tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-56687770482930182792024-03-12T22:22:39.567-04:00Journal of an Ordinary Mom/Wife/Domestic GoddessConfessions and random musings about life, family, and motherhoodUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger42125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5668777048293018279.post-29406270198725570082011-10-22T15:59:00.000-04:002011-10-22T15:59:11.720-04:00Signing offWell, all good things must come to an end.<br />
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I casually logged on the other day and realized I hadn't made an entry since July! Not really surprised. The older and busier the little guy gets, and the less time I have. And let's face it - if I do have "spare" time, I want to spend it with him! Or my husband (sorry about the 2nd place thing honey...you know I love ya).<br />
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Not to mention the fact that all my creative juices are being used up building mega-blocks cities and play-doh monsters, or trying to think of ways to sneak vegetables in at supper time. Not very domestic-goddess-like you say? Bah! Tis what it is. I wouldn't change it for the world.<br />
<br />
I started this blog at a time in my life that was filled with change, new experiences, joy, fear, awe, discovery....transformation. It served as a sounding board when I needed to vent, a place of clarity when I needed to collect my thoughts, and a memoriam - a place to store the day to day experiences that I'm sure my mommy-brain would otherwise forget. These pages represent, for me, my journey from being a woman to a new mother. Not that that journey is over, or ever ends.<br />
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In fact it's precisely my loving obsession with that journey that draws me away from this piece of my life. A bitter-sweet ending...that's mostly sweet (so I guess that's semi-sweet?). So to save myself the embarrassment of having my blog collect cyber-dust, I'm signing off and saying goodbye to JournalofanOrdinary. For now.<br />
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5668777048293018279.post-2605621361784155532011-07-05T21:03:00.002-04:002011-07-05T21:14:02.734-04:00All kinds of cuteI know that people must get tired of hearing parents boast about how wonderful their own children are, but I'm going to anyway. I have the cutest kid ever. And he just gets cuter every day.<br />
<br />
Now that he's talking a little more he's starting to string 2 or 3 words together. This week he started saying, "Thank you mommy" when I hand him something (only it sounds like "tayne-too mommy"). How freakin' cute is that? My heart just melts every time. I randomly hand him things just to hear him say it.<br />
<br />
Another favourite is one he just started saying on his own..."no way". Not as a refusal but like, as an exclamation if you can imagine it. Only he raises the pitch at the end so it sounds like a question - "No way?!". I can't do it justice writing about it this way, but I can't get over how adorable it is.<br />
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The other thing he started to do recently is call us "honey" - I guess because my husband and I call each other honey sometimes. He'll call me from the other room, "Unnie? Unnie!?" (he hasn't quite figured out "h" yet) - I crack up every time. <br />
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And he's learning to sing too. He misses most of the words but just jabbers on with the music (and he does fairly well with the tune surprisingly) and he'll throw in the odd word at the end of a phrase if he knows it. Like with Old McDonald he usually jumps in for the E-I-E-I-O right on time. And with Ring Around the Rosie he knows just when "we all fall down!". I'm pretty sure this doesn't impress anyone other than me and my husband, but like I said...he's just so darn cute.<br />
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Of course being a little sponge isn't always a good thing. I'm now painfully aware of how often I say "shit". Because every time I do he repeats it (and sometimes even when I don't...). I really need to clean up my potty mouth.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5668777048293018279.post-10405748130686588392011-06-27T21:09:00.000-04:002011-06-27T21:09:26.972-04:00Ready for round two?Ever since my son was born, everyone keeps asking me "Are you going to have another one?".<br />
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Initially, when my son was still an infant, the thought of having <em>another </em>tiny, screaming, pooping, sleep-stealing little bundle to worry about (no matter how much love and joy came with it) just seemed overwhelming and....well, impossible.<br />
<br />
As he got older, I could see where many parents come to the decision that they would like to have more. I, however, have yet to come to that place.<br />
<br />
When my husband and I started talking about having children, we imagined that ideally we would like to have 2 kids. I have one brother, and my husband has two, so we were pretty sure that we wanted our little one to have siblings. That was then. Before I realized that not all babies are created equal. Of course I always new that all babies are different, but now I really <em>understand</em> how different they can be. <br />
<br />
You see, I think my little guy has always been just a little more challenging then other babies. A little more determined. More active. More mischevious. More sensitive. More everthing. One only has to read through some of the stories I've told in my blog posts to get an idea of what I mean. And not that I'm complaining - I wouldn't trade his vibrant personality for anything, even though I do often wonder what motherhood is like for mom's with babies who have an "easy" temperment.<br />
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The result of all his energy and demands, however, is a mommy who can't quite wrap her head around looking after two (or more!) of the same. I know that may change as he gets older (he's 21 months now). In fact, recently he's begun to be able to communicate his needs much more effectively verbally, and this alone has helped reduce the frustration level in our house. And we've been putting his energy to good use having him help with chores (he loves doing laundry and picking up toys...mind you he likes throwing toys around and emptying the clean clothes out of his drawers more but I still like to think of it as progress).<br />
<br />
A big part of me is just so happy and content with our little family just the way it is. I don't want to change anything. But then I see how he socializes with other kids and want for him to have a brother or sister to share the imagination and wonder of childhood with. And then I have these random thoughts about getting pregnant again....<br />
<br />
Something tells me one day I'll wake up and just desperately want to have another one, much the same way I wanted to get pregnant the first time. But for now, my little man has my undivided attention when we're together. And that's just exactly the way he likes it. Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5668777048293018279.post-7329460697729330982011-04-19T14:05:00.000-04:002011-04-19T14:05:52.106-04:00I'd rather be doing housework?I have discovered that being back at work full time means that I don’t have any time left for anything anymore. So it goes without saying that I’ve been a terrible blogger and for that I apologize. Not that I know who exactly I’m apologizing to because I doubt that I have any readers left at this point. <br />
<br />
So what’s been happening in the Ordinary life? A whole lotta working and chores it seems. I’m really finding that I feel like I don’t get to see enough of my little monkey anymore, and I’ve been having a hard time with that. I’m told it gets easier…but do I want it to? I don’t want to get used to missing him. Even when I am home with him I feel like I can’t give him my full attention because there’s laundry and dishes and chores…My solution? I’m hiring a cleaning lady. My husband tells me I’m being ridiculous, but he doesn’t do the housework now does he? Pick up a dust cloth or mop once in a while and then you can have an opinion. He knows when to shut up. <br />
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Hmm…what else? Since the little guy had surgery to get tubes in his ears, the whole constant ear infection thing was supposed to get better. Well now, that would have been too easy. He’s been leaking what can only be described as GOO from both of his ears ever since he had a cold 2 weeks ago; I’m grateful that he’s no longer in pain, but I was really hoping the ear infections would stop. He’s still needing antibiotics and eardrops. <br />
<br />
