My sister called me this morning, telling me that she nearly burned her house down. She had put some steel-cut oats on to pre-boil last night, then went into her room and unintentionally fell asleep. Her landlords came and woke her about 45 minutes later because they could smell smoke. The oats were burned black to the bottom of the pot. "I'll have to throw that pot away," she told me.
"Nah. It'll come out," I replied.
We had been living in Timmins for about five weeks when Sashimi was born. Timmins was about 3000km from home, and we knew no one. I had met a few neighbours, and one was nice enough to take me out, show me around, and lend me some baby items, including a mini-electric breastpump. She had told me that she may ask for the pump back, should a friend of hers decide she wanted it, but that I was free to use it until then.That breastpump came in pretty handy when I was ridiculously loaded with boob-juice, and I had to sterilize it often.
One afternoon, while three-week-old Sashimi was sleeping, I placed the pump parts in boiling water on the stove. It was supposed to boil for 20 minutes to sterilize. I looked in the pot and thought to myself "There's lots of water, it won't boil dry. I don't need to set the timer, I won't forget." Yes, these were my exact thoughts. I have a super memory of this specific event.
I don't know WHAT I was doing in the computer room, since I was not on the facebook at that time, and I did not do the whole myspace thing. Maybe I was using MSN messenger? Who the hell knows. What I was NOT doing, however, was paying attention to my boiling breastpump. Wait, my neighbour's boiling breastpump.
All of a sudden, the smoke detector started to blare. I looked into the hallway and it was thick with smoke. I ran toward the source of the smoke because I was obviously thought I could extinguish a fire with my boob-juice. I looked at the stove and there was a FIRE. A real flippin FIRE. With flames. They were orange and reaching out of the pot, taunting me. I looked at my boobs and realized there was not enough milk in them to put that fire out, so I grabbed a towel, wrapped it around the pot handle, ran it to the sink and poured water into it. It sizzled and steamed and stank. Not like burned milk. Like the Earth was dying...a slow death by breastpump melting.
I may have just about burned down our new house, but so help me GOD I was not going to let the baby wake up! Friggin smoke detector, would you SHUT THE EFF UP?! But, of course, like all good new homes have, the smoke detector was hardwired to the electrical system. I couldn't just yank the batteries out, I had to find a stupid reset switch on it, but I was too short to reach the detector to look at it/club it with a baseball bat and we did not own a ladder. At that point, I started feeling a little high from the fumes of incinerated plastic, and worried for my darling sleeping baby. So, I ran into the room where he slept, wrapped him in thick blankets, and went outside. There we waited, and waited, and waited, listening to the smoke alarm going off. Various neighbours came by to make sure we were alright, and I just waved and smiled and said that we were Fiiiiiiine, and that I just burned something and couldn't get the smoke detector to turn off. No biggie. Smile and wave, people. Smile and wave.
Finally, our nextdoor neighbour (who shared our driveway) came home from work and used his ladder to reach the detector reset switch and turned it off.
Ok. So at this point, Sashimi was still sleeping in the thousand blankets I had wrapped him in, and the fumes in the house were probably toxic or something. Not Britney toxic, just enough that I thought my brain cells were slowly amassing a collection of yellow "For Dummies" manuals. It was too cold outside, though, to stay there much longer. I opened all the windows in the house and retreated to the basement, where the smell was not as bad. There we stayed until Tony came home. I may have called him to tell him about burning something or other. I can't remember. What I DO remember, though, is the insane mess of ashes and soot spread throughout our house. Our vent about the stove was ruined, our cupboards were coated with ashes, the entire front end of the house had to be completely cleaned - a good four-hour job that evening. It is amazing how much mess a breastpump can make when lit on fire for a prolonged period of time. I also remember Tony forbidding me to EVER use the stove when he was not home. We ate a lot of sandwiches that month.
And then I remember realizing that I had just melted my neighbour's breastpump into nothingness. A neighbour I hardly knew. As much as I like to return things to people, I did not think the crust on the bottom of my pot would suck the milk out of any breast. So I sucked it up and bought a brand new pump, exactly like the one I had melted, and kept it in mint condition, just to give back to my neighbour. If she ever asked for it back.
Which she did not. And I ended up selling it on kijiji about a year ago for $25.
And that breastpump-lending neighbour became one of my best friends in the world. Although she may rethink that when she reads this post.
The moral of the story: After four months of scraping and soaking, that pot came clean. A
little bronzed, but clean. And it is the perfect sized pot for one box
of Kraft Dinner. So never throw out a pot, no matter what you burned in it.
Showing posts with label secrets. Show all posts
Showing posts with label secrets. Show all posts
Friday, 10 February 2012
Thursday, 3 June 2010
Why I Don't Like Camping aka The Worst First Period Story Ever
'Tis the season. Camping Season.
Everyone camps. People have tents, people have trailers, people have motorhomes. In our neighbourhood, we are most likely the only family that t a) doesn't have a trailer or fifth wheel; b) doesn't have a lake lot at Lesser Slave Lake; or c) doesn't even own camping equipment of the basic type, such as sleeping bags.
My husband loves camping. His parents have a lake lot with a fifth wheel and a park model trailer. My parents have a trailer and a lake lot. My sisters both own tents and all the gear for camping, and have gone camping together with their spouses in the mountains. Unfortunately for my dear Tony, we do not camp. Not together, not as a family, nada. I hate camping. And this is the awesome story that I get to tell every time someone gives me the incredulous look, wondering what the HELL is wrong with me that I hate it so much.
When I was 12 years old, I went to a summer bicycle camp. The whole premise of this camp was that we, as a group of 12 year olds, would bike about 30 km a day for six days, make camp each night, and take off the next morning. Sounds like fun, right? And as an adult, I can't help but think of the exercise and calories you would burn. Fun times, right?
WRONG!
The first two and half days of camp were fun, but there were some disgruntled kids at camp who thought that the primary counselor was a total bitch. That may be partially true. As a result, many kids were wanting to call home to talk to their parents (understandable). The main problem with this was that we had to use pay phones (remember, this was before the cell phone made its way out of the car bag). Pay phones involved getting an adult to help you figure out how to dial collect or use a calling card or whatever. The Bitch was scared of all the kids calling home. There were some threatening to call home to get their parents to pick them up. She did not want to have this horrible counselorship on her resume, so she made the unilateral decision to not let ANY kids call home. Period. Full Stop.
Enter Sarah. First time camping, I was getting the hang of it. I was 12, I didn't have BO yet, so I really did not mind not showering every day. Or just pulling my hair back into braids to get the yuck off my back. No biggie. Until I went to the outhouse and saw blood in my panties. Oh. Sweet. Fuck. It was a period. My first period. And I was out camping with no amenities. No running water, no pads, no tampons (although I seriously doubt there are many who wear tampons that first time). All I had were stained panties.
I collected myself and went to talk to one of the counselors (she was the NICE one). She was 16, and told me it was no big deal, and that she would talk to the other counselors and other teenage girls and see if anyone had pads I could have. I asked if I could call my mom, who was about an hour away. Bitch started freaking out a bit, would NOT let me call home. After wondering what to do with me, she got her mom, who was helping with meals, to run to the store about 20 minutes away to buy me something. Too bad the mom must have been WAY past menopause, because she had no clue what to buy and came back with a pack of panty-liners. And a small pack to boot. Bitch gave her mom shit for buying the wrong thing, but never asked her to go get the RIGHT thing. So there I was, in the middle of the forest, with coyotes and bears, with blood in my pants and 10 panty lines to clean it up.
That night, it rained. It rained hard, and the tarp on our tent did not work so well, so our tent flooded. Now I had bloody panties and I smelled like a wet dog. Wait. Scratch that. A wet dog who has just been attacked by a coyote and is bleeding everywhere. I got up the next morning, threw out my panties and my pants, changed into new ones, put on that useless panty liner, and wrapped my windbreaker around my waist rather than use it to shield myself from the rain. There were BOYS there that would have made fun of me, so I made the sacrifice. We had to bike a shorter distance that day (about 15 km) but it was ALL up hill. In the pouring rain that came sideways and slapped me in the face. The only perk to that rain was that I was so wet when we arrived at our destination that my underwear and pants had been presoaked and there was no trace of blood.
That night, we stayed in a seniors drop-in center, which had plumbing, but no showers or anything like that. I threw out my wet underwear and pants, put on another useless liner and went to bed. I woke up all bloody, again, and repeated the whole routine of throwing out my underwear, putting on clean ones and clean pants, wrapping my windbreaker around my waist and set off for a leisurely 48 km bike ride to the next camping point.
The next camping point had pay showers. Since I was 12 and was not TOLD that we needed money for pay showers, I had none. The Bitch gave me one token and told me to go wash up. I threw out my panties and gleefully got myself all lathered up in tepid water, shampooed my down-to-my-butt hair, and the water turned off. Sweet merciful CRAP. I dried myself off, got dressed, and went to the water pump to rinse the shampoo out of my hair. I hit the old sleeping bag (complete with secret blood stains!) and longed for morning. Morning would be the beginning of the LAST day, when I could go home and clean myself up and actually DEAL with the fact that I had my period.
