I so smart

Here's a snippet into my mind the other night:I wonder what's on TV.  Ooh, Jeopardy.  I love this show.  Why don't I watch it more often?  Historic Txt Msgs?  That's a weird category.  WHAT IS THE LIGHTBULB?  Man, I am so smart.  Why would you make a dumb category like that?  All written in dumb abbreviations.   WHO IS BELL? Man, I am on FIRE!

Wait, those contestants look really young.

Txt msg...young contestants...oh fuck.  This is Teen Jeopardy.

Category: Bloggers

Answer: A young SAHM who likes to revel in the fact that she used to teach math and had a 3.9 GPA in university but who doesn't get out much anymore and is slowly sinking into dolt-dom.

WHO IS MRS. MUSTARD??

I'm going threadbare

Error alert!



If you visited my blog earlier and saw that I am posting on Velveteen Mind, clicked on the link and wondered WTF?!  Where is it?  I see nothing! I had dental work done this morning and well, let's just say my mind is not all there.

Rest assured, the post is now there. Go have a peek and make sure to leave lots of comments!

Wordless Wednesday: Is there a Betty Ford for toddlers?

