Tuesday, January 24, 2012

Little Squirt

I was chatting with my Mum tonight and Dad decided to join in. It always makes for interesting convo when Dad's on the other extension.

After catching up on the weekend, we got to talking about hair. We were laughing about the time I cut all my hair off within an inch of its life. My Dad was not so crazy about the idea then. And he's not so crazy about the idea now. He's very opinionated about my hair. Funny enough, he doesn't have any.

Anyhoo, I was saying how every one needs to do their own thing with their hair. And my motto, especially when it came to that particular hair cut was "live and learn." Diddo for the time I couldn't be patient and wait for my bangs to grow so I shaved them off. Right before a professional photo shoot.

The three of us started dishing on the hair wizardry of a local salon talon and how she once convinced me to perm my [uber naturally curly] hair.

Mum: "I don't remember that!"
Me: "I do. And so does my therapist."
Mum: "I don't think I would have let her do that to your hair. Where was I?"
Me: "Mom, you were right there. She convinced us that the perm would "counter balance" my natural curl."
Mum: [laughing] "I really don't remember that! When was this?"
Me: "It was the summer before Grade 9. Remember, I had to walk around town with a mini-spray bottle of water in my pocket so I could keep spritzing my hair so it would stay wet. It went totally frizzy when it dried. I spent the whole summer looking like a) I took A LOT of showers or b) I had a major sweating problem."
Dad: "Ha! Live and learn."
Mum: "I'm going to have to dig out some old photos!"
Me: "Mum, I think my therapist wants to meet you." 

Tuesday, January 3, 2012

That's Shitty

Warning: the following post contains references written in bad taste and should not be read while consuming food.

I survived my first day back at work. AND lost 5 pounds. Bonus.

My anxiety level was so high about leaving my baby girl at daycare that I spent most of the early morning surpressing vomit.

Multiple coffees later...

The vomit, which didn't like being contained and pushed down and mixed with a diarrhetic, migrated further south. And roared.

Not wanting to offend everyone in the office by using the one shared washroom, I weighed my options. Quickly.

Option #1: the public washroom. Bonuses: it has three stalls. Cons: it would be a lose-lose situation. If you take the middle stall and [blam!] someone comes in, you have a person on either side of you hearing the blow by blow. Take either end stall and the poor unsuspecting SOB has to walk thru the smog.

Option #2: the handicapped washroom (also the only option which offered any real privacy). Bonuses: located at the end of the hallway. Cons: located at the end of the hallway.

Pardon the pun, but I went with option #2. Ungodly sounds and smells erupted. I think I even saw Moses. All the while, I was hoping the sound didn't echo into our office boardroom. I tried to be quick, and inconspicous. After washing my hands five times, I paused to listen for any movement in the hallwall. I needed to make a quick escape. Unfortunately, to make sure the smell stayed corralled, I had to pull the door almost closed, leaving a mere inch of ventilation. I felt so guilty, after all, handicapped people probably have a hard enough time getting to an accessible washroom only to be confronted with the horror that lay in wait.

Luckily I escaped undetected. Until they read this.

Monday, January 2, 2012

Eatin' Pants

A New Year!  Ahhhhhh, I love that New Year feeling. And that New Year smell. Yum. Unless you drank too much, then perhaps some Lysol spray is in order. And possibly a shower. Have you no self-respect? Um, that was rhetorical.

For some (myself not included) the beginning of a new year is a time to make some resolutions to do something you should be doing now but for whatever reason (insert lame excuse here) it hasn't happened. But goodness knows, there's nothing like a new year to make you get off the couch and get busy making your life happen.

Personally, I don't make resolutions. I prefer to make life happen an all-year-round event.

The perfect New Year's Day consists of super cleaning my house while enjoying a glass of white wine, and giving my closet a good going over. Clean house, clean mind. And this year was no different.

I purged my closet of things that were torn, were too small, too big, too summery, too black, and anything that my teenage step-daughter would consider cool. Since I've been a stay-at-home-mom for the last 8 months, there wasn't much left after my purge...except my maternity clothes. Apparently working out has not been part of my get busy making life happen all-year-round event.

If you've never worn maternity clothes, I highly recommend it. Even if you are not, or never will have children. Unless you're a dude. Ok, maybe even then. Maternity clothes are SO super comfy. It's like having the flexibility of yoga pants with the style of...um, somthing stylish (I've been home for 8 months remember, I'm not up on my style trail-blazers).