When I awoke, I was eager to get out of there. We were 30 km away from our destination, and I could not WAIT. Then, just as we were leaving, my dad pulled up in our minivan. Before he even had a chance to say hello, I blurted out "DAD! I got my period. I NEED PADS. Can you go get me some and bring them back to me?" He looked at me and smiled, then went back to town to get me what I so desperately needed. He returned when I was on route, so I hopped into the back of the van to put on a pad, then I kept biking.
Why I didn't just pack up and go home, I am not sure. I must have not wanted to let on to the other kids that there was something wrong. Or I wanted to eat the hot dogs at the wrap-up BBQ. Who knows. I do love me some BBQ hot dogs.
But THAT is why I hate camping. And I have yet to tell that story to someone who has not responded with "Man, I'd hate camping, too."
Yes, you would.
Everyone camps. People have tents, people have trailers, people have motorhomes. In our neighbourhood, we are most likely the only family that t a) doesn't have a trailer or fifth wheel; b) doesn't have a lake lot at Lesser Slave Lake; or c) doesn't even own camping equipment of the basic type, such as sleeping bags.
My husband loves camping. His parents have a lake lot with a fifth wheel and a park model trailer. My parents have a trailer and a lake lot. My sisters both own tents and all the gear for camping, and have gone camping together with their spouses in the mountains. Unfortunately for my dear Tony, we do not camp. Not together, not as a family, nada. I hate camping. And this is the awesome story that I get to tell every time someone gives me the incredulous look, wondering what the HELL is wrong with me that I hate it so much.
When I was 12 years old, I went to a summer bicycle camp. The whole premise of this camp was that we, as a group of 12 year olds, would bike about 30 km a day for six days, make camp each night, and take off the next morning. Sounds like fun, right? And as an adult, I can't help but think of the exercise and calories you would burn. Fun times, right?
WRONG!
The first two and half days of camp were fun, but there were some disgruntled kids at camp who thought that the primary counselor was a total bitch. That may be partially true. As a result, many kids were wanting to call home to talk to their parents (understandable). The main problem with this was that we had to use pay phones (remember, this was before the cell phone made its way out of the car bag). Pay phones involved getting an adult to help you figure out how to dial collect or use a calling card or whatever. The Bitch was scared of all the kids calling home. There were some threatening to call home to get their parents to pick them up. She did not want to have this horrible counselorship on her resume, so she made the unilateral decision to not let ANY kids call home. Period. Full Stop.
Enter Sarah. First time camping, I was getting the hang of it. I was 12, I didn't have BO yet, so I really did not mind not showering every day. Or just pulling my hair back into braids to get the yuck off my back. No biggie. Until I went to the outhouse and saw blood in my panties. Oh. Sweet. Fuck. It was a period. My first period. And I was out camping with no amenities. No running water, no pads, no tampons (although I seriously doubt there are many who wear tampons that first time). All I had were stained panties.
I collected myself and went to talk to one of the counselors (she was the NICE one). She was 16, and told me it was no big deal, and that she would talk to the other counselors and other teenage girls and see if anyone had pads I could have. I asked if I could call my mom, who was about an hour away. Bitch started freaking out a bit, would NOT let me call home. After wondering what to do with me, she got her mom, who was helping with meals, to run to the store about 20 minutes away to buy me something. Too bad the mom must have been WAY past menopause, because she had no clue what to buy and came back with a pack of panty-liners. And a small pack to boot. Bitch gave her mom shit for buying the wrong thing, but never asked her to go get the RIGHT thing. So there I was, in the middle of the forest, with coyotes and bears, with blood in my pants and 10 panty lines to clean it up.
That night, it rained. It rained hard, and the tarp on our tent did not work so well, so our tent flooded. Now I had bloody panties and I smelled like a wet dog. Wait. Scratch that. A wet dog who has just been attacked by a coyote and is bleeding everywhere. I got up the next morning, threw out my panties and my pants, changed into new ones, put on that useless panty liner, and wrapped my windbreaker around my waist rather than use it to shield myself from the rain. There were BOYS there that would have made fun of me, so I made the sacrifice. We had to bike a shorter distance that day (about 15 km) but it was ALL up hill. In the pouring rain that came sideways and slapped me in the face. The only perk to that rain was that I was so wet when we arrived at our destination that my underwear and pants had been presoaked and there was no trace of blood.
That night, we stayed in a seniors drop-in center, which had plumbing, but no showers or anything like that. I threw out my wet underwear and pants, put on another useless liner and went to bed. I woke up all bloody, again, and repeated the whole routine of throwing out my underwear, putting on clean ones and clean pants, wrapping my windbreaker around my waist and set off for a leisurely 48 km bike ride to the next camping point.
The next camping point had pay showers. Since I was 12 and was not TOLD that we needed money for pay showers, I had none. The Bitch gave me one token and told me to go wash up. I threw out my panties and gleefully got myself all lathered up in tepid water, shampooed my down-to-my-butt hair, and the water turned off. Sweet merciful CRAP. I dried myself off, got dressed, and went to the water pump to rinse the shampoo out of my hair. I hit the old sleeping bag (complete with secret blood stains!) and longed for morning. Morning would be the beginning of the LAST day, when I could go home and clean myself up and actually DEAL with the fact that I had my period.
When I awoke, I was eager to get out of there. We were 30 km away from our destination, and I could not WAIT. Then, just as we were leaving, my dad pulled up in our minivan. Before he even had a chance to say hello, I blurted out "DAD! I got my period. I NEED PADS. Can you go get me some and bring them back to me?" He looked at me and smiled, then went back to town to get me what I so desperately needed. He returned when I was on route, so I hopped into the back of the van to put on a pad, then I kept biking.
Why I didn't just pack up and go home, I am not sure. I must have not wanted to let on to the other kids that there was something wrong. Or I wanted to eat the hot dogs at the wrap-up BBQ. Who knows. I do love me some BBQ hot dogs.
But THAT is why I hate camping. And I have yet to tell that story to someone who has not responded with "Man, I'd hate camping, too."
Yes, you would.
Friday, 9 April 2010
My not-so-secret guilty pleasure
I love Twilight.
Yes, I am a mom. Yes, I am in my late 20s. Yes, I have better, more productive, things that I could be doing. But I'd rather be reading Twilight. The whole saga. I have read it twice in the last 6 months. I will probably read it again.
Here is the other secret: I am not alone. There are many of us, mothers, who love Twilight, who love Edward, who love Jacob. There are even maternity shirts to prove it.
Seeing how the premise for these books is so cheesy and rooted in vicariously satisfying our insane teenage romantic angst, one may wonder why there are so many moms who love it to the point of plopping their kids in front of the TV so that they can read just ONE MORE CHAPTER, and then sleep on Edward pillowcases while their husband snores away next to them.
Why do moms love Edward?
1. Edward is perfect. Every woman loves a broody, dangerous man, a man that hints at adventure, but wants to protect you and not let you into his world for fear of corrupting you. That is Edward. Corrupting without intending to corrupt.
2. Edward is 17. Forever. Seventeen. Wouldn't we all like to be sleeping with a 17-year old forever?
3. Edward wants to protect your virtue. How many 17 year old guys wanted to protect mine? None. That's how many. Not that I was giving it away, but there were enough that wanted to steal it and run away to Fiji and bury it in volcanic ash so that I could never find it again.
4. Edward sparkles. Everyone likes sparkles. Especially moms who can admire the brilliance of it without having to vacuum it up for months afterward.
5. Edward is ok with you having guy friends, even ones you are potentially in love with but don't know it yet. This may be seen as pure stupidity from Edward's perspective, but not really. When one guy is jealous and the other is kindly and gently waiting for you in the wings, who do you run to? The sparkly one. Who will be 17 forever.
6. Edward plays the piano and writes his own music. He can serenade you anytime you want with your OWN lullaby, written just for you. And if you drag your piano outside, he'll sparkle while he plays.
7. In the midst of global warming, Edward is natural and free AC.
8. Since vampires don't sleep and have extraordinary speed, he could clean your house for you while you sleep and get your beauty rest.
9. Dude is loaded. Not that I am a gold digger or anything.
Jacob has his good points, too.
1. Jacob has a nice complexion, so no need to sunscreen him up every 30 minutes when playing outside.
2. Jacob is so tall you will never need a stool to reach for things in the cupboard anymore
3. Jacob can keep dogs and cats from digging up your flower beds.
4. Jacob is super hot - temperature, that is. As a female who is habitually cold, this appeals to me. And this would save on rising energy costs.
5. Jacob will grow out OR cut his hair for you. It's all a matter of preference.
6. You could have a baby with Jacob without it trying to eat its way out of your womb and breaking your spine during delivery.
7. Jacob will grow old with you and will eventually die of natural causes.
Either way, moms love Twilight. So much so that you can now buy your own bite-sized Edward to keep on your nightstand. Or to bite at your own leisure. He could sure bite me anytime...
**And many thanks for my dear husband who feeds my addiction by buying me said action figure. Did I mention it sparkles? Just saying...