I was really hoping he wouldn’t need antibiotics anymore because they’ve been killing his appetite – all he wants is bread and Cheerios (and Arrowroots!) – he won’t touch fruit or veggies or meat. And of course being allergic to dairy limits our options too. I tried so hard to avoid creating a fussy eater! Boo. <br />
I guess one bonus since his ear surgery is that his language development seems to have really <br />
blossomed. Maybe a coincidence, but it makes me wonder how well he was hearing before. It’s such an incredible thing to see him learning so quickly – it seems every day he learns a new word or two: Bum. Box. Bubble. Bye-bye. Boot. (This week has been brought to you by the letter “B”). It doesn’t stop being adorable. <br />
<br />
Aside from me worrying about my little man, we’ve been busy trying to get our house finished so that we can move in next month. There’s been a lot of delays and hiccups along the way, but things are looking really good. We’re just finishing the flooring and paint, and then the kitchen and bathrooms can go in – very exciting. It will definitely make the headache of moving again worthwhile. <br />
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Okay so I better stop there because I’m fairly certain this isn’t considered “work-related”. (Don’t judge…like I said, I’m still having difficulty finding the balance). Till next time.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5668777048293018279.post-46121113146441723342011-03-17T19:54:00.000-04:002011-03-17T19:54:49.381-04:00GermaphobeCan I just say that I am SO F-ING DONE with flu season!!!?!! BAHHHHH.<br />
<br />
I have this anxiety issue when it comes to infectious stomach bugs. I've always been totally paranoid about getting sick. Well someone should have warned me that paranoid feeling would grow exponentially when I became a mom.<br />
<br />
Last year the baby was still fairly small, and I was still on maternity leave, so it was easier. When there was a lot of illness in the community I kept him home. Safe and protected in our vomit-free home. Well now that he's in daycare I'm faced with daily anxiety about what communicable disease he's going to come home with next. It's not like I can hose him down in Lysol (although the thought has occurred to me).<br />
<br />
I've come to terms with the fact that he's going to have lots of colds (in fact he's had 4 or 5 already just in the 6 weeks that he's been going to daycare). But these stomach flu-type illnesses are a whole other story. It just freaks me out. I can't really explain it. I just have this totally irrational anxiety about it. (Yes, I'm a nurse. Other people are allowed to be sick - just not me or my family. Don't judge.)<br />
<br />
He's only been sick with one of these bugs once - about 3 weeks ago it went around the daycare. I was almost relieved when he finally did get sick because it was like I could stop worrying about it. And luckily he had a really mild case so it wasn't the catastrophic puke-and-poop fest I had envisioned.<br />
<br />
Well today I go to pick him up at daycare and hear about how a couple of the kids have been sick with vomiting and diarrhea, and this feeling of anxiety and dread washes over me. NOT AGAIN! I hate this.<br />
<br />
I wish I could just keep him home and prevent him from being exposed to all this crap. And I don't wanna hear about how "it's good for his immune system" or how "if he's sick a lot now he'll be healthier later" because it really doesn't make me feel any better. I'm still a bundle of nerves waiting for the barf-bomb to hit.<br />
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I CAN'T WAIT for this part to be over.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5668777048293018279.post-80302898517762940492011-03-07T14:03:00.000-05:002011-03-07T14:03:25.019-05:00One more reason why I love that man...Today I'm going to stray from my usual material (namely mommyhood-type stuff) and delve into the world of...construction? Scary, I know, but I've had requests for building updates and I wouldn't want to disappoint my readers (all 5 of them).<br />
<br />
So while I've been<strike> preoccupied</strike> ...<strike>distracted by</strike> ...completely self-absorbed with the process of returning to work and all it entails, my beloved husband has been on his own journey - building our home. He's been working hard. REALLY hard. <br />
<br />
He's been out there pounding nails in high winds, snow, rain, and frigid cold. The weather has not been very cooperative. Now that March is here I had hoped we would get a little break from this winter madness - I think we've had enough! In fact, on my way home from work today the billboard at the local church (usually displaying a feel-good spiritual message about love or family or other warm and fuzzy things) reads as follows: <br />
<strong><em>Whoever keeps praying for snow, please stop.</em></strong><br />
No shit.<br />
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Anyway, all his hard work is paying off because what was once a hole in the ground is quickly taking shape into the house we've dreamt of building for years.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwyfHDBWW5E8q1hd634oXTMfu7g4K2auzJKP8SOAyl1nFaxpbq4ibJPKpyML0kjqous8PCehWpl4R5tY0kXjCR-G2r-Z-3gGrrqkOH5UYCoQ3bpxnmzrEwwvrk4lbzoqOheqVzJsK2BtE/s1600/100_0163.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" q6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwyfHDBWW5E8q1hd634oXTMfu7g4K2auzJKP8SOAyl1nFaxpbq4ibJPKpyML0kjqous8PCehWpl4R5tY0kXjCR-G2r-Z-3gGrrqkOH5UYCoQ3bpxnmzrEwwvrk4lbzoqOheqVzJsK2BtE/s400/100_0163.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Foundation poured</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUU_E-srj8Rg1a-vIGKJvTfTYu5o2HBq-_ft_Q2h1FxZePosG0SFKsZFBoVz-ptoBuGo0I-5nBvtFjwE3wRZKzvONGgQE4JvfpHJAoPxdRdQVfJ-bRlLAfELXncS0980jJcGrsx6uOEI4/s1600/100_0212.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" q6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUU_E-srj8Rg1a-vIGKJvTfTYu5o2HBq-_ft_Q2h1FxZePosG0SFKsZFBoVz-ptoBuGo0I-5nBvtFjwE3wRZKzvONGgQE4JvfpHJAoPxdRdQVfJ-bRlLAfELXncS0980jJcGrsx6uOEI4/s400/100_0212.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Floor joists going on - there's my hubby!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7NBZpn-yYK9jjpOJTzIt3YRDsyJRwT8phzx79djHHH2xrJZRVfGl4nzIgDVpua071REmw6Q0C2LNy0pgHN9OWWcICVcq6lVGE1LSdIsNpUBy1YvCg_gBz1neRVb8z78Wqr590ewJGGyA/s1600/100_0217.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" q6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7NBZpn-yYK9jjpOJTzIt3YRDsyJRwT8phzx79djHHH2xrJZRVfGl4nzIgDVpua071REmw6Q0C2LNy0pgHN9OWWcICVcq6lVGE1LSdIsNpUBy1YvCg_gBz1neRVb8z78Wqr590ewJGGyA/s400/100_0217.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Walls up </td></tr>
</tbody></table>So that's how the house building is coming along. Stay tuned for periodic updates - I anticipate that there should be some good blogging material to come as my husband and I try to agree on things like flooring and paint colours. Dangerous.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5668777048293018279.post-28839363129442530452011-02-20T17:10:00.001-05:002011-02-28T14:07:17.292-05:00Boobie blues?Well I guess I should begin by apologizing for the negativity of my <a href="http://journalofanordinary.blogspot.com/2011/02/timing-is-everything.html">last post</a>. But in my defense, I started this blog as a sounding board for the part of me that sometimes needs to rant. Because if I don't, things get ugly.<br />
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So for all you folks out there who maybe don't want to read about hormones and female problems, I'll take this opportunity to suggest you skip this particular post.<br />
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Is there any one else out there that found their hormones forced them onto an emotional roller coaster when they were weaning?? I wasn't anticipating this. It's kind of like the way I felt with postpartum blues, only I don't have the excuse of the blues to explain my complete lack of mental stability. It's worse this week, because I'm about to get my period to boot. Usually I just feel irritable though, not so....emotional. <br />
<br />
I can't stop crying. About everything. And I feel really anxious and worried about things, like in an irrational way. And I'm grouchy. I feel a little crazy.<br />
<br />
Everyone tells me that I should give myself a break because I just started back to work and have a lot on my plate and all that, but I honestly don't think this has anything to do with being back at work. In fact, I feel better when I'm at work because I'm busy.<br />
<br />
Anyway, just wondering if this is something other people have experienced? I'm still nursing a couple times a day, so we haven't completely weaned yet, and I'm worried this will get worse when we do.<br />