I don't understand why anyone would want to go back to their "regular" clothes again. Eat too much at supper...no problem. Need to conseal a small weapon, again, you're golden. Plus, just give your tum a pat, and voila - the best parking spots, or seats on the bus. So as I head back to corporate world Canada tomorrow I will be wearing maternity clothes! (If my boss is reading this, I was kidding about the weapon part).

I will be wearing maternity clothes?

I will be wearing maternity clothes...

Maybe there is room for one resolution this year.

Saturday, November 5, 2011


I have yet to morph my post-baby body back into anything resembling my former physique. I venture outside for 80 minutes each day with the baby in her jogging stroller and the dogs on their leashes for a power walk, despite the cold-enough-to-freeze-the-brass-balls-off-a-monkey wind.

My wardrobe - hovering between the baggy too big things, the maternity things and the tight like a sausage things - is limited. Today I found myself choosing between bundling up in a maternity jacket or my teal Old Navy swing pea coat. I went with option B. It was bad enough that I was sporting maternity jeans. There was no way I could bring myself to opt for a baby-on-board jacket, especially without getting the neighbors talking. Again.

I had to deflate my lungs just to get the top buttoned over my neonatal ta tas. Ok, so breathing was out. Oxygen is so 2010 anyway.

The walk was uneventful, as they typically are. After all, it is my one escape from the house each day. The only 80 minutes I have to "myself" which is all mine (if you don't count cleaning up dog poo, obsessing whether the baby is dressed warm enough/cool enough, contemplating did Joani really love Chachi and why can't we extreme coupon in Canada like you can in the US).

After duty called for the dogs, I reached down to pick up the steaming pile but discovered the flaw in my choice of coat. Because my chest was so constricted, I couldn't move my arms out very far from my body. Like a tyrannosaurus. Except the tranny is trying to bag crap. So I really had to bend down. And that's when my maternity jeans slid south.

I'd like to say this story ends with me keeping my dignity. But let's be honest, after you've had a spotlight on your v-tunnel in a delivery room, dignity becomes extinct.

Wednesday, October 19, 2011

364 Days

Forgive me blogger for I have sinned. It has been 364 days since my last confession post.

My transgressions were many, and typically involved gluttony (hey I was eating for two). I have survived Paul going to Afghanistan. Almost giving birth to our daughter in the front seat of an SUV. Gaining weight, losing weight, gaining weight. Indulging in obsessive compulsive cleaning. Not showering for more than 24 hours. Feeling sorry for myself. And most of that's just from today!

I thought life was too busy for you blogger. And now my writing muscle has all but shrivelled up and died a painful death, like Lindsay Lohan's career. Even though I shunned you blogger, you were never very far away [because I like to keep my laptop close incase there's an important status update on Facebook].

But I'm ready to turn back to my writing ways blogger. With your help. And more coffee.

What can I do to atone for these sins? Say 7 Hail Mary's Drink 7 Bloody Mary's?

Done! Perhaps I should add consuming too much alcohol to my list of sins? Yeah, I was only kidding. There's nothing wrong with my sense of humor.

I'm back bitches!

Wednesday, October 20, 2010

Run In

Paul and I made a break from the house during a Saturday morning rain storm with the kids in tow. After some minimal-bank-account-damage shopping, we went to a local eatery for some lunch.

My food cravings are out of control. I wanted potatoes! So, without thinking, I ordered fries AND potato skins for a nice little carb/grease double whammy. I will never eat potatoes again. And I've banned the kids from saying the "p" word for a least another week. Even hearing the word makes the vomit start to rise.

Paul had the steak, Aidan a hot turkey sandwich and Kenzie opted for poutine.

After we were good and full (read: food coma), we took the kids to see the new Dream Home. Our city has several "Dream Homes" which are built and tickets are sold in support of local hospitals. It's fun to go and look at the show homes to see what a million dollars of home construction and design looks like. The kids always run around declaring what bedroom would be "theirs" if we won the house (which is always the master bedroom - hey, what can I say, my kids have good taste).

We'd just arrived, and were touring the formal dinning room when 11-year old Kenzie turned to Paul and I, and in a louder-than-it-needed-to-be voice annouced that she had a case of "the runs." She ran to the only operational and open-to-the-public washroom where she stayed for our entire tour of the house.

Being the ever supportive step-mom that I am, I pretended I didn't know my step-daughter and quickly ducked into the urber-garage. That poor million dollar bathroom probably never knew what hit it.

Wednesday, September 1, 2010

Slide Into Home

It is a bazillion degrees (celcius) here in city, Canada. You think I'm kidding?

It's so hot I actually slid off the toilet seat and onto the bathroom floor because my ass was sweating so much.

Yeah, it's hot like that.