
the 'A' listers in our neighbourhood every weekend, the girls had a solid
group of friends on rotation in and out of our home and I was reigning
Queen of Christmas Cookie Exchange (overseeing approx, 14 subjects I might
add) and this has been status quo for the past 5 years.
So, what changed? I don't know, change is just in the air. Jo has an
amazing opportunity career wise, and it happens to be in Toronto. My
career is at a bit of a lull at the moment, so I have no problem bidding it
adieu and seeing what opportunities might await me there. Grace and Edie
for the most part are pretty stoked for the move, looking forward to
hanging out with their cousins who they rarely get to see (ummmm, they
might also think that they will get to go to Toronto's Wonderland every
weekend).
Most people have the same reaction when I tell them what we are doing, they
smile and say I will love it there. A few people have reacted with a
"Toronto sucks balls". I know Toronto is not for everyone - but I'm
optimistic that it is for us. I know we will never duplicate our life in
Ottawa where we have a generous sized home, enough parking for 4 cars, and
pool in the back yard, but that is what this adventure is all about -
shaking things up a bit.
I don't know too many people in Toronto, I'll have to work my way up to
Queen of Christmas Cookie Exchange again in a new city, but I'm really
looking forward to this adventure.
(I'm also looking for work in TO. Here is a link to my "other" blog with
my background and c.v., please take a look and share it if you think you
can help me out!)
Toronto at the end of the month/early September. It's been a long time
coming - we have been trying to leave Ottawa for the past, oh, 11 years or
so. The first move was to be to Bermuda. Jo and I couldn't get pregnant,
so we decided to take advantage of our childless status and a job
opportunity in Bermuda for Jonas beckoned us. Pretty much the day we
popped our visas in them mail, I found out Grace had taken up residence in
my uterus. Well, Ottawa is a nice place to start a family, right? The
next adventure came approximately 4 years later, with an opportunity in
Toronto. Yay! We thought. Bright lights, big city, here we come! We
sold our house really quickly in Ottawa, headed to Toronto in February to
look for a home and then realized a) Toronto is really, really expensive b)
I loved my job at the time and c) Jo wasn't crazy about the job that was
taking him to the big smoke. Retreat! Retreat! A new home in Ottawa was
purchased and the Meanies huddled together surrounded by familiarity. The
next attempt was Edmonton - now I don't want to knock Edmonton, but I'll
just say it was not our first choice to live there, and I wasn't terribly
disappointed when this opportunity was squished by personal matters at
home. Now, by this point in time, we were rocking our 'hood, mingling with
the 'A' listers in our neighbourhood every weekend, the girls had a solid
group of friends on rotation in and out of our home and I was reigning
Queen of Christmas Cookie Exchange (overseeing approx, 14 subjects I might
add) and this has been status quo for the past 5 years.
So, what changed? I don't know, change is just in the air. Jo has an
amazing opportunity career wise, and it happens to be in Toronto. My
career is at a bit of a lull at the moment, so I have no problem bidding it
adieu and seeing what opportunities might await me there. Grace and Edie
for the most part are pretty stoked for the move, looking forward to
hanging out with their cousins who they rarely get to see (ummmm, they
might also think that they will get to go to Toronto's Wonderland every
weekend).
Most people have the same reaction when I tell them what we are doing, they
smile and say I will love it there. A few people have reacted with a
"Toronto sucks balls". I know Toronto is not for everyone - but I'm
optimistic that it is for us. I know we will never duplicate our life in
Ottawa where we have a generous sized home, enough parking for 4 cars, and
pool in the back yard, but that is what this adventure is all about -
shaking things up a bit.
I don't know too many people in Toronto, I'll have to work my way up to
Queen of Christmas Cookie Exchange again in a new city, but I'm really
looking forward to this adventure.
(I'm also looking for work in TO. Here is a link to my "other" blog with
my background and c.v., please take a look and share it if you think you
can help me out!)
Thursday, July 14, 2011
Guest-blogger today folks! Allow me to introduce my brother Kevin. As my shoulders slowly reach my ears over the thought of spending a long period of time in the car with Grace and Edie, he thoughtfully compiled some amazing childhood memories of our own road trips with our parents. Read on.
Have a super-awesome 7 hour trip. Instead of trying to figure out how to keep Grace and Edie occupied why not just do what our progressive parents did:
-keep all of the windows closed at all times to avoid a stiff neck caused by the breeze coming in the window;
-provide them with one poster (the kind with the black "velvet" outlines) to colour. This should take up about an hour of their time. Oh, and make them car sick;
-let them listen to their Walkman. But only give them enough batteries to last 4 hours. And don't buy them more batteries. They're expensive you know.
-power through the 7 hours and don't stop at restaurants, roadside attractions, bathrooms, scenic lakes or anything else that might disrupt the schedule because we all know that getting there on time is more important THAN ANYTHING IN THE WHOLE WORLD;
-keep a barf bowl handy. Preferably a green plastic one that, no matter what you do, will always smell just a little bit like vomit;
- yell at them every once in a while and make sure that they know that there are lots of little children in the world who would LOVE to be going on vacation but they can't because they don't have parents who love them. This is especially good for their self-esteem later in life;
-play "eye spy with my little eye". Always good for hours of driving fun. This will be fun for Edie since she's so good at focusing on one task for an extended period of time;
-provide them with plenty of liquids. Half a can of pop each is more than enough for a 7 hour road trip;
-be sure to make them share a seat in the van. They're sisters and they love each other very much so they'll be happy as clams sitting right beside each other for 7 hours. Remember how much fun WE thought it was??
Good luck!
So thanks Kevin, I am feeling oh so much better about the road trip now, and whatever I do to my kids in those hours that we are confined to the mini-van cannot be worse than what we went through.
Have a super-awesome 7 hour trip. Instead of trying to figure out how to keep Grace and Edie occupied why not just do what our progressive parents did:
-keep all of the windows closed at all times to avoid a stiff neck caused by the breeze coming in the window;
-provide them with one poster (the kind with the black "velvet" outlines) to colour. This should take up about an hour of their time. Oh, and make them car sick;
-let them listen to their Walkman. But only give them enough batteries to last 4 hours. And don't buy them more batteries. They're expensive you know.
-power through the 7 hours and don't stop at restaurants, roadside attractions, bathrooms, scenic lakes or anything else that might disrupt the schedule because we all know that getting there on time is more important THAN ANYTHING IN THE WHOLE WORLD;
-keep a barf bowl handy. Preferably a green plastic one that, no matter what you do, will always smell just a little bit like vomit;
- yell at them every once in a while and make sure that they know that there are lots of little children in the world who would LOVE to be going on vacation but they can't because they don't have parents who love them. This is especially good for their self-esteem later in life;
-play "eye spy with my little eye". Always good for hours of driving fun. This will be fun for Edie since she's so good at focusing on one task for an extended period of time;
-provide them with plenty of liquids. Half a can of pop each is more than enough for a 7 hour road trip;
-be sure to make them share a seat in the van. They're sisters and they love each other very much so they'll be happy as clams sitting right beside each other for 7 hours. Remember how much fun WE thought it was??
Good luck!
So thanks Kevin, I am feeling oh so much better about the road trip now, and whatever I do to my kids in those hours that we are confined to the mini-van cannot be worse than what we went through.
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
Oh my god I have the BEST post being tossed around and created in my grey matter but I don't have time to put it together (it is a multi-media installation). Let's just say it involves The Beach Boys, Kid Creole and the Coconuts and Billy Idol.
I'm going on holidays soon so it will just. have. to. wait.
I'm going on holidays soon so it will just. have. to. wait.
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