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On a completely unrelated note, I don't seem to have much time left for blogging with everything else that's going on these days, so I'm a little concerned about the future of this journal. We shall see.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5668777048293018279.post-4733733601293598502011-02-06T21:05:00.000-05:002011-02-06T21:05:28.790-05:00Timing is everythingTomorrow's the big day - officially back to work. I've been busy getting ready:<br />
<br />
Wean baby from breast...check.<br />
Find daycare...check.<br />
Get haircut...check.<br />
Find things to wear other than pajamas...check.<br />
Get the worst cold I've had in years...check.<br />
Give it to the baby...check.<br />
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Oh yeah, and did I mention that we're in the middle of building the house? To make matters worse the little guy is really NOT adjusting to daycare very well - we're having some pretty crazy separation anxiety issues (but that's another story). <br />
<br />
So the poor little monkey's been coughing and snotting and crying all over the place, as have I, and neither of us have slept more than a couple of hours at a time in days. My sinuses, ears, and eyeballs feel like they're going to all simultaneously explode snot everywhere. I can't take cold medicine because I'm trying to keep my milk supply up enough to breastfeed at least once or twice a day and apparently decongestants will dry up your milk. And I have to get up and go to work in the morning for the first time in a year and a half. JOY.<br />
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Because that's just how I like to do things, you know? Go big or go home. If I'm gonna be stressed out I might as well make it a good one and just pile all the shit up at once.<br />
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I wonder if this is a sign that I shouldn't be going back to work at all...<br />
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Goodnight. I'm going to bed to lay awake and attempt to <strike>sleep</strike> breathe.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5668777048293018279.post-37085175917193149422011-02-03T10:54:00.000-05:002011-02-03T10:54:05.995-05:00DaredevilI'm starting to get a little worried. My son has only just started to take his first tentative steps (a late bloomer in that regard). He has for some time, however, been working on various other stunts and acrobatics. Mostly climbing.<br />
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For a couple of months now he has been able to climb up and down from the couch pretty gracefully. Once he got bored with that however, he started trying to climb over the arms and back of it. Then he moved on to the coffee table. Then it was his "stand and learn" table:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFPNEo5p5-b3upk5gKKCcht1GFu3V4uUaehbhCgCRa9wuPRTzzN6vS2Wb8pUllInVSwahU6uUALxkgiqqhSFFRcDKtTMXvww6BDzB5-v90wGv_vCHlGekBOCTdv60vcEu0jlHlHsyDyn8/s1600/imagesCA57I82E.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" s5="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFPNEo5p5-b3upk5gKKCcht1GFu3V4uUaehbhCgCRa9wuPRTzzN6vS2Wb8pUllInVSwahU6uUALxkgiqqhSFFRcDKtTMXvww6BDzB5-v90wGv_vCHlGekBOCTdv60vcEu0jlHlHsyDyn8/s1600/imagesCA57I82E.jpg" /></a></div> Instead of "standing and learning" he climbs up on top of it and perches there like a cat. Now he steps up onto the electric baseboard heater to get up on the window ledge- and he just clings there like spider man. <br />
Today he started with the chin-ups on the kitchen counter. He can't get his chin all the way up yet, but he can get both feet off of the floor and then tries to scale the cupboard. How am I ever going to baby proof my house now?<br />
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My friend was telling me the other day about a little guy she knew of the used to balance on the arms of furniture and dangle from ceiling fans. For reals? I'm terrified. I've had a hard enough time keeping up with him on all fours!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5668777048293018279.post-11378839331194049922011-01-17T16:25:00.001-05:002011-01-18T13:18:11.045-05:00ChangesI've been offered the job I've been waiting for since I started working as a nurse - a Monday to Friday that will mean NO MORE SHIFT WORK!! So it was a big decision, but I've decided to go back to work full time <a href="http://journalofanordinary.blogspot.com/2010/10/to-work-or-not-to-work.html">after all.</a> Considering the long-term, it was an opportunity I couldn't pass up. But I'm still very sad and nervous to be leaving my little monkey... <br />
<br />
This also means that the time has finally come for me to face the challenge of weaning my son from breastfeeding. It's been almost 16 months, and aside from the initial HELL of the first week or so (you breastfeeding moms out there know what I'm talking about), and a few<a href="http://journalofanordinary.blogspot.com/2010/10/got-breastmilk.html"> ignorant remarks</a>, I've enjoyed every day of it. This part, however, I'm dreading.<br />
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You know how they tell you right from early on not to let your baby get in the habit of nursing to sleep? Yeah well <em>they </em>obviously didn't have babies that woke up during the night. When his eczema or ears are bad, my little guy can wake up as many as 7 or 8 times a night. And let me tell you, when you're that sleep deprived you don't give a shit what the experts say, and you will do whatever it takes to get your child to sleep. Consequently, he won't go sleep without it (or without <em>me</em>). So clearly this change is not going to be easy.<br />
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So far though, he's been pretty readily accepting soy milk in a bottle (since he's allergic to dairy), and I'm hopeful that things will continue to go smoothly. I will miss breastfeeding dearly, but I am REALLY looking forward to being able to eat dairy again, not to mention indulging in a few glasses of wine. I'm also looking forward to wearing a normal bra again. Because lets face it - this is not sexy:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYd0XkgDc634iUxb4ODGcMz6csstd1Nu-Yt-JKotvFqYf8a_uquqxKke6_APlb5trw5LVrDNSeTUmPGo-cBX5Zfde_e59plNgNO8H1PL8Z3ccOIedDKVnp8t6YGgAmgk-Jtlek2sQv_Dw/s1600/imagesCAGBKIC3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYd0XkgDc634iUxb4ODGcMz6csstd1Nu-Yt-JKotvFqYf8a_uquqxKke6_APlb5trw5LVrDNSeTUmPGo-cBX5Zfde_e59plNgNO8H1PL8Z3ccOIedDKVnp8t6YGgAmgk-Jtlek2sQv_Dw/s1600/imagesCAGBKIC3.jpg" /></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5668777048293018279.post-60459177310146452292011-01-11T10:18:00.001-05:002011-01-11T10:19:53.204-05:00Kicking and ScreamingYou know that expression about being dragged kicking and screaming? We'll I've probably used it in one way or another about 5000 times. Yesterday I learned what it really meant. <br />
<br />
You see kicking and screaming, is an actual <em>thing. </em>That kids do. In public.<br />
<br />
I'm pretty careful about not dragging my 16 month old on errands when he's tired or hungry or otherwise out of sorts, because frankly it's usually enough of a challenge when the deck's stacked in my favour. And yesterday was no exception. Despite being well rested and fed however, my son still decided that he was going to throw us a curve ball and make our little family trip to the Home Depot as difficult as possible.<br />
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We put him in the big orange cart when we arrived and at first things seemed to be going smoothly. We headed to the kitchen section and started looking at counter tops and cabinets. But then he wanted out. Scream. SCREAM. <em>SCREEEEEAAAAAM. (Curious looks from other shoppers). </em>So now I'm carrying him.<br />
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We proceeded to discuss our cabinet options with the helpful-but-a-little-too-pushy store associate in the orange apron, while the baby twisted and turned in my arms, lurching his 25 pounds around trying to get his hands on anything and everything. Now he wants down. Scream. Scream. SCREAM. (<em>Annoyed looks from other shoppers). </em>Normally I would never consider putting him down to crawl on a dirty store floor, but we were in a fairly clean looking little carpeted area (and my arms were burning with strain) so I caved and set him down to explore. <br />
<br />
Within 15 seconds he had found a drawer in the kitchen display that actually had stuff in it (who knew they actually stored things in their displays?), fetched a black permanent marker from inside, and had the cap off. Naturally another screaming session ensued when I had to confiscate it. (<em>More annoyed looks from other shoppers</em>). Meanwhile my husband and the dude in the orange apron just kept talking about cabinet doors.<br />
<br />
