Tuesday, 22 July 2014

The attack

After being away for all but three days since the beginning of July, my garden was in a STATE. I accidentally left my sprinkler on in the garden for, oh, say, 4 hours. Then we had a week of intense heat while the kids and I were away. Tony was home, but he didn't really go into the garden other than to take pictures of how the 4 hour shower completely made the garden go ridonkulous.

So yesterday, the weather was nice, sunny, warm, but not die-of-overheating hot. So I weeded. And weeded. And thinned. And weeded. And man, it really was starting to look fly in there! Got to a spot next to a huge compost heap where I had tried to plant some peas, and for the longest time, nothing was happening. But now, those babies were growing and flowering! So I started weeding and tossing the weeds onto the heap. One pea plant, two pea plants, YEA!

Then suddenly OW! WHAT THE FLUGLEHORN?? Something bit me. I looked at my shoulder, that was now throbbing in pain, and I saw a wasp. Then I started getting pain all over my body. I looked around. WASPS. Everywhere. Swarming on me, all over my shirt, my shorts, my legs. HOLY MOTHER OF BATHSHEBA HOW CAN THOSE LITTLE MOTHER TRUCKERS CAUSE SO MUCH PAIN?!?!

"TONY! TONY! WASPS! I'M BEING ATTACKED BY WASPS!" and I ran out of the garden flailing like the wacky waving arm-flailing inflatable tube man. Out of the window, I heard Tony, who in no way would come outside because he is actually smart and knows that wasps are total assholes.

So I did. I started stripping as fast as I could in my yard, which is completely visible by all  of my neighbours. It was just like those scenes in cartoons when the bees are swarming and the person in the middle is acting like they have zero control over their body.
Those cartoons are based on truth. That truth is me.

I jumped into a freezing shower and moaned and groaned. By the time I got out, the pain was still sharp in my shoulders, but that was it. I have five distinct welts (that I can tell), 4 of which were on my deltoids and shoulder blades. Honestly, I cannot believe that something so small can inflict so much pain FOR NOTHING.

Those assholes made a nest inside a compost heap and stayed hidden all this time. Just waiting for me to go and start cleaning up the garden so they could assault me. They are lucky I am smart and don't just pour gasoline and light the whole flipping pile on fire. Cuz I would. But we have new neighbours, and I don't think they want me to burn their fence and shed down. Although if they knew it was in the name of safety for all mankind, they would probably approve.

Hey wasps, your days are numbered. Too bad for you that I am not allergic to you and didn't DIE because now, you'se gonna pay. I will be smoking and fogging you until you bite each other and cannibalize to death. And then I will pounce on the heap you called home and dance and plant my family flag and say GOT YOU MOTHER FUCKERS! I declare this to be MY HEAP!

That's how we do things, assholes.


Apologies for the cursing. But in this case, I cannot express myself clearly enough without calling them nasty names. And I am truly grateful that I am not allergic to wasps, becaue the attack would likely have killed someone who was. I am still red and welty today, over 16 hours after the attack.

Monday, 9 June 2014


A while back, I made a small change. It was not huge, and I mostly did it as a temporary measure.  I would wear concealer and cover-up to hide blemishes and bulging pimples. It didn't make them entirely go away, but it tended to even out my skin tone a bit. But it also seemed to clog my pores even more, which meant more pimples and blackheads and general grossness. It was the vicious cycle of blech. But I had one breakout about a month ago that got so bad that I could not put anything on my skin for a couple of weeks. I had to go to work with big red scabs, oozing zits, and all that amazing stuff that you see on zombie movies. 
As they were healing, I came across this video.

I totally love the song and the message. Granted, I realize that she is not actually being "Photoshopped"but just layering video with cuts of her with different makeup, lighting, hair, etc. Regardless, it shows that THIS is what girls look to.  We are told, overtly and subconsciously, that we are supposed to have highlights in our hair, smouldering eye makeup, flawless complexion, striking eyes, rosy lips, and a light pleasing skin tone. Maybe a skinny neck, too. Add a thigh gap and you're golden.