Yes, I am a mom. Yes, I am in my late 20s. Yes, I have better, more productive, things that I could be doing. But I'd rather be reading Twilight. The whole saga. I have read it twice in the last 6 months. I will probably read it again.
Here is the other secret: I am not alone. There are many of us, mothers, who love Twilight, who love Edward, who love Jacob. There are even maternity shirts to prove it.
Seeing how the premise for these books is so cheesy and rooted in vicariously satisfying our insane teenage romantic angst, one may wonder why there are so many moms who love it to the point of plopping their kids in front of the TV so that they can read just ONE MORE CHAPTER, and then sleep on Edward pillowcases while their husband snores away next to them.
Why do moms love Edward?
1. Edward is perfect. Every woman loves a broody, dangerous man, a man that hints at adventure, but wants to protect you and not let you into his world for fear of corrupting you. That is Edward. Corrupting without intending to corrupt.
2. Edward is 17. Forever. Seventeen. Wouldn't we all like to be sleeping with a 17-year old forever?
3. Edward wants to protect your virtue. How many 17 year old guys wanted to protect mine? None. That's how many. Not that I was giving it away, but there were enough that wanted to steal it and run away to Fiji and bury it in volcanic ash so that I could never find it again.
4. Edward sparkles. Everyone likes sparkles. Especially moms who can admire the brilliance of it without having to vacuum it up for months afterward.
5. Edward is ok with you having guy friends, even ones you are potentially in love with but don't know it yet. This may be seen as pure stupidity from Edward's perspective, but not really. When one guy is jealous and the other is kindly and gently waiting for you in the wings, who do you run to? The sparkly one. Who will be 17 forever.
6. Edward plays the piano and writes his own music. He can serenade you anytime you want with your OWN lullaby, written just for you. And if you drag your piano outside, he'll sparkle while he plays.
7. In the midst of global warming, Edward is natural and free AC.
8. Since vampires don't sleep and have extraordinary speed, he could clean your house for you while you sleep and get your beauty rest.
9. Dude is loaded. Not that I am a gold digger or anything.
Jacob has his good points, too.
1. Jacob has a nice complexion, so no need to sunscreen him up every 30 minutes when playing outside.
2. Jacob is so tall you will never need a stool to reach for things in the cupboard anymore
3. Jacob can keep dogs and cats from digging up your flower beds.
4. Jacob is super hot - temperature, that is. As a female who is habitually cold, this appeals to me. And this would save on rising energy costs.
5. Jacob will grow out OR cut his hair for you. It's all a matter of preference.
6. You could have a baby with Jacob without it trying to eat its way out of your womb and breaking your spine during delivery.
7. Jacob will grow old with you and will eventually die of natural causes.
Either way, moms love Twilight. So much so that you can now buy your own bite-sized Edward to keep on your nightstand. Or to bite at your own leisure. He could sure bite me anytime...
**And many thanks for my dear husband who feeds my addiction by buying me said action figure. Did I mention it sparkles? Just saying...
Wednesday, 4 March 2009
One week and I haven't died yet
We are one week into Lent 2009.
For those of you who know absolutely NOTHING about Lent, it is a time when Christians are called to reflect on their lives and sacrifice/fast in the way Jesus did for 40 days in the desert, where he was tempted by Satan. Lent is over at Easter. Although if you add up the total number of days from Ash Wednesday to the beginning of the Triduum (the 3 days encompassing Good Friday, Holy Saturday and Easter Sunday), you don't get 40. You get 45. Many people say that this allows you to cheat on Sundays (of which there are 5 in lent). In fact, every Sunday is a mini-Easter, and a celebration of the resurrection, even during Lent. So if you cheat on Sundays and indulge in your chocolate mini eggs (which I gave up one year and thoroughly regretted), you won't go to hell.
This year, however, I am not cheating at all. No Sunday sneaking.
I gave up Facebook for Lent.
The moment I realized that I was a crackbook addict was when a good friend of mine changed his relationship status, thus making me think that he had split up with his girlfriend of 2 years and that he never told me about it. How could he do that?? I had just talked to him and he never mentioned anything! This is insane! So I sent him a quick note asking what was going on. He told me that they are still together. They just decided that people take FB way too seriously and that they would remove that sort of personal information from their pages. I am obviously one of these people, as I actually thought that he would announce his breakup to the world on FB and neglect to tell me in person about such a serious change in his life.
I thought that deactivating my account would be difficult, but it has proved to be a relief. No more inbox full of notifications, no more obsessively checking for photos or updates from my friends. I have been back into regular old knitting and reading, and talking to people on the good old telephone, which suits me just fine. I am now contemplating whether or not I will even reactivate my account when Lent is over.
So for now, you won't find me on FB. I won't be posting photos of the kids or of the fantastic time I had at my step-brother's wedding (first time we left the kids EVER). I'll be enjoying my life in the real world. And here in real life to talk to you about it.
For those of you who know absolutely NOTHING about Lent, it is a time when Christians are called to reflect on their lives and sacrifice/fast in the way Jesus did for 40 days in the desert, where he was tempted by Satan. Lent is over at Easter. Although if you add up the total number of days from Ash Wednesday to the beginning of the Triduum (the 3 days encompassing Good Friday, Holy Saturday and Easter Sunday), you don't get 40. You get 45. Many people say that this allows you to cheat on Sundays (of which there are 5 in lent). In fact, every Sunday is a mini-Easter, and a celebration of the resurrection, even during Lent. So if you cheat on Sundays and indulge in your chocolate mini eggs (which I gave up one year and thoroughly regretted), you won't go to hell.
This year, however, I am not cheating at all. No Sunday sneaking.
I gave up Facebook for Lent.
The moment I realized that I was a crackbook addict was when a good friend of mine changed his relationship status, thus making me think that he had split up with his girlfriend of 2 years and that he never told me about it. How could he do that?? I had just talked to him and he never mentioned anything! This is insane! So I sent him a quick note asking what was going on. He told me that they are still together. They just decided that people take FB way too seriously and that they would remove that sort of personal information from their pages. I am obviously one of these people, as I actually thought that he would announce his breakup to the world on FB and neglect to tell me in person about such a serious change in his life.
I thought that deactivating my account would be difficult, but it has proved to be a relief. No more inbox full of notifications, no more obsessively checking for photos or updates from my friends. I have been back into regular old knitting and reading, and talking to people on the good old telephone, which suits me just fine. I am now contemplating whether or not I will even reactivate my account when Lent is over.
So for now, you won't find me on FB. I won't be posting photos of the kids or of the fantastic time I had at my step-brother's wedding (first time we left the kids EVER). I'll be enjoying my life in the real world. And here in real life to talk to you about it.
Tuesday, 8 July 2008
Tales from a B-cup Sixth Grader
I have 6 different sizes of bra in my wardrobe. I have worn all of them in the past year.
Half of me was an early bloomer. Relatives used to tease me about having "mosquito bites" in the fifth grade, and I innocently thought they were actually referring to real mosquito bites when they were, in fact, referencing my lopsided chest. My left side decided to start developing breasts at the tender age of 10 while my right side clung to its girlish body. I was immensely embarrassed of this. A friend of my mother's, who happened to be a physician, came for a visit and my father thought it would be useful to consult this friend about my breasts, questioning whether they would always be that way or would things correct themselves in time, as though having lopsided breasts would become a pandemic to be feared and its victims shunned into asylums.
I remember my mother taking me bra shopping for the first time and buying me not the cute little training bras that all my friends wore, but very womanly underwire B-cup bras while my mom wore an A cup. I was 11. And the chest kept growing.
By the time I was 17, I was very comfortably into a D cup, although I often crammed those puppies into a C. High school girls aren't supposed to have D cups. They are supposed have cute perky boobs without their own gravitational pull. And even though most high school guys have boobs on the brain 24/7, it seemed that a smaller chest was indirectly proportional to how popular a girl was with said boys. Make sense to you? I didn't think so.
Over the course of the next two years, I lost over 40 lbs. I was not a big girl to begin with, but I felt that I needed to be thinner (that's a whole other post) and I got down to an A cup. The cute bras and tiny tops were all mine! But this was not meant to last, since I was clearly well below my body's natural weight, and they shot back up to a 34C over the course of 2 summer months and a trip to France where several pounds of cheese and baguettes were consumed. My then boyfriend (now husband) was ecstatic. So was his roommate (or so I've been told).
Then I started this whole "mom" thing. I had to buy bigger bras twice while pregnant with Sacha. Then I nursed him for 14 months, which left me with saggy "high Cs low Ds", according to the bra lady who sized me up last summer. Then, my boobs started getting bigger again: enter pregnancy number two. Seven weeks after delivering and breastfeeding Kees, I went to get properly fitted for a nursing bra, since all of mine made my boobs look like they were trying to eat my navel. Where do I stand now?
32E.
That's right. Next to that tiny 32 there is a giant E. Again, the husband is ecstatic.