After he had discovered that nearly ALL of the display cabinets had contents, there was no stopping him, so I had to pick him back up. <em>Why is it so friggin' hot in here</em>? SCREEEAAAAM. I tried putting him in the cart again. <em>SCREEEAAAM</em>. So I take him back out, throwing my a husband a desperate look - <em>help</em>! When he didn't catch on I interrupted their little cabinet conversation and plopped the little rascal into my husbands arms - <em>here, you deal with him for a bit</em>.<br />
<br />
So I tried listen to what Orange Apron had to say about counter tops while watching my husband struggling to hang on to a wriggling, screeching toddler. He too finally resorted to setting him down on the floor. He found a display of counter top samples and proceeded to pull them out and pile them on the floor. Initially I was going to let him, but when we started to get looks of disapproval from another guy in an orange apron I had to step in and pick him back up.<br />
<br />
Scream. SCREAM. <em>SCREEEEAAAAAMMM</em>. I stood there, now sweating, holding him in Superman position while he squealed and screeched and kicked his legs. Orange Apron didn't seem to notice and proceeded to try and talk me into a solid surface counter top (that I had clearly told him we couldn't afford), but everyone else in the store seemed to be looking at us. More disapproving looks from the other sales clerk. Sympathetic looks from a lady walking by with her well-behaved 8 year old. Terrified looks from a very pregnant young woman and her partner. Annoyed looks from a cranky old man who probably forgot to take his Metamucil. Dirty looks from a middle-aged woman who probably doesn't remember that her kids once misbehaved. <br />
<br />
I waited for Orange Apron to take a breath and interrupted him as politely as I could, explaining that we'd have to come back some other time (<em>as if it wasn't totally obvious that now wasn't the best time...was this guy stunned</em>?). We headed toward the exit with a tantruming child in tow, fetching glares from onlookers the whole way. A nice older lady greeting customers at the door offered her assistance (bless her heart) and took our cart back after watching us both struggle for a few minutes trying to get the baby's coat and hat on while he screamed and fought us every inch of the way.<br />
<br />
Out the door we headed, having accomplished absolutely nothing. I can't wait to go grocery shopping tomorrow.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5668777048293018279.post-16484320394505729342011-01-05T19:52:00.000-05:002011-01-05T19:52:58.696-05:00Snow stinksWell, I don't know what the weather is doing where you are but here in Central Ontario it JUST KEEPS SNOWING. We used to be snowmobilers (aka 'sledheads'), but when I got pregnant "we" decided that our money would be better spent on more practical family things. Subsequently, the wintertime has lost <strike>some most </strike>all of it's appeal. <br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">I had a fantastic idea and decided to get the little guy a sled for Christmas. I thought we could get out for walks and enjoy the snow a bit. It has a weather shield so I figured if I bundled him up he'd be plenty warm. It looks like this:</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs_mpZKgLFgowA5JnnBsWBzZtgUi6RPcVzv1Z5kq0HDiqzxjMAAbVPPP8PuNQ7twOp78jUy_uuXR8L8ToGqHQe1ihaSfnUkcQjCYWgr6SHu87hW0ABUpRQ-1LgVqDleQeGKK_DhlOsvBo/s1600/sled.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs_mpZKgLFgowA5JnnBsWBzZtgUi6RPcVzv1Z5kq0HDiqzxjMAAbVPPP8PuNQ7twOp78jUy_uuXR8L8ToGqHQe1ihaSfnUkcQjCYWgr6SHu87hW0ABUpRQ-1LgVqDleQeGKK_DhlOsvBo/s200/sled.bmp" width="200" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">The first time we put him in it he had a total meltdown and we didn't get out of the driveway. We tried again today - it was beautiful and sunny and we were all in better moods. This time we had a little more success and managed to make it a couple of blocks before the screaming started. He was cold, I think, but he wouldn't let me zip up the weather shield because it freaked him out. So we had to take turns carrying him home instead (and let me tell you, a 25 lb toddler with snow gear on gets heavy FAST). </div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">So I'm back to hating this snowy mess we're in. The only thing keeping me from wishing the winter away is knowing that I have to go back to work in the spring. Every time I think about it I feel sick. Or like crying. I have no doubt that I'll have a harder time with this than the baby will. </div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5668777048293018279.post-74188549032432843292010-12-15T12:42:00.000-05:002010-12-15T12:42:33.834-05:00O Christmas tree, how ever-synthetic your branchesEach year I am faced with the same Christmas dilemma...real or fake? The pure, fragrant, traditional, nostalgia of a real tree? Or the hassle and mess free ease of an artificial one? Years ago we started using an artificial tree and haven't really looked back, except that for the nagging sense of guilt that I feel every year as I pop the tree up, lights and all, in two minutes flat. <br />
<br />
You see I'm the kinda girl that takes a certain pleasure in the simple things this world offers - home cooked meals, baking from scratch, walks in the woods, you get the idea. And I really try hard not to get caught up in the commercial consumerism that has become Christmas for so many people. So an artificial tree kinda goes against my beliefs, if you will.<br />
<br />
But then I remember. You see, putting up the Christmas tree brings back some childhood memories that are the complete opposite of joyful or merry. After my parent's divorce, there wasn't a handy man around to do the manly things required to get a tree from the lot to your living room (like strap a tree to the roof of the car or saw off the bottom branches). My mom didn't let that stop her by any means (she's a champ) but the going was tough. By the time we had the tree home and ready to go into the stand we were all pretty worn out.<br />
<br />
Ah yes. The tree stand. I'm pretty sure they've come a long way since the last one that I had to deal with almost 20 years ago (for you real-tree people I truly hope they have), but the one I remember was green metal with four curved legs coming off of a round bowl. There were 4 bolt-like pegs that poked through the bowl so you could tighten them into the trunk of the tree to hold it up. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUVNMHfyX44oX2ySLJ0lvFQIxnOS0ALmRHsTIc7SZogmgglcjkjk9TFQBj5dJzp6urxK9aIfDTYEuV-Gy3lyc9pGXOhkE9czbFvlEGvsK0r84SKEOWXwyuZriYivNGtt-_PBbygJJyE20/s1600/stand.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUVNMHfyX44oX2ySLJ0lvFQIxnOS0ALmRHsTIc7SZogmgglcjkjk9TFQBj5dJzp6urxK9aIfDTYEuV-Gy3lyc9pGXOhkE9czbFvlEGvsK0r84SKEOWXwyuZriYivNGtt-_PBbygJJyE20/s1600/stand.jpg" /></a></div>It sucked. I vividly remember my brother and I fighting to hold the tree upright as my mom tried to tighten those stupid pegs to secure the tree, all the while we were getting poked in the hands and arms by a thousand little needles. After what seemed like hours of battling to get the tree just UP, we still had to untangle and string lights. Once the tree was finally decorated, it would inevitably fall down in the middle of the night and we'd have to start over again. I remember one year all three of us ended up crying over the tree that just wouldn't stand. That was the last year we had a real tree.<br />
<br />
I guess all the memories aren't bad. I do recall the excitement of running through the maze of freshly cut and snow covered trees with my brother trying to pick the perfect one. And of course there's the unbeatable fragrance of pine in your home. And once we finally did get the tree up it was always beautiful.<br />
<br />
So I do feel a little guilty having an artificial tree, but not nearly guilty enough to go back and relive that nightmare. Plus, the baby would totally just eat the needles and I'm pretty sure that wouldn't be good. Oh yeah and I'm also saving the planet a little by not cutting a tree down. So there.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5668777048293018279.post-78155744113076997272010-12-14T11:01:00.000-05:002010-12-14T11:01:21.647-05:00Where'd she go?Okay so it's been over a month since I've posted, and it's been a very busy month indeed. Perhaps I temporarily had my priorities straight and was focused on my real life...(cough)<br />
<br />
Anyway my apologies for the lack of commitment on my part. I also apologize in advance for this post as it really has no particular theme and is really more of an update. Because I needed to post about something. Right.<br />
<br />
So in the last month we've moved, semi-unpacked, and are sort of settled in our new (old) rental place. We officially own a little piece of land that's nothing more than snow and trees right now, but I'm very proud and pleased just the same. Hopefully we'll have a hole in the ground soon.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3TrnjaOVvIIKZmNsylzkScuIYOB3uAJEHY0GOUiU1KmGIGH6KO_0GGfb5bxKyvfYvjww5fQf2Bg6U_p6gAjDo3s8WcPppfJD5hbtdz888xR6xAsjsmzi8PH4HMWwNfJmPONhUWpOSZj0/s1600/lot.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3TrnjaOVvIIKZmNsylzkScuIYOB3uAJEHY0GOUiU1KmGIGH6KO_0GGfb5bxKyvfYvjww5fQf2Bg6U_p6gAjDo3s8WcPppfJD5hbtdz888xR6xAsjsmzi8PH4HMWwNfJmPONhUWpOSZj0/s320/lot.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<br />
My little monkey is sick again with an ear infection and it's looking like he'll need tubes. Initially I was relieved to hear this, as I had tubes in my ears as a child and they essentially put an end to painful ear infections. Then I thought about letting go of my little guy while strangers whisked him away to put him under anaesthetic whilst we both sob in terror....and then I hyperventilated a little and decided it was best if I just didn't think about it until I absolutely HAVE to. I think it's safer for everyone that way.<br />
<br />
Let's see....what else....oh yeah - CHRISTMAS. We'll it sure snuck up on me this year. I detest Christmas shopping but this year I did most of it online which was freaking fantastic and is officially my new favourite thing. Also, we're poor this year so I've been busy making preserves to give as gifts. Still have to bake and wrap. Can't wait to spend time with the fam (by fam I of course mean wine, cranberry martinis, and coffee with Baileys).<br />
<br />
I'm pretty sure I'm missing some stuff because I literally haven't stopped for weeks but that's the gist of it.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5668777048293018279.post-13134874073445271912010-11-11T20:16:00.000-05:002010-11-11T20:16:09.318-05:00In Remembrance<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1f_tXOn1ovZkeT2H338I_xWXOzB9sF3OAnhDAPkUuqtwqvlRmwd_txIERyuqvDXXYrEScLywowfvdNkAi5u8NE3NDO0pgDFCnA7UnaVvrbT85Xb8ZmNVyRWj8E0PCn-dlP80JO50JIhM/s1600/poppy.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="228" px="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1f_tXOn1ovZkeT2H338I_xWXOzB9sF3OAnhDAPkUuqtwqvlRmwd_txIERyuqvDXXYrEScLywowfvdNkAi5u8NE3NDO0pgDFCnA7UnaVvrbT85Xb8ZmNVyRWj8E0PCn-dlP80JO50JIhM/s320/poppy.bmp" width="320" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Today I remember. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">I remember those who fought and continue to fight.</div>I remember the sacrifice they made.<br />
I remember why they made it.<br />
I remember what's important.<br />
I remember what isn't.<br />
I remember war, so my child will remember peace.<br />
<br />
Lest we forget.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPrGdyad7K-RdQuvEtLSH1wWSem4ANe-OxEYfDRkgURVmgoC576NHHNq7OOmaON3w6CAxvYzG884BS0leJXDvyaBzs2wb67qsgFu7RqpIew3_OMDCjDNYOXz28zuWtF6-ZdCzya_xKHMU/s1600/19760596-002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" px="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPrGdyad7K-RdQuvEtLSH1wWSem4ANe-OxEYfDRkgURVmgoC576NHHNq7OOmaON3w6CAxvYzG884BS0leJXDvyaBzs2wb67qsgFu7RqpIew3_OMDCjDNYOXz28zuWtF6-ZdCzya_xKHMU/s640/19760596-002.jpg" width="496" /></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5668777048293018279.post-18457941688662145932010-11-05T09:13:00.000-04:002010-11-05T09:13:00.736-04:00Pack it up, pack it inOnly 3 weeks to go before our house no longer belongs to us, and we <em>finally</em> found a place to live. Phew. That was cutting it a little close. I guess I should be packing or something. But I <em>so</em> hate packing. So here I am.<br />
<br />
This move is bitter-sweet. Because the plan is to build a beautiful home that we'll love (actually this is the back-up plan after<a href="http://journalofanordinary.blogspot.com/2010/10/domestic-disturbance.html"> this</a> happened), but in the meantime we have to move out of our beautiful home that we almost love and into a dumpy rental that is costing as much as our mortgage. Plus it's covered in wall to wall shag carpeting that the baby is going to be crawling around on - <em>shudder</em>. Not ideal, but it's a roof over our heads. Oh yeah, and it doesn't have a dishwasher, which is going to be interesting. I'm going to stop there because I don't want y'all to think I'm a spoiled brat.<br />
<br />
So 2 weeks until we move. Holy crap. Have you ever tried to wrap things in newspaper with a toddler at your feet? Have you ever seen a toddler with newspaper, even? I don't know what it is about rustling and crumpling papers but it's like catnip or speed or something. He goes ballistic. He'll go at it with a pile of newspapers and won't stop until the living room looks like a hamster cage. So I'm having a hard time being productive. Plus, he thinks cardboard is food, so I can't exactly leave boxes lying around if you know what I mean. <br />
<br />
If there's one thing about moving I hate more than packing (or lifting, or unpacking), it's phoning all the utility people to cancel or move services. Especially BELL. There's waiting on hold. Getting disconnected. Waiting on hold just to get disconnected. Dealing with miserable people who hate their job. Dealing with overly cheerful people who also probably hate their job, but must not get paid or something unless they're overly cheerful. And then there's the arguers; you know the ones who try desperately to convince you not to disconnect your service, or to improve your package, or to increase your coverage, or whatever. After waiting on hold and being disconnected, I honestly don't have the time, patience, or energy to argue people. Not to mention that my husband and I have done a year's worth of arguing in the last two weeks as it is. So gimme a break.<br />
<br />
Okay. That's enough complaining for now. I better go pack something. Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5668777048293018279.post-21953039808653662352010-10-27T15:57:00.000-04:002010-10-27T15:57:15.309-04:00Trick or TreatHalloween's approaching and I'm getting excited. I'm going to try and take the little guy to a few houses this year. Yes, I guess I officially became one of <em>those </em>moms. The ones I used to roll my eyes at during my pre-baby years of shelling out, wondering why anyone would take a kid out when they're too young to understand. Well now I know why. One: They're so freakin' cute all dressed up. Two: I get the candy.<br />
<br />
Last year the baby was just over a month so I didn't take him trick or treating (you gotta draw the line somewhere people), but I'll admit I did put him in a costume. It was a little bat costume that was basically a hat with bat ears, a cape, and little bat feet booties. He HATED it. He screamed until I took it off. I felt terrible. So hopefully this year won't be quite so traumatizing for him.<br />
<br />
I've always really loved Halloween, and my childhood memories of trick or treating are some of my most vivid and fun memories of all. For me I think it's special because you really get a sense of community on Halloween. Unlike other holidays, <em>everyone </em>is out and about on the streets on Halloween night. There's something surreal about seeing every single kid in the neighborhood out in the street at the same time. You get to meet your neighbors, get to see into their houses. And that's a rare thing these days, when people just seem to keep to themselves. They hunker down behind closed doors and reach out to total strangers online (ahem....) but don't know who lives on their street. <br />
<br />
True, for some kids Halloween is about greedily gathering as much candy as they (and their parents) can carry home. Ok for most kids. But I like to think that Halloween also still holds that magic eerie energy that I remember from my childhood. When the leafless trees take on an ominous presence and dark corners hold horrible possibilities. When you look up at the wispy clouds drifting over the moon and half-expect to see a witch fly by on her broom. When you diligently light your jack-o-lanterns <em>just in case </em>there is any truth to the legends. When you let yourself get a little spooked, because it's <em>sooo</em> much fun. <br />
<br />
Happy Halloween.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5668777048293018279.post-87399340379861183992010-10-22T13:26:00.000-04:002010-10-22T13:26:26.351-04:00Domestic disturbanceSo yesterday was pretty much the worst day ever.<br />
<br />
It starts out with me getting up at 5:30 with our son who barely slept all night because he is sick with a cold. Why, I ask, with the advances of modern medicine, have they not come up with cold medication that is safe for babies and toddlers? He doesn't know how to blow his nose for crying out loud. He tries to eat and big snot bubbles are coming out of his little nostrils.<br />
<br />
In addition to his cold, and a tooth popping through, the little monkey has had an ear infection for like six weeks now. He just started his third kind of antibiotics the other day, which gave him a rash and upset stomach so I stopped them. So he's totally miserable.<br />
<br />
As I mentioned in an earlier post, our house has been for sale. We've been trying to sell it in time to buy this other place that we wanted to fix up and flip. So yesterday our agents call. Good news: our house sold. Bad news: the individual selling the house we want decides at the last minute to increase the price we verbally agreed upon by <em>forty thousand dollars</em>, so essentially we wouldn't make any money flipping it (lesson: you can't trust anyone). But our house is already sold. SO, we have exactly one month to find someplace to go.<br />
<br />
So my hubby comes home from work and I give him the bad news, all the while the baby's wailing because his teeth or ears or tummy or something hurts and apparently Tylenol isn't cutting it. Then I catch a whiff of something not normal and I ask my husband to assist me in changing one nightmare of a dirty diaper (I guess it was his tummy hurting after all). So as we're trying to <strike>argue </strike>discuss where the hell we're going to live, my hubby is trying to hold the baby still while I clean up the other end. So naturally the baby screeches louder and tries even harder to do back flips on his change table, effectively getting poop everywhere. So I snap at hubby to hold him still, and he snaps at me that he's trying to.<br />
<br />
And then he catches a glimpse of the rash from the antibiotics and is all, "Holy crap! I don't want him to have any more of that shit." And I'm like, "I already stopped giving it to him. I knew that stuff would make him sick". And then he says, "Well if you knew it would make him sick then why'd you give it to him?" I think my jaw dropped because I saw the look on his face as he realized what he'd said. But it was too late. I had officially exceeded my ability to cope, and all my ugliness came bubbling over. "So it's my fault he's sick? You're an asshole." And then I stomped off in a most mature fashion.<br />
<br />
Now just to be clear, we're not a couple who call names or swear at each other. We decided very early in the game that it was too damaging and promised we wouldn't do it. So we squabble and bitch and even yell sometimes, but we don't hit below the belt. Until today. Anyway, my words apparently hurt me more than him because I was the one who ended up blubbering into the sofa cushion. I felt terrible for reacting that way, but mostly I was upset that we had fought in front of the baby. Another thing we promised never to do from the beginning. And I hope we don't forget that promise again.<br />
<br />
We ended up both apologizing and realizing that the combined stress of being exhausted, having a sick baby, and selling our house out from under us had gotten the better of us. So at least we didn't go to bed mad at each other. <br />
<br />
But it was still the worst day ever.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5668777048293018279.post-11253280092323176822010-10-20T10:52:00.000-04:002010-10-20T10:52:35.370-04:00Got the mac and cheese bluesDid you know that everything that is yummy has cheese or milk in it? And I can't have it?<br />
<br />
I'm on a strict dairy-free diet due to my son's milk allergy. So as long as I'm breastfeeding him I'm not allowed to eat anything good. Although I'd do anything for him, I can't help but feel a little sorry for myself - especially this time of year when comfort food becomes my lifeline until spring. <br />
<br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Sure it was hard not having ice cream and milkshakes this summer, but now I'm missing out all the warm fall foods that require cheese, butter, and cream to be yummy. I'm dreaming about lasagna, fettuccine alfredo, a big fat cheeseburger, cream soups with grilled cheese sandwiches, baked potatoes with sour cream and butter, pizza....<em>mmmmpizza</em>. And I would literally KILL if someone tempted me with homemade mac and cheese. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtJ-E_jY68RUJemdSCvbySM7irJcTxnBV-IhD3f4m0kewiVZ9P6PhEZPhFtH7Vc8zNMwic2hbPiFrU8dfV0pkkDldZIYA5I2SpJPeZEEQjCOXF2x7ezOk7Sm7iI-oFP6o_ZGUfIC15kh8/s1600/mac.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" ex="true" height="149" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtJ-E_jY68RUJemdSCvbySM7irJcTxnBV-IhD3f4m0kewiVZ9P6PhEZPhFtH7Vc8zNMwic2hbPiFrU8dfV0pkkDldZIYA5I2SpJPeZEEQjCOXF2x7ezOk7Sm7iI-oFP6o_ZGUfIC15kh8/s200/mac.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">cheesy goodness</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">And CHOCOLATE...what I would do for some chocolate. I think I'd eat a chocolate <em>boot</em> right about now. In fact, I'd eat a cheese boot too. And if I have to watch my husband savour another steaming cup of coffee with cream, I think I might stab him in the eye. Sorry, honey. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">I'm trying to remind myself that I'm doing myself a healthy favour by avoiding all the fatty, high-calorie food...but who am I kidding? I want it. I <em>need</em> it. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">How's a girl supposed to stay warm in Canada without packin' on a few pounds for the winter? </div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5668777048293018279.post-17417025642063483292010-10-15T07:24:00.001-04:002010-10-15T07:28:50.225-04:00To work, or not to work?I suppose there comes a time for most new moms when they are faced with the decision about daycare. I'm struggling with this decision. To say the least. I've already convinced my husband and workplace to give me an extra 6 months or so, and let me tell you I am <em>extremely</em> grateful for it. But I'm only prolonging the inevitable. <br />
<br />
Here's the thing: Nobody else can look after my baby the way I can. There, I said it. Ha. <br />
<br />
I know there are people out there rolling their eyes and thinking what an uptight control freak I probably am, and I guess I'm not really in a position to deny such allegations, but I don't really give a shit either. The thought of leaving my child with <em>anyone </em>makes me uneasy; the thought of leaving him with a <em>stranger</em> makes me feel a little crazy. Visions of a cave woman come to mind: Some primitive cave woman backed into a corner by a saber-toothed tiger, determined that she will claw the animal's eyes out with her bare hands before she lets it have her young. You get the idea. A little dramatic maybe, but that's how I'd feel if I was forced to leave my son at some random daycare. I already told my husband I'd rather quit my job, sell everything we own and move into a trailer before I'll leave him anyplace I'm not comfortable with. He agreed with me, and that's why I love him. <br />
<br />
Now I know I'm not the first mom out there to feel overprotective, if that's what you want to call this (personally I prefer <em>concerned,</em> or <em>loving</em>). It feels totally unnatural to be leaving him to go back to work...for what? For money? I'll do without it thankyouverymuch. My priorities changed the moment I felt his warm little body next to mine. I heard that in France women get <em>two years</em> paid maternity leave; now that's what I'm talking about. Or how about going back to the Leave-it-to-Beaver days where women could just stay home, and one income was enough? I'm grateful for equal rights and all that, but lets face it - I still do all the flippin' cooking and housework anyway. Just gimme an apron and call me June Cleaver - and I promise I won't complain.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLLET9RSsE6VIOVgG4K2ENTL5rokFpqOwUvxgGuo1NK8kitelREz6KYYfQ_wIEOttVPyHsGl-k3zNeUTCBog1WYBocEwdNIUax4S0cOYfvI7lDlKeF2b1P_wT0x2B_5CeWfh4n91CTo0U/s1600/june+cleaver.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ex="true" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLLET9RSsE6VIOVgG4K2ENTL5rokFpqOwUvxgGuo1NK8kitelREz6KYYfQ_wIEOttVPyHsGl-k3zNeUTCBog1WYBocEwdNIUax4S0cOYfvI7lDlKeF2b1P_wT0x2B_5CeWfh4n91CTo0U/s200/june+cleaver.jpg" width="158" /></a></div><br />
Now, I know there are some darn good child care people out there. In fact I'm friends with some of them. But that doesn't make me feel any better for some reason. Because <em>I</em> wanna do it (yes, I'm whining a little). I want to be there to see all his first things. All his goofy smiles. All his bumps and bruises. I don't want to miss any of it. Does that make me selfish? And am I deluding myself into thinking that he wants me to be there for all those things too? Or is my father right when he tells me that "there comes a time when a child needs to learn to be without his mother"? True, I know, but is <em>now</em> that time? Every bone in my body tells me NO. Is this instinct irrational, or should I listen to it? DOESN'T ANYONE HAVE ANSWERS FOR ME?<br />
<br />
I know that I'll probably have to go back to work eventually, even if it's only part-time, until we can afford for me to stay home. I dread it every day. I just hope we can find someone I know and trust to watch him by then, so we can avoid the whole cave woman thing. <br />
<br />
To all the stay-at-home moms out there: Keep up the good work, and enjoy every minute. I envy you.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5668777048293018279.post-44099607340937883392010-10-12T18:44:00.000-04:002010-10-12T18:52:29.083-04:00That hatWhere to begin....<br />
<br />
My husband has this hat. He bought it as a souvenir on a trip we took to Alberta several years ago. It is the unrivalled winner when it comes to things to argue about in our house. Hands down.<br />
<br />
He loved his new hat, more commonly known as "the Banff hat", and wore it every day for the longest time. Even at inappropriate times like when we were out for dinner (argument topic #1). He wore it so much that it started to fade and tear and come apart - but he continued to wear it anyway, even though it made him look unkempt and sloppy (argument topic #2). We had this argument once on our way to dinner at a friend's place when I was pregnant. I don't remember the entire fight, but I do remember crying (gimme a break I was pregnant) and holding that stupid hat out the car window threatening to throw it. I don't know what stopped me but I've since regretted my hesitation on many occasions. <br />
<br />
The hat finally started to look awful enough that some friends started to tease him about it along with me, and then it finally got demoted from his "everyday" hat to his "work" hat. I could live with that. I thought...<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicEYNsMktB9qyiLN0higoXuZUdbim9DE2N_RQsW_mH-CHZFbixiEarjy4J-Dv7OPETzY3sBd0oksCJi0T2PbrWgp6fK821CeXPX4AhzIr1Q3beu_jCNBii816fIveFbGx9JiqVKY5qEzc/s1600/hat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" ex="true" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicEYNsMktB9qyiLN0higoXuZUdbim9DE2N_RQsW_mH-CHZFbixiEarjy4J-Dv7OPETzY3sBd0oksCJi0T2PbrWgp6fK821CeXPX4AhzIr1Q3beu_jCNBii816fIveFbGx9JiqVKY5qEzc/s320/hat.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hat prior to work use. Note frayed edges and sweat stains.</td></tr>
</tbody></table> <br />
But we weren't done fighting about that hat yet. You see, my husband builds homes for a living, so most days comes home looking like he crawled out of a mud hole. So needless to say, the hat is filthy. I mean<em> filthy</em>. And the <em>smell</em> of it would make your eyes water. How anyone could put a dirty, reeking hat on their clean head in the morning is way beyond me (argument topic #3). And then he complains that he's losing his hair, and refuses to acknowledge the possibility that it's because he wears that radioactive thing on his head day after day (argument topic #4). <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnlIfGdmbEmsy13i2mSjpyNYVgGt9TN5Bt1z4UcCSbaRbdIWyKClZyQLLZ8kVgU3C-zaMvprad_aNTfelgTrx_wHPw8LLUUEz6Vdb_zQV3kfWVxy-dNZB6P6CvcN4o3j7sr6f94XcRGyM/s1600/tgiving+002.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" ex="true" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnlIfGdmbEmsy13i2mSjpyNYVgGt9TN5Bt1z4UcCSbaRbdIWyKClZyQLLZ8kVgU3C-zaMvprad_aNTfelgTrx_wHPw8LLUUEz6Vdb_zQV3kfWVxy-dNZB6P6CvcN4o3j7sr6f94XcRGyM/s400/tgiving+002.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hat today - on my table</td></tr>
</tbody></table> Sure, I wash it whenever I can get my hands on it, but it doesn't matter because it's dirty again the next day anyway. Really, the fact that he wears the disgusting thing to work doesn't really bother me that much. It's the fact that I find it lying around the house that I have a problem with (argument topic #5). Like on the kitchen counter. On the table. On our bed. On the couch or floor (where the baby can, and does, find it and put it in his mouth - GAG). Need I go on? <br />
<br />
I don't want to look at it. I don't want to smell it. And I really don't want to<em> touch</em> it. Yet for some reason I still seem to have to get up close and personal with that hat on a daily basis.<br />
<br />
The things we do for love.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5668777048293018279.post-5213981421627599802010-10-10T08:19:00.000-04:002010-10-10T08:19:00.202-04:00A word of thanksTo my fellow Canadians in blog world: Happy Thanksgiving!<br />
<br />
Fall colours are at their peak, it's starting to get cooler, and the birds are hauling ass outta town (wisely). 'Cause they know what's coming - but we're not going to think about that right now. Because this is what it looks like outside today:<br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div> <br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2wNa_GJSjayBIcHZYeoIgZU98SQIATZa0HfkfXkUebd0plY-iBGflXAoX2TXYoYNERY-MVKldfuIgOn4uBqdP_q3IhITzo2rhyphenhyphenzl7AsBqn6Kkntz9jbQJqQ60JmxtDs92XYoNKTBcdcA/s1600/fall+004.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" ex="true" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2wNa_GJSjayBIcHZYeoIgZU98SQIATZa0HfkfXkUebd0plY-iBGflXAoX2TXYoYNERY-MVKldfuIgOn4uBqdP_q3IhITzo2rhyphenhyphenzl7AsBqn6Kkntz9jbQJqQ60JmxtDs92XYoNKTBcdcA/s320/fall+004.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">trees in my back yard</td></tr>
</tbody></table> <br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5gzqHOaF_giXhjYr9DT17-irr2bKbmis5a1LHRsTAUDVYHpCDWeoExXcW545rXeHins3fHH2zJ_Gvb_oD4X47BcxMQZFqMIRCl737PeI8eKOc6BB9wucG9Xlw-YEfg9K2EVw7MdEIDv0/s1600/fall+012.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" ex="true" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5gzqHOaF_giXhjYr9DT17-irr2bKbmis5a1LHRsTAUDVYHpCDWeoExXcW545rXeHins3fHH2zJ_Gvb_oD4X47BcxMQZFqMIRCl737PeI8eKOc6BB9wucG9Xlw-YEfg9K2EVw7MdEIDv0/s320/fall+012.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">birds getting the "flock" outta town</td></tr>
</tbody></table> <br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFOFYYL6-BRcXcrdT1mm81ap6fZbC4pBTuKqFdyMYtjGEe67t26AG8aG3kE6QwgZG214TL1qlZpl2rGRjtCc5CZbJCsPREIX6C8CdmPyORVlH-4OJQUr5wjQVOv3GTfq0Yia3wvlngSfw/s1600/fall+002.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" ex="true" height="201" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFOFYYL6-BRcXcrdT1mm81ap6fZbC4pBTuKqFdyMYtjGEe67t26AG8aG3kE6QwgZG214TL1qlZpl2rGRjtCc5CZbJCsPREIX6C8CdmPyORVlH-4OJQUr5wjQVOv3GTfq0Yia3wvlngSfw/s320/fall+002.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">not my pumpkin stand</td></tr>
</tbody></table> <br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Beautiful.</div><br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">So at the risk of being a total sap or sounding like a kindergarten teacher, I'm feeling the need to express my gratitude today. To give thanks, if you will, for all that I have. Because even though I'm so tired I'm having trouble focusing right now, I have so much to be thankful for I could cry. Truly. Here we go (in no particular order): </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">I'm thankful.....</div><ul><li style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">that I live in the most beautiful country in the world, and I have the freedom to express myself</li>
<li style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">for the 2 wonderful men in my life - one big, one little</li>
<li style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">for all my family and friends</li>
<li style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">for my health, and my family's health</li>
<li style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">for my home</li>
<li style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">for food, and wine (again, no particular order)</li>
<li style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">that I am able to be home with my son and not at work, even though it's making us poor</li>
<li style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">and lastly, that I've finally found the piece that had been missing from my life - that which has allowed me to find new meaning and happiness everyday - motherhood.</li>
</ul><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">There are days, I'll admit, when I forget to be damned grateful for all that I have. When I feel envious of others. When I wish I had more, better, different. And I have to stop and remind myself how fortunate I am. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">But not today. Today, I feel nothing but gratitude. And love.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"> </div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5668777048293018279.post-17322580459940100922010-10-06T10:25:00.001-04:002010-10-07T07:14:40.601-04:00Got (breast)Milk?I apologize in advance, but I need to rant. Deal.<br />
<br />
So my son is officially over the one year mark that - according to North American societal norms and the baby food companies - indicates it's time to start weaning him from breastfeeding. Well I'm not weaning yet. That's right, I'm still nursing my 24 pound toddler 4 times a day. DEAL. (Sorry...I'm a little sensitive about this).<br />
<br />
I was not prepared for the pressure (from family, strangers, the media, my own imagination) to STOP breastfeeding. It seems like breastfeeding is strongly encouraged <em>up to a point,</em> but after that it's not really accepted by society. You become "one of those" moms. You know, the vegan ones with dreadlocks and hairy armpits who swear by 'the family bed' and breastfeed until their kids are 5 (please know that I'm not judging or making fun, it's just a stereo-type I'm trying to describe).<br />
<br />
I hear:<br />
"You're <em>still</em> breastfeeding?"<br />
"Doesn't he have teeth?"<br />
"It's time to stop when they can ask for it."<br />
"If you breastfeed too long he'll remember it and be emotionally damaged."<br />
"Doesn't he eat real food yet?"<br />
<br />
F--- off! You ignorant mother fu......(sigh). Sorry. Still a little touchy.<br />
<br />
I'd like to clear a few things up: <br />
<ul><li>Yes, he has teeth. No, he doesn't bite me when he's nursing. (But he bites everything else.)</li>
<li>I have clean hair, and hairless armpits, and I eat meat.</li>
<li>My son sleeps in his crib, mostly.</li>
<li>He will not remember feeding from my breast.</li>
<li>If he learns to ask for it without whining or crying, then frankly my life will get a lot easier.</li>
<li>He eats real food several times a day.</li>
</ul>The truth is, I didn't expect that I would be continuing to breastfeed into the second year. I didn't expect that my tiny baby would violently vomit for hours anytime I tried to give him a bottle of formula. I didn't expect him to start having problems with eczema and ear infections. And as he approached his first birthday, I didn't expect to learn that he was allergic to dairy (which, by the way, is in <em>everything</em> they make for babies). Continuing to breastfeed is the best thing I can do to help him overcome these problems.<br />
<br />
Consider the facts (and forgive me, as I don't mean to preach):<br />
<ul><li>breastfed children benefit nutritionally</li>
<li>breastfeeding into the second and third years is healthy and NORMAL in most parts of the world</li>
<li>breastfed children get sick less often</li>
<li>they have fewer allergies</li>
<li>they develop normally psychologically, emotionally, and socially (some research indicates they are more well-adjusted) </li>
</ul>If you can't sustain breastfeeding or choose not to, then there's no harm done. But if you can, then why not? And what's with the pressure to wean kids to cow's milk anyway? What's natural about that? If babies still require nutrients they can only get from milk, why does society insist we use milk from cows? Doesn't anyone else think this is a little odd? Why do I even have to explain this to people??<br />
<br />
Okay, I'm feeling a little better having gotten that off my chest (no pun intended). I hope I didn't sound like a breastfeeding pamphlet, because I'm all for mom's having the choice. Ultimately, I think we all do our best and want the same thing - happy, healthy babies, and sane moms. <br />
<br />
So kindly get off my case, m'kay?Unknownnoreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5668777048293018279.post-4275397791073737652010-10-05T06:43:00.002-04:002010-10-07T07:16:38.960-04:00Confession: My fridge looks like it belongs to a hoarderI finally cleaned out the fridge today. This is a big deal. I decided it was high time I did something about the state my fridge was in after my sister-in-law did nothing to hide her horror when she opened the door on the weekend. She's always known that I'm a slacker when it comes to cleaning out the fridge, but as she rummaged around trying to find a spot for something she finally exclaimed, "That's it! I'm coming over this week and we're cleaning out your fridge! This is ridiculous!"<br />
<br />
I was suddenly reminded of an episode of <em>Hoarders</em> where this lady wouldn't throw anything out of her fridge and it was so full of rotting food that she couldn't shut the door and her family had to do an intervention...well, you get the idea. It's not that I have some unconscious need to keep the crap that's in there. As a matter of fact, if some magic cleaning fairy came one night and cleaned it out for me I would be <em>ridiculously</em> happy. I guess it's just laziness. That and the fact that I have better things to do (ahem, rationalization?).<br />
<br />
It's not as though I <em>never </em>clean it out. It just doesn't get done until:<br />
a) there's no more room to put things,<br />
b) something smells bad, or<br />
c) I put my hand into the crisper drawer and pull it out dripping with sludge from an unknown source.<br />
<br />
Anyway, it's a problem and one I'm not proud of. It's humiliating actually. Because, aside from the fridge, my house is pretty clean. Sure, I have my issues with stashing clutter and putting off laundry the same as most people, but dirty I am not. So there was no way in hell I was going to have my sister-in-law coming over to do this - I decided then and there that I would clean out the fridge today, come hell or high water (plus, me sticking my finger through a liquefied english cucumber pretty much sealed the deal).<br />
<br />
Among the treasures in this stainless steel chest were:<br />
<ul><li>3 expired sour cream containers, one unopened</li>
<li>2 nearly empty jars of salsa</li>
<li>5 jars of jam (count 'em, FIVE - I kept one, the rest weren't quite empty but were low enough that you couldn't get the jam out without getting all sticky)</li>
<li>3 empty mustard containers</li>
<li>4 containers of <em>unidentifiable</em> leftovers</li>
<li>2 nearly full bottles of Bailey's Irish Cream - one from last Christmas and one from the year before (you got it - that would have been 2008)</li>
<li>4 leftover chunks of butter, all expired</li>
<li>2 half-empty jars of Cheez-Whiz (I don't even remember buying or eating Cheez-Whiz)</li>
<li>3 english cucumbers - all at different stages of decomposition.</li>
<li>about 50 of those little plum and soya sauces that come with chinese take-out</li>
</ul><em>THE SHAME.</em><br />
<br />
I wonder what the garbage man will think when he sees my recycling bin.<br />
<br />
But it's all done - squeaky clean. And the process was surprisingly cathartic. I'm going to seriously try not to let this happen again. Seriously.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5668777048293018279.post-21018887946024264292010-10-03T09:31:00.001-04:002010-10-07T07:17:53.872-04:00No sleep makes mommy something something...Four. Thirty.<br />
<br />
AM<br />
<br />
That's what time I've been up every morning this week. Why. Won't. This. Child. Sleep? At night? By 8:30am he's ready for a 2 hour nap. And another leisurely siesta after lunch. But at night he's up like every hour or 2, and then is up for good at four flippin' thirty. Rearing to go. Ready to play. Why? <br />
<br />
A friend of mine just updated her Facebook status to say, "<em>So thankful for a child who sleeps well, I got up at 9 and she's still sleeping :)</em>" (You know who you are...). I'm sooo jealous. No, jealous doesn't cover it - I'm <em>desperate</em>. I would do <em>anything</em> for that kind of sleep.<br />
<br />
Also, I think maybe I'm a little psychotic with sleep deprivation. Like I keep thinking I see things out of the corner of my eye, and then there's nothing there. I've experienced this before when I've been exhausted from working nights, so I know I not going completely off my rocker, but still...it's a little disturbing.<br />
<br />
The other night around 3am I held the baby in the darkness of his room, waiting for him to be enough asleep that I could slip him back into his crib without waking him. As I stared at his little face in the darkness, it started to look...well, not right. Kinda distorted. I couldn't quite put my finger on what was wrong, so I start inspecting his features, finally deciding that it was his lip that didn't look right. His upper lip. It looked all puffy and lumpy and swollen like he was having an allergic reaction or something. I poked it...and it <em>felt</em> puffy too. So I start tilting him this way and that, trying to get the nightlight to shine on his face better so I can get a better look, starting to get a little panicky that there's something terribly wrong. Something definitely didn't look right. I finally dashed over to the light switch and flipped it on - just to find his face and lips just as I had left them at bedtime. Perfect. No puffy lumps. Just perfect little baby lips.<br />
<br />
I'm losing my mind. <br />
<br />
Naturally the journey to the light switch disturbed him enough that we had to start over with going back to sleep, and I ultimately robbed myself needlessly of 15 minutes of sweet, luxurious slumber. Rats.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0