I have never had flawless skin. I have freckles, pimples, and I could crush a walnut with my thighs. There is absolutely no gap there. My skin burns really easily and I don't tan. My hair is poker straight and is a dirty blonde shade - my Baba says that it will probably turn bullshit brown like hers did. For the past few months I have been adding raspberry-red chunks of colour for fun, but definitely not for anything other than to add to my love of bright colours.

But after my forced make-up withdrawl and this video, I made a decision.

I stopped wearing makeup to work.

I feel like I can be a role model for my middle school students who are at the age where they are starting to figure out what they are supposed to be. That they don't need makeup to be beautiful or express themselves.
I also feel like they could very well be pointing at me and laughing behind my back.

After years of covering up my natural skin and reading fashion magazines, this is something that I am still getting used to.  I have focused a lot of energy on being physically and mentally strong.  Now it's time to be brave.

Right now I feel naked.
Right now I feel vulnerable.
Right now I feel unpretty.

I also feel free.

Tuesday, 3 June 2014

Sex Ed the first

Being a mother of three does not allow for a lot of one-on-one time with each spawn. Between school, work, meals, cleaning, bathing, have you brushed your teeth? No you didn't let me check. Ew. I can smell shrimp and you've never eaten shrimp. And I just scraped off enough plaque to clog an artery. Get back in there and brush for the ENTIRE alphabet song. TWICE.

And then there is bedtime. Three kids mean we are outnumbered. 3 nights of the week I am the solo parent in the evening, which means I somehow have to sever my arms so that I can scratch Keesadilla's back, lightly tickle iBean's back and lay there while Sashimi wraps his entire body over me to fall asleep. Needless to say, the one-on-one is more precious than saffron. That's right. SAFFRON.

Tonight, T took Sashimi to a baseball game and iBean wanted to go with. Keesadilla said he'd rather stay with me. To be honest, I was a bit shocked. Baseball games always come with the implicit promise of candy and treats and staying up late. iBean is totally onto this already. I WANNA GOOOOOO! You grab my potty for me to pee. No, I don't want my black shoes they give me owies. I want my Tinkerbell shoes I DO IT MYSEFFFFF! Byeeee Mommy Bummy!

So it was me and K-man. Pondering life. Hanging out. Maybe we'd play a board game, read a book, draw...
K: Mommy!!! Can we go to the Reddi-mart for a treat?? **Insert batting eyes and a ridiculous smirk that makes me melt because I know that came out of ME.
Me: Well, what kind of treat do you want? Do we have to go to the Reddi-mart? It's the FARTHEST store from our house. We can go to a closer store.
K: But I really want those small round chips in the round tube. You know, the ones you can ONLY get at Reddi-mart!
Me: You mean Pringles? Dude, you can get those anywhere.
K: NOOOOO, not the little tubes. I want a little one.

Well, you can't turn down a kid who has portion control figured out.

After our adventure into the fantastically overpriced convenience food market, I told him he really needed a bath. He had done some sort of Smurf art at school and he totally blue himself. So he had a bath and I hopped in quickly to wash my hair. Yes, I occasionally bathe with my kids.  Don't fixate on that. He's in kindergarten. To him it's still hilarious to dump water all over my head and watch me blubber for breath.
This time, though, he looked down at his chest and rubbed his nipples.

K: Mommy, am I supposed to be girl with these things?
Me: Keesadilla, EVERYONE has them. Boys and girls. But only girls grow breasts when they become teenagers because when they become mommies, they fill up with milk for their babies.
K: A kid in my class said they are called boobies.
Me: Yeah, I guess you can say that. That's sort of like calling your penis a weenie.
K: HAHAHAHAHA. WEENIE! So what happens to boys if we don't get boobies?
Me: Well, your penis will get bigger.
K: I know THAT. I mean, Daddy's is HUGE. Like way huge. Mine is just a teeny penis. Why does it need to get SO BIG? It's just for peeing.
Me: .............
K: OH WAIT. I get it. Because Daddies have way more pee than boys.
Me: Yes. Yes. That's right. How about we have a popsicle and watch TV?
K: YEA!!!!! *forgets about huge penises and boobies*

Sex Ed. You heard it here first. Daddies get HUGE penises for all their pee. And that's it. Nothing else EVER.