And I have come to terms with this. I am cursed with ginormous boobs that seem to get bigger with every baby. I tried to wear my bathing suit last week and the girls popped right out the top. I don't think they even make bikini tops large enough for me. Or supportive enough. I cannot wear most of my shirts, meaning that I was reduced to go shopping and buy large and extra large tops just to fit over my rack. The "XL" on the tag of my T-shirt is a corrosive acid that eats away at my inner-skinny-girl. I keep trying to tell myself that it is only a temporary glitch and that they will go back to normal once I am done having kids. That, or I will have to go back to work to save up for the plastic surgery required to put them back where they belong.
The silver lining to all this: at least I won't be headed to the asylum anytime soon.
Half of me was an early bloomer. Relatives used to tease me about having "mosquito bites" in the fifth grade, and I innocently thought they were actually referring to real mosquito bites when they were, in fact, referencing my lopsided chest. My left side decided to start developing breasts at the tender age of 10 while my right side clung to its girlish body. I was immensely embarrassed of this. A friend of my mother's, who happened to be a physician, came for a visit and my father thought it would be useful to consult this friend about my breasts, questioning whether they would always be that way or would things correct themselves in time, as though having lopsided breasts would become a pandemic to be feared and its victims shunned into asylums.
I remember my mother taking me bra shopping for the first time and buying me not the cute little training bras that all my friends wore, but very womanly underwire B-cup bras while my mom wore an A cup. I was 11. And the chest kept growing.
By the time I was 17, I was very comfortably into a D cup, although I often crammed those puppies into a C. High school girls aren't supposed to have D cups. They are supposed have cute perky boobs without their own gravitational pull. And even though most high school guys have boobs on the brain 24/7, it seemed that a smaller chest was indirectly proportional to how popular a girl was with said boys. Make sense to you? I didn't think so.
Over the course of the next two years, I lost over 40 lbs. I was not a big girl to begin with, but I felt that I needed to be thinner (that's a whole other post) and I got down to an A cup. The cute bras and tiny tops were all mine! But this was not meant to last, since I was clearly well below my body's natural weight, and they shot back up to a 34C over the course of 2 summer months and a trip to France where several pounds of cheese and baguettes were consumed. My then boyfriend (now husband) was ecstatic. So was his roommate (or so I've been told).
Then I started this whole "mom" thing. I had to buy bigger bras twice while pregnant with Sacha. Then I nursed him for 14 months, which left me with saggy "high Cs low Ds", according to the bra lady who sized me up last summer. Then, my boobs started getting bigger again: enter pregnancy number two. Seven weeks after delivering and breastfeeding Kees, I went to get properly fitted for a nursing bra, since all of mine made my boobs look like they were trying to eat my navel. Where do I stand now?
32E.
That's right. Next to that tiny 32 there is a giant E. Again, the husband is ecstatic.
And I have come to terms with this. I am cursed with ginormous boobs that seem to get bigger with every baby. I tried to wear my bathing suit last week and the girls popped right out the top. I don't think they even make bikini tops large enough for me. Or supportive enough. I cannot wear most of my shirts, meaning that I was reduced to go shopping and buy large and extra large tops just to fit over my rack. The "XL" on the tag of my T-shirt is a corrosive acid that eats away at my inner-skinny-girl. I keep trying to tell myself that it is only a temporary glitch and that they will go back to normal once I am done having kids. That, or I will have to go back to work to save up for the plastic surgery required to put them back where they belong.
The silver lining to all this: at least I won't be headed to the asylum anytime soon.
Sunday, 11 November 2007
I forgot
I read a post by the brilliant Jennifer at Breed Em And Weep a while back, and have been stewing over this for some time, unsure of whether this story was best left in a closed book. Now, I know that I need to make peace with myself, if not with the other person of which this story speaks.
Before my husband, there He was. He was my first love, my best friend, and often my loathed enemy. It was rocky, unstable, and unconventional, but it was ours and we were ok with that. We weren't always exclusive, but He was always there, waiting in the wings to hold me and watch the sunrise over the river valley.
Things went awry after my dad passed away, leaving me with many emotional questions and wondering what should be and what should be let go. I let Him go, but I forgot to tell Him that. We were living in different cities, and I thought it was implied that we would each keep that love in our hearts, but move on. I forgot to tell Him that, too.
I met this boy in university and we decided to commit our lives to each other, but I forgot to tell Him that. He never spoke to me again. He treated me with disdain, hatred, and anger. Certain He hated me, I never spoke to him either, although always wondering and wishing that He would get on with his life, fulfill his potential, and move on. We had mutual friends, so I always knew how He was doing, but I doubted if He took the same interest in my doings.
Then I got a letter. An explanation. An apology. He hadn't known how to move on, only how to be angry. Being angry was the only way He knew how to deal with the fact that I had moved on without telling Him, without giving Him a chance to say goodbye or to tell me what he really felt. He says this spared him more tears than He could have ever lived to cry.
Tears catch up with you, though, and I'm pretty sure that's what inspired the letter.
No matter how much I love my husband, He will always be a part of me. I just wish that I hadn't forgotten to tell Him that. Then maybe we could have both shed the tears we needed to and learned how to move on, together but apart, and not hurt each other like we did.
Before my husband, there He was. He was my first love, my best friend, and often my loathed enemy. It was rocky, unstable, and unconventional, but it was ours and we were ok with that. We weren't always exclusive, but He was always there, waiting in the wings to hold me and watch the sunrise over the river valley.
Things went awry after my dad passed away, leaving me with many emotional questions and wondering what should be and what should be let go. I let Him go, but I forgot to tell Him that. We were living in different cities, and I thought it was implied that we would each keep that love in our hearts, but move on. I forgot to tell Him that, too.
I met this boy in university and we decided to commit our lives to each other, but I forgot to tell Him that. He never spoke to me again. He treated me with disdain, hatred, and anger. Certain He hated me, I never spoke to him either, although always wondering and wishing that He would get on with his life, fulfill his potential, and move on. We had mutual friends, so I always knew how He was doing, but I doubted if He took the same interest in my doings.
Then I got a letter. An explanation. An apology. He hadn't known how to move on, only how to be angry. Being angry was the only way He knew how to deal with the fact that I had moved on without telling Him, without giving Him a chance to say goodbye or to tell me what he really felt. He says this spared him more tears than He could have ever lived to cry.
Tears catch up with you, though, and I'm pretty sure that's what inspired the letter.
No matter how much I love my husband, He will always be a part of me. I just wish that I hadn't forgotten to tell Him that. Then maybe we could have both shed the tears we needed to and learned how to move on, together but apart, and not hurt each other like we did.
Sunday, 30 September 2007
These are my confessions
Since I have been trouble sleeping at night (pregnancy makes me more of an insomniac than I already am), I have compiled a list of totally random things I want to get off my chest.
- I hate being pregnant. It sucks. I know that many women glow and shine when they're pregnant, but I don't. My house is a disaster because all I feel like doing is lying on the couch and moaning. I cannot stand the smell of my kitchen, so that is a total gong show, and everything I want to eat has tons of salt, loads of trans fat, and about 5000 calories. Bring me my fat pants!
- I do not care for lobster. I don't know what all the fuss is about.
- I wish that I could leave Sacha with a sitter once in a while so that I could have time to actually be myself again.
- To my locker neighbour in high school: I had a crush on you, but I was too embarrassed to say anything because you considered to be dorky (like I'm not a dork, I know...). I was super glad that you were my locker buddy for 4 years, because it gave me a chance to hang with you without anyone wondering why. I am such a tool.
- I once heard a guy refer to me a "chubby, not the kind of girl you date." This was a decisive moment in the start of my weight issues, leading to anorexia and then learning how to live with it (I don't believe that you can truly be cured of it).
- I often feel left out from my sisters, who are a lot closer to each other than they are to me. I must have been too much of a bitch to them growing up. Wait, I know I was to Talia. Still am, even from thousands of km away. How do I do that??
- Paul: I miss my friends a lot, but I miss you most because I miss how you seemed to look up to me and ask me for advice, help with school, and how I felt like you needed me, but then again, even if I was still living close to you, you really wouldn't need me anymore.
- I have not touched my knitting needles in 3 weeks. The thought of knitting makes me nauseous. I don't understand the reason behind it, but it's true. Same goes for reading. Books = pukeville.
- I am scared of what Sacha is going to do when I am in the hospital having the baby. No family here, no one he's comfortable with to stay with. I am fearing the worst.
- I miss my mom. I wish she had holidays left so that she could come take care of me and Sacha so that I could be gross and sick and my house would not fall apart.
- I need to make supper, but the though of cooking makes me want to yak, and I've already ordered take-out way too many times this week. Did I mention that I hate being pregnant? Maybe I'll have some ice cream. Ew, no, I think I just threw up in my mouth a bit from thinking of it.
Wednesday, 19 September 2007
Crouching laundry, hidden cleaning lady
I have a confession: I have a cleaning lady. That's right. Every second Tuesday, she graces my house with her presence for 3 hours and leaves it smelling lemony fresh and dust-free.
When we first moved out here, we were shocked that everyone had house cleaners. Even singletons with nothing but time on their hands had people go and clean their houses for them while they sat on their arses and watched American Idol. I was dismayed, and at the same time, insanely jealous.
So I set out to find myself a cleaning lady.
In the meantime, I had Sacha. Sacha being in our house meant pools of dried spit-up, urine and possibly poonamis all over the floor. It also meant less time to clean the regular stuff - like the toilet, the dishes, myself.
I finally found one. She turned out to be a total bitch, who canceled on me with fake dead uncle excuses more times than she actually showed up. And it took her 2 hours and 2 rolls of paper towel to clean the bathroom. I can do that in 20 minutes with NO paper towel, so I felt that it was a total waste of money and paper towel.
Then Gail entered our lives, with her punctuality, efficiency, and almost stealth cleaning abilities. I hardly know she's here! And when she leaves, our house is immaculate. For about 5 minutes Then Sacha throws his juice on the floor and crushes cookies into the couch.
But those 5 minutes are enough to maintain my sanity. Knowing that if I don't have time to scrub the bathroom tiles, Gail comes every other Tuesday and can do it for me. My Baba tells me stories of raising her 3 kids (my dad and twin aunts, only 23 months apart) with no running water, diapering the 3 of them in cloth diapers, waking up with twins in the middle of the night, and keeping her house clean without help. I must be lazy to have a cleaning lady!
But that's not me. I don't want to spend every spare minute of my day cleaning. I could, but I would be a grumpy frump of a woman, more so now that I am pregnant. As it is, Tony and I spend a good hour at the end of the day cleaning my house and getting back to square one so that the mess doesn't accumulate from day to day. So rather than scrub my floor every day, I shrug it off and go play with Sacha and pray that when he's older, he'll be thankful that his house was a little less than immaculate because his parents took the time to play with him instead.
When we first moved out here, we were shocked that everyone had house cleaners. Even singletons with nothing but time on their hands had people go and clean their houses for them while they sat on their arses and watched American Idol. I was dismayed, and at the same time, insanely jealous.
So I set out to find myself a cleaning lady.
In the meantime, I had Sacha. Sacha being in our house meant pools of dried spit-up, urine and possibly poonamis all over the floor. It also meant less time to clean the regular stuff - like the toilet, the dishes, myself.
I finally found one. She turned out to be a total bitch, who canceled on me with fake dead uncle excuses more times than she actually showed up. And it took her 2 hours and 2 rolls of paper towel to clean the bathroom. I can do that in 20 minutes with NO paper towel, so I felt that it was a total waste of money and paper towel.
Then Gail entered our lives, with her punctuality, efficiency, and almost stealth cleaning abilities. I hardly know she's here! And when she leaves, our house is immaculate. For about 5 minutes Then Sacha throws his juice on the floor and crushes cookies into the couch.
But those 5 minutes are enough to maintain my sanity. Knowing that if I don't have time to scrub the bathroom tiles, Gail comes every other Tuesday and can do it for me. My Baba tells me stories of raising her 3 kids (my dad and twin aunts, only 23 months apart) with no running water, diapering the 3 of them in cloth diapers, waking up with twins in the middle of the night, and keeping her house clean without help. I must be lazy to have a cleaning lady!
But that's not me. I don't want to spend every spare minute of my day cleaning. I could, but I would be a grumpy frump of a woman, more so now that I am pregnant. As it is, Tony and I spend a good hour at the end of the day cleaning my house and getting back to square one so that the mess doesn't accumulate from day to day. So rather than scrub my floor every day, I shrug it off and go play with Sacha and pray that when he's older, he'll be thankful that his house was a little less than immaculate because his parents took the time to play with him instead.
Monday, 27 August 2007
Respect my CLASSINESS!
This is it. I officially outrank you all in the classiness authori-tay.
I got dressed in a hurry thismorning afternoon so that my mom and I could go do some grocery shopping downtown while Sacha slept. While my mom was in line at the grocery store, I ran across the parking lot in the rain to Tim Horton's, seriously jonesing for some caffeine.
I get into T-Ho's, my glasses are wet and I can't see anything. While waiting in line to order my cup of joe, I unzip my hoodie to wipe off my glasses, only to remember that I AM NOT WEARING ANYTHING UNDER MY HOODIE! Other than a tattered old bra. Oh. My. God. I scurry to zip up my hoodie, and the flippin zipper gets stuck! You know, when it gets all warped and you have to unzip it AGAIN just to rezip it the right way.
In the mean time, my tattered bra is on full display for the entire T-Ho's universe to admire. The bloke behind me even has the nerve to say "You wanna try that again?"
Finally, after quite the zipper battle, I am able to cover my boobs. I look around, no one has reacted yet. Then again, I am sure they were waiting for me to get the heck out of there to start howling in laughter or chase me down in the parking lot and ask me how much it would cost for a repeat show.
So to recap:
Any questions?
I got dressed in a hurry this
I get into T-Ho's, my glasses are wet and I can't see anything. While waiting in line to order my cup of joe, I unzip my hoodie to wipe off my glasses, only to remember that I AM NOT WEARING ANYTHING UNDER MY HOODIE! Other than a tattered old bra. Oh. My. God. I scurry to zip up my hoodie, and the flippin zipper gets stuck! You know, when it gets all warped and you have to unzip it AGAIN just to rezip it the right way.
In the mean time, my tattered bra is on full display for the entire T-Ho's universe to admire. The bloke behind me even has the nerve to say "You wanna try that again?"
Finally, after quite the zipper battle, I am able to cover my boobs. I look around, no one has reacted yet. Then again, I am sure they were waiting for me to get the heck out of there to start howling in laughter or chase me down in the parking lot and ask me how much it would cost for a repeat show.
So to recap:
- Ran through the rain to go get a coffee.
- Glasses get wet.
- Take off only shirt to try and wipe glasses.
- Flash the world
- Some old guy gets all revved up.
- I am a total dolt.
Any questions?
Saturday, 25 August 2007
Eww!
Here's a conundrum for you:
My husband forgot to pack his toothbrush. We are on holidays for the next 2 weeks, and he forgot his toothbrush. Without even ASKING, he just starts using mine.
I'm like, get your plaque-ridden grills off my soft-bristle brush you gingivi-freak!
Then he's all like, what the problem is??
And I don't really know WHAT the problem is. I have no problem kissing him, having sex with him (on occasion), sharing towels, facecloths, our bed, napkins, water bottles, utensils, plates, bowls, hot beverages, alcoholic beverages or backwashed beverages with him. I wash the skid marks out of his boxer briefs, I pop his nasty-ass pimples INCLUDING one he had on his ass that hurt so much he couldn't sit, and yet when he starts spreading the love on my toothbrush, I am completely heebie-jeebied.
What's the verdict? Am I crazy yet?
My husband forgot to pack his toothbrush. We are on holidays for the next 2 weeks, and he forgot his toothbrush. Without even ASKING, he just starts using mine.
I'm like, get your plaque-ridden grills off my soft-bristle brush you gingivi-freak!
Then he's all like, what the problem is??
And I don't really know WHAT the problem is. I have no problem kissing him, having sex with him (on occasion), sharing towels, facecloths, our bed, napkins, water bottles, utensils, plates, bowls, hot beverages, alcoholic beverages or backwashed beverages with him. I wash the skid marks out of his boxer briefs, I pop his nasty-ass pimples INCLUDING one he had on his ass that hurt so much he couldn't sit, and yet when he starts spreading the love on my toothbrush, I am completely heebie-jeebied.
What's the verdict? Am I crazy yet?
Wednesday, 22 August 2007
Can you count to ten?
In the spirit of Molly's lessons on the Big Cunty Couch, I decided to take some mid-afternoon doll-school classes and have discovered that I, too, can count to ten:
1 - number of one night stands I've had
2 - number of times I've smoked the wacky tobacky
3 - number of centimeters I was dilated after 8 hours of labour
4 - number of consecutive hours of sleep I had last night
5 - number of best real life friends I have that AREN'T mamas
6 - number of guys that tried to pick me up on a single night at a club (ah, to be young...)
7 - number of kisses bestowed upon me by Elliot yesterday
8 - number of times I've read Anne of Green Gables
9 - length in inches of my husband's penis (HE WISHES!!!)
10 - Amount of time it takes to drive to Millet and back from my in-laws when traveling 170 km/hour. Not that I have ever taken my BIL's sweet-ass Honda Civic out for a spin and cranked up the tunez and tested out that theory. And I have no proof that you can go up to 90 in third in that puppy. Or that the VTEC really purrs when you get her going.
1 - number of one night stands I've had
2 - number of times I've smoked the wacky tobacky
3 - number of centimeters I was dilated after 8 hours of labour
4 - number of consecutive hours of sleep I had last night
5 - number of best real life friends I have that AREN'T mamas
6 - number of guys that tried to pick me up on a single night at a club (ah, to be young...)
7 - number of kisses bestowed upon me by Elliot yesterday
8 - number of times I've read Anne of Green Gables
9 - length in inches of my husband's penis (HE WISHES!!!)
10 - Amount of time it takes to drive to Millet and back from my in-laws when traveling 170 km/hour. Not that I have ever taken my BIL's sweet-ass Honda Civic out for a spin and cranked up the tunez and tested out that theory. And I have no proof that you can go up to 90 in third in that puppy. Or that the VTEC really purrs when you get her going.
Thursday, 9 August 2007
Poop is all around us
I just read this and remembered my own sordid tale of poop where it is not wanted.
My mother walked into the house last night, looked at the tofu art on her floor, the pyramid of pots in the kitchen, the cheerios ground finely into the carpet, and screamed. "What happened to my HOUSE?!"
"Oh, that's what happens when you have Sacha here," I calmly asserted, snickering to myself. Why was I doing that?
Here's what my mother didn't see:
I was washing Sacha up after a meal (who knows which) and decided that it would be best to strip him down and just change him all in one shot. I put him in the sink and let him play with the taps, throw all of my happy-period stuff on the ground, toss my comb in the toilet, while I used a washcloth to clean him up. I then thought that it would just be best to change his diaper while I was at it. Took off the diaper, threw it out, looked back and saw Sacha compressing a pile of shit into the sink. Really trying hard to stain the porcelain, I'm sure.
Frck.
I then had to decide whether to a) wipe up Sacha first and possibly have him scoot his poopy bum all over the carpet in my attempt to do this, or b) clean up the sink while wrestling him into my headlock-type move thus letting him wipe his ass all over me.
Knowing my mother and her aversion to messiness (although lord knows she was not this way when I was growing up) I chose option B. There now sits a whole lot of soiled clothes in a heap, just waiting to be de-poopified.
Now if only I could make sure the shit doesn't stain her nice white washing machine, I could get away with this whole scheme.
My mother walked into the house last night, looked at the tofu art on her floor, the pyramid of pots in the kitchen, the cheerios ground finely into the carpet, and screamed. "What happened to my HOUSE?!"
"Oh, that's what happens when you have Sacha here," I calmly asserted, snickering to myself. Why was I doing that?
Here's what my mother didn't see:
I was washing Sacha up after a meal (who knows which) and decided that it would be best to strip him down and just change him all in one shot. I put him in the sink and let him play with the taps, throw all of my happy-period stuff on the ground, toss my comb in the toilet, while I used a washcloth to clean him up. I then thought that it would just be best to change his diaper while I was at it. Took off the diaper, threw it out, looked back and saw Sacha compressing a pile of shit into the sink. Really trying hard to stain the porcelain, I'm sure.
Frck.
I then had to decide whether to a) wipe up Sacha first and possibly have him scoot his poopy bum all over the carpet in my attempt to do this, or b) clean up the sink while wrestling him into my headlock-type move thus letting him wipe his ass all over me.
Knowing my mother and her aversion to messiness (although lord knows she was not this way when I was growing up) I chose option B. There now sits a whole lot of soiled clothes in a heap, just waiting to be de-poopified.
Now if only I could make sure the shit doesn't stain her nice white washing machine, I could get away with this whole scheme.
Tuesday, 24 July 2007
It's not easy to be me
I think that I have a slight problem. Please review the following and advise.
So, am I crazy yet?
- My clothes hanging in the closet MUST be arranged in the following order: red, orange, pink, yellow, green, blue, white, brown, black. Any clothes with more than one colour are ordered according to their dominant colour.
- My bed must be made daily, even if this means making it at 10:00 pm and going to bed at 10:01 pm.
- My morning shower is followed by pill-taking and teeth-brushing, come hell of screaming child. Afterward, preening and fixing of hair takes place in my skivies.
- Glasses are to be organized in the cupboard by height, width, and only stacked if absolutely necessary. So help me if I look in the cupboard and see stacked glasses and empty space! Or a tall glass sitting in front of a tumbler. OH THE PAIN!
- Whenever I put something in the microwave, I always take it out 20-30 seconds before the timer goes off.
- When I misplace something like, say, an iPod nano, and realize at 10:30 pm that it is missing, I obsess and cannot sleep until I have found it. Turn the house upside down if I must. Then, once found, I put it away in its proper place and never think about it again.
- I shave my legs on Fridays. Only Fridays. Since I was 13.
So, am I crazy yet?
Tuesday, 17 July 2007
Waiting
I'm tired of living here, away from everyone I love. I was just getting used to it when my next door neighbour, a fellow mom with young kids, started a "my house is your house" sort of agreement between us that resulted in having adult conversation and friendship almost every day while my husband was at work. Now, she says that she is moving - husband's work, yadda yadda. I know that story all too well.
She's been gone on holidays for 3 weeks, and already I want to die of the monotony of it all. Wake up in the morning, feed S, play with S, watch Backyardigans, put S down for a nap, shower, go on the computer, S gets up, we play, have lunch, nap, wake up, go for a walk, park, play, supper, bedtime. Repeat. Every. Day.
I spend so much time on the computer just to feel like I have friends and family close by, which I don't. I would not call 4 provinces and 3000 km away "close by." If I was better at making friends, I wouldn't have this problem. I am not, however, what you would call a social butterfly, and I look at other moms pushing their strollers and long to scream out "HELLO! CAN I BE YOUR FRIEND?" But I don't. That's just not me. Read my old post: "Making riends: the new dating.".
I miss my mom. I miss my sisters. I miss my grandparents, my aunt, my cousins, my kids (aka students). I miss my in-laws (call me crazy...). I miss my best friends. I miss life.
My life right now is a waiting game. Just waiting. Waiting for T to come home for lunch, waiting for T to come home at the end of the day. Waiting for August when I fly away from here and visit everyone for a month. Waiting to meet Arlo and kiss his sweet head. Waiting to see Elliot and dance ridiculous dances and sing silly songs with her. Waiting to see Sara and visit over pedicures. Waiting to introduce Kaloni, my best friend since the third grade, to Sacha. Waiting to hug my mom. Waiting to stitch and bitch with Andi while she spends all my money for me. Waiting for T's contract to be up next summer.
Waiting.
I'm tired of it, and I'm tired of feeling this way.
She's been gone on holidays for 3 weeks, and already I want to die of the monotony of it all. Wake up in the morning, feed S, play with S, watch Backyardigans, put S down for a nap, shower, go on the computer, S gets up, we play, have lunch, nap, wake up, go for a walk, park, play, supper, bedtime. Repeat. Every. Day.
I spend so much time on the computer just to feel like I have friends and family close by, which I don't. I would not call 4 provinces and 3000 km away "close by." If I was better at making friends, I wouldn't have this problem. I am not, however, what you would call a social butterfly, and I look at other moms pushing their strollers and long to scream out "HELLO! CAN I BE YOUR FRIEND?" But I don't. That's just not me. Read my old post: "Making riends: the new dating.".
I miss my mom. I miss my sisters. I miss my grandparents, my aunt, my cousins, my kids (aka students). I miss my in-laws (call me crazy...). I miss my best friends. I miss life.
My life right now is a waiting game. Just waiting. Waiting for T to come home for lunch, waiting for T to come home at the end of the day. Waiting for August when I fly away from here and visit everyone for a month. Waiting to meet Arlo and kiss his sweet head. Waiting to see Elliot and dance ridiculous dances and sing silly songs with her. Waiting to see Sara and visit over pedicures. Waiting to introduce Kaloni, my best friend since the third grade, to Sacha. Waiting to hug my mom. Waiting to stitch and bitch with Andi while she spends all my money for me. Waiting for T's contract to be up next summer.
Waiting.
I'm tired of it, and I'm tired of feeling this way.
Sunday, 15 July 2007
A snippit into my mind
In the spirit of meandering back into babyville, I've been thinking about what I am going to do with my life when my babies are all grown up. Or even, what I am going to do to maintain some sort of connection with the outside adult world while fingerpainting with food-coloured corn syrop and duct taping diapers onto my son in the backwards position.
How does that saying go? If money were no object, what would you most want to do with your life? Job-wise, that is. Hmmm...what would I most want...get ready for stream-of-consciousness ramblings!
I am a teacher. That's what paid the bills when I was supporting T while he was still in school. I loved it. I loved my kids, some of whom still keep in touch with me via e-mail, facebook. etc. The fact that I still refer to them as my kids means something. Yes, I think I would teach, even if it meant never making a million bucks or living in a mansion or ever being in People. I would do it and I would love it.
On the other hand, I've always wanted to do something musical. Not the old standard of be a star, get famous, live in a mansion, be on the cover of Rolling Stone, but something related. I would be a songwriter. I've been doing it for years just for myself, but damn! If I could make money doing it, it would rock! Sell my songs to some artist who would then pay me royalties for using it. It's creative, it's musical...yes, I think I would do that.
On the other foot, I would like to try and publish a book. Not a novel, I have no hope of that. Poetry. Which I hear is really hard to do, since there's not so much a market for new poets nowadays. But I think I would do that. Maybe I'll give it a go, see if anyone wants to read my stuff. I don't care about the money, just the idea of sharing my weird twisted mind with the world.
But I guess I do that here.
The hardcover binding would be a nice touch, though.
What would you do?
How does that saying go? If money were no object, what would you most want to do with your life? Job-wise, that is. Hmmm...what would I most want...get ready for stream-of-consciousness ramblings!
I am a teacher. That's what paid the bills when I was supporting T while he was still in school. I loved it. I loved my kids, some of whom still keep in touch with me via e-mail, facebook. etc. The fact that I still refer to them as my kids means something. Yes, I think I would teach, even if it meant never making a million bucks or living in a mansion or ever being in People. I would do it and I would love it.
On the other hand, I've always wanted to do something musical. Not the old standard of be a star, get famous, live in a mansion, be on the cover of Rolling Stone, but something related. I would be a songwriter. I've been doing it for years just for myself, but damn! If I could make money doing it, it would rock! Sell my songs to some artist who would then pay me royalties for using it. It's creative, it's musical...yes, I think I would do that.
On the other foot, I would like to try and publish a book. Not a novel, I have no hope of that. Poetry. Which I hear is really hard to do, since there's not so much a market for new poets nowadays. But I think I would do that. Maybe I'll give it a go, see if anyone wants to read my stuff. I don't care about the money, just the idea of sharing my weird twisted mind with the world.
But I guess I do that here.
The hardcover binding would be a nice touch, though.
What would you do?
Monday, 28 May 2007
Virgin no more!
Even though I am married and have a son, I was a virgin. No one could convince me to do such a foul and disgusting thing, let alone that it was pleasurable! I couldn't stand the smell of it, the thought of it, or be near anyone else doing it. It's so messy, I thought, as I avoided it by saying "It doesn't agree with me" or "I think I may be allergic." A few weekends ago, however, my neighbour convinced me that my time had come. It was time to give up the innocence and join the rest of the adult world.
I was nervous. What should I wear? What should I bring? Were any special tools required? What would I use to clean up after it was all over? But she helped me along and showed me the way. I started slowly at first, unsure of myself. Then, it began its seductive dance in my mouth and I acqured a taste for it, realizing how foolish I had been to avoid it all these years. It wasn't as big a deal as I thought it would be. In fact, I could see myself doing it on a regular basis, if I had enough money to sustain it. My husband likes it, so that would definitely make it easier for us.
Up until a few weekends ago, I was a virgin. A seafood virgin. But I have now tasted the wonder of lobster, and I know now what I have been missing, and I am sure wishing that I would have tasted its seductive wonders a lot sooner!
Chewing on one of its little legs...succulenty goodness...
I was nervous. What should I wear? What should I bring? Were any special tools required? What would I use to clean up after it was all over? But she helped me along and showed me the way. I started slowly at first, unsure of myself. Then, it began its seductive dance in my mouth and I acqured a taste for it, realizing how foolish I had been to avoid it all these years. It wasn't as big a deal as I thought it would be. In fact, I could see myself doing it on a regular basis, if I had enough money to sustain it. My husband likes it, so that would definitely make it easier for us.
Up until a few weekends ago, I was a virgin. A seafood virgin. But I have now tasted the wonder of lobster, and I know now what I have been missing, and I am sure wishing that I would have tasted its seductive wonders a lot sooner!
Chewing on one of its little legs...succulenty goodness...
Saturday, 19 May 2007
I answer the age-old question
Does Cheeze Whiz cause migraines? Or mustard, perhaps?
No, you say, that's absurd! Who would ever think that?
Why, search engines do! I'm not entirely certain which one, exactly, but some poor guy was looking to learn more about migraines, he typed it into a search engine and was led *gasp* here! How do I know this? Blog stats, people. Blog stats.
Now, I will admit that I have had my share of migraines, but I have never known them to be the result of an overindulgence inplastic edible oil Cheeze whiz.
Or mustard.
No, you say, that's absurd! Who would ever think that?
Why, search engines do! I'm not entirely certain which one, exactly, but some poor guy was looking to learn more about migraines, he typed it into a search engine and was led *gasp* here! How do I know this? Blog stats, people. Blog stats.
Now, I will admit that I have had my share of migraines, but I have never known them to be the result of an overindulgence in
Or mustard.
The Dirty Thirty
The Dirty Thirty unknown facts/secrets about yourself:
1. Explain what ended your last relationship?
oh boy, well...it wasn't a great relationship, many ups and downs, and it sort of ended when I started seeing someone else. Terrible, I know. Even then, I never really had the guts to tell him face to face why I married someone besides him (how dare I!) untila few months ago never. I lied. I really am a terrible person.
2. When was the last time you shaved your legs?
Yesterday
3. What were you doing this morning at 8?
listening to the sounds of a freak out starring my son at the notion that his daddy wanted to go to the bathroom without an audience.
4. What were you doing 15 minutes ago?
calming my son after another freak out, although this one was totally warranted, as I stupidly took him for a walk in what turned out to be an ice pellet storm.
5. Are you any good at math?
Majorly
6. Your prom night?
If by prom you mean aftergrad, then I went with my boyfriend and spent much of the evening doing things I shouldn't have.
7. Do you have any famous ancestors?
Samuel de Champlain (well, he's in my family tree, anyway)
9. Do you know the words to the song on your myspace profile?
DOWN WITH MYSPACE!
10. Last thing you received in the mail?
An application for a Starbucks Duetto Visa. Best idea ever.
11. How many different beverages have you drank today?
Hot chocolate, water
12. Do you ever leave messages on people's answering machines?
Mostly yes, except on my mother's , as she never checks them anyway.
13. Who did you lose your CONCERT virginity to?
Amanda Marshall, Fall of 1996 or 1997 (I really don't remember the specifics)
14. Do you draw your name in the sand when you go to the beach?
Too busy applying layers of sunscreen to avoid the lobster look
15. What's the most painful dental procedure you've had?
Getting my dry socket cleaned up, or something like that, after having my wisdom teeth pulled out. I lost 10 lbs having those suckers removed from the lack of eating skills.
16. What is out your back door?
I don't have a back door. Fire hazard much?
17. Any plans for Friday night?
Niet.
18. Do you like the ocean?
Yes, but not the sharks that swim in it.
19. Have you ever received one of those big tins of 3 different kinds of popcorn for Christmas?
Fortunately, no!
20. Have you ever been to a planetarium?
Yes, with about 20 3-year-olds.
22. Something you are excited about?
Baby Seasen to be born!
23. What is your favorite flavor of JELLO?.
Lime
24. Are any of your great-grandparents still alive?
no
25. Describe your key chain:
a chain that screams "I am a teacher!" as it is one of those ones that goes around your neck. Did I mention it is pink with butterflies? And that my house key is yellow with coloured hearts on it?
26. Where do you keep your change?
at Starbucks
27. When was the last time you spoke in front of a large group of people?
Depends what you mean by large. I am a teacher, so I speak in front of a less than forgiving audience regularly.
28. What kind of winter jacket do you have?
Double breasted wool jacket from Le Château
30. Do you sleep with the door to your room open or closed?
open, no thanks to the damn cat that lives here.
30 more:
1. When you looked at yourself in the mirror today, what was your first thought?
My hair looks stupid
2. What's a word that rhymes with "DUCK"?
aw, that's a no brainer
5. Who is the last person that called you?
Lynn
7. What shirt are you wearing?
An orange American Eagle Outfitters hoodie
8. What were you doing 20 minutes ago?
Probably starting this survey blog thing
9. Name the brand of shoes you're currently wearing?
No shoes.
10. Dark room or bright?
Bright, keeps the vampires out. Wait, I think that's garlic and crucifixes. Either way, I've got it covered.
12. If you're in a room with two beds, which one do you sleep on?
Depends who's sleeping in the other one...
13. What were you doing at midnight last night?
SLEEPING! YES!!!
15. How do you like your eggs?
Right now, unfertilized
16. What's a word/phrase that you say a lot?
Hey dude! (when speaking to my Sacha-man)
17.Who told you he/she loved you last?
My mom on the phone this morning
18. Last furry thing you touched?
I peeled Mr Dash (my cat) off the laptop 2 seconds ago.
19. How many drugs have you done in the last three days?
Drugs - prescription or otherwise?
20. How many rolls of film do you need to develop?
film? HA!
21. Favorite age you have been so far?
The summer when I was 23 rocked the house, but being 24 is when I became a mama and that was great.
22. Your worst enemy?
I don't have any enemies that I know of...
23 whats your desktop picture?
Sacha with cookie mung all over his face
24. What was the last thing you said to someone?
I'll call you and let you know. Oops, I should get on that.
25. If you had to choose between a million bucks or to be able to fly, which one would you choose?
Fly what? With my own wings? Shit, give the million bucks.
26. Do you like someone?
I like most people.
27. The last song you listened to
Avril Lavigne - Girlfriend
29. If you could punch 1 person in the face who's in your life right now, who would it be?
I'd love to punch my husband's boss.
30.If you could be anywhere right now, where would that be.
Back home with my mom (cheesy, but true).
1. Explain what ended your last relationship?
oh boy, well...it wasn't a great relationship, many ups and downs, and it sort of ended when I started seeing someone else. Terrible, I know. Even then, I never really had the guts to tell him face to face why I married someone besides him (how dare I!) until
2. When was the last time you shaved your legs?
Yesterday
3. What were you doing this morning at 8?
listening to the sounds of a freak out starring my son at the notion that his daddy wanted to go to the bathroom without an audience.
4. What were you doing 15 minutes ago?
calming my son after another freak out, although this one was totally warranted, as I stupidly took him for a walk in what turned out to be an ice pellet storm.
5. Are you any good at math?
Majorly
6. Your prom night?
If by prom you mean aftergrad, then I went with my boyfriend and spent much of the evening doing things I shouldn't have.
7. Do you have any famous ancestors?
Samuel de Champlain (well, he's in my family tree, anyway)
9. Do you know the words to the song on your myspace profile?
DOWN WITH MYSPACE!
10. Last thing you received in the mail?
An application for a Starbucks Duetto Visa. Best idea ever.
11. How many different beverages have you drank today?
Hot chocolate, water
12. Do you ever leave messages on people's answering machines?
Mostly yes, except on my mother's , as she never checks them anyway.
13. Who did you lose your CONCERT virginity to?
Amanda Marshall, Fall of 1996 or 1997 (I really don't remember the specifics)
14. Do you draw your name in the sand when you go to the beach?
Too busy applying layers of sunscreen to avoid the lobster look
15. What's the most painful dental procedure you've had?
Getting my dry socket cleaned up, or something like that, after having my wisdom teeth pulled out. I lost 10 lbs having those suckers removed from the lack of eating skills.
16. What is out your back door?
I don't have a back door. Fire hazard much?
17. Any plans for Friday night?
Niet.
18. Do you like the ocean?
Yes, but not the sharks that swim in it.
19. Have you ever received one of those big tins of 3 different kinds of popcorn for Christmas?
Fortunately, no!
20. Have you ever been to a planetarium?
Yes, with about 20 3-year-olds.
22. Something you are excited about?
Baby Seasen to be born!
23. What is your favorite flavor of JELLO?.
Lime
24. Are any of your great-grandparents still alive?
no
25. Describe your key chain:
a chain that screams "I am a teacher!" as it is one of those ones that goes around your neck. Did I mention it is pink with butterflies? And that my house key is yellow with coloured hearts on it?
26. Where do you keep your change?
at Starbucks
27. When was the last time you spoke in front of a large group of people?
Depends what you mean by large. I am a teacher, so I speak in front of a less than forgiving audience regularly.
28. What kind of winter jacket do you have?
Double breasted wool jacket from Le Château
30. Do you sleep with the door to your room open or closed?
open, no thanks to the damn cat that lives here.
30 more:
1. When you looked at yourself in the mirror today, what was your first thought?
My hair looks stupid
2. What's a word that rhymes with "DUCK"?
aw, that's a no brainer
5. Who is the last person that called you?
Lynn
7. What shirt are you wearing?
An orange American Eagle Outfitters hoodie
8. What were you doing 20 minutes ago?
Probably starting this survey blog thing
9. Name the brand of shoes you're currently wearing?
No shoes.
10. Dark room or bright?
Bright, keeps the vampires out. Wait, I think that's garlic and crucifixes. Either way, I've got it covered.
12. If you're in a room with two beds, which one do you sleep on?
Depends who's sleeping in the other one...
13. What were you doing at midnight last night?
SLEEPING! YES!!!
15. How do you like your eggs?
Right now, unfertilized
16. What's a word/phrase that you say a lot?
Hey dude! (when speaking to my Sacha-man)
17.Who told you he/she loved you last?
My mom on the phone this morning
18. Last furry thing you touched?
I peeled Mr Dash (my cat) off the laptop 2 seconds ago.
19. How many drugs have you done in the last three days?
Drugs - prescription or otherwise?
20. How many rolls of film do you need to develop?
film? HA!
21. Favorite age you have been so far?
The summer when I was 23 rocked the house, but being 24 is when I became a mama and that was great.
22. Your worst enemy?
I don't have any enemies that I know of...
23 whats your desktop picture?
Sacha with cookie mung all over his face
24. What was the last thing you said to someone?
I'll call you and let you know. Oops, I should get on that.
25. If you had to choose between a million bucks or to be able to fly, which one would you choose?
Fly what? With my own wings? Shit, give the million bucks.
26. Do you like someone?
I like most people.
27. The last song you listened to
Avril Lavigne - Girlfriend
29. If you could punch 1 person in the face who's in your life right now, who would it be?
I'd love to punch my husband's boss.
30.If you could be anywhere right now, where would that be.
Back home with my mom (cheesy, but true).
Is it sad?
Wednesday, 4 April 2007
We're on a need-to-know basis
I originally posted this on Maya’s Mom, but why deprive you the pleasure of also reading it...
Have you ever flown first-class? Only if first-class means squished next to two fat men playing pong on their blackberries.
One of your favorite books when you were a child? Anne of Green Gables
A good restaurant in your city? Here? HAHAHAHA! But back in good old Edmonton: Khazana, Syrtaki's, The Creperie, Taste of Ukraine, New Asian Village, and on and on and on
One person who never fails to make you laugh? my friend Paul; everything he says makes milk fly out of my nose.
What was the first music that you ever bought? Cranberries "No Need to Argue"
Do you do push-ups? I push up my books on a regular basis.
What was one of your favorite games as a child? I played School with my sisters. I was always the teacher, and I even gave them homework. Good Times...
When you were twelve years old, what did you want to be when you grew up? A veterinarian, until I saw a cow C-section: MASSIVE uterus! *shudder*
Your favorite Soup of the Day? anything but clam chowder.
Have you ever met someone famous? I don't think so, but I stood right next to Kiera Knightly at a crosswalk in Paris.
Date of Birth? March 10, 1982
From what news source do you receive the bulk of your news? My DH. He reads the paper and listens to CBC Radio One religiously.
Current worry? When am I not worrying?
Current hate? my lack of will power in my fight to quit snacking all the time.
Favorite place to be? With my mom and sisters.
Least favorite place to be? In a room full of strangers with no one to help break the ice.
Do you consider yourself well organized? Extremely.
Do you believe in an afterlife? Yes. I am a good Catholic girl :)
Where do you think you will be in 10 years? Probably living in Alberta, again.
Do you burn or tan? Burn
Are you more optimistic or pessimistic about the future? Depends on the issue
What did you fear was going to get you at night as a kid? Things that go bump in the night.
What's in your pockets right now? Spit up.
Last thing that made you laugh? My son playing with my boob rather than nursing.
Worst injury you've ever had? I've never really been injured.
How many TVs do you own? 1 regular 27" tube TV
Best compliment received? That I am a hot mom. Oh, and that I am a hot teacher (not from a student, from a friend)
What leaves you speechless? Things I never wanted to know about my sisters’ personal lives
What is your favorite book? Ooh...that's hard. I own a LOT of books. Although The Life of Pi is definitely up there.
Last meal you cooked for the opposite sex? Scotch meat loaves with double the sauce, rotini with cheese, and steamed fresh broccoli.
What were you doing at 12 midnight last night? Trying to sleep.
Have you ever flown first-class? Only if first-class means squished next to two fat men playing pong on their blackberries.
One of your favorite books when you were a child? Anne of Green Gables
A good restaurant in your city? Here? HAHAHAHA! But back in good old Edmonton: Khazana, Syrtaki's, The Creperie, Taste of Ukraine, New Asian Village, and on and on and on
One person who never fails to make you laugh? my friend Paul; everything he says makes milk fly out of my nose.
What was the first music that you ever bought? Cranberries "No Need to Argue"
Do you do push-ups? I push up my books on a regular basis.
What was one of your favorite games as a child? I played School with my sisters. I was always the teacher, and I even gave them homework. Good Times...
When you were twelve years old, what did you want to be when you grew up? A veterinarian, until I saw a cow C-section: MASSIVE uterus! *shudder*
Your favorite Soup of the Day? anything but clam chowder.
Have you ever met someone famous? I don't think so, but I stood right next to Kiera Knightly at a crosswalk in Paris.
Date of Birth? March 10, 1982
From what news source do you receive the bulk of your news? My DH. He reads the paper and listens to CBC Radio One religiously.
Current worry? When am I not worrying?
Current hate? my lack of will power in my fight to quit snacking all the time.
Favorite place to be? With my mom and sisters.
Least favorite place to be? In a room full of strangers with no one to help break the ice.
Do you consider yourself well organized? Extremely.
Do you believe in an afterlife? Yes. I am a good Catholic girl :)
Where do you think you will be in 10 years? Probably living in Alberta, again.
Do you burn or tan? Burn
Are you more optimistic or pessimistic about the future? Depends on the issue
What did you fear was going to get you at night as a kid? Things that go bump in the night.
What's in your pockets right now? Spit up.
Last thing that made you laugh? My son playing with my boob rather than nursing.
Worst injury you've ever had? I've never really been injured.
How many TVs do you own? 1 regular 27" tube TV
Best compliment received? That I am a hot mom. Oh, and that I am a hot teacher (not from a student, from a friend)
What leaves you speechless? Things I never wanted to know about my sisters’ personal lives
What is your favorite book? Ooh...that's hard. I own a LOT of books. Although The Life of Pi is definitely up there.
Last meal you cooked for the opposite sex? Scotch meat loaves with double the sauce, rotini with cheese, and steamed fresh broccoli.
What were you doing at 12 midnight last night? Trying to sleep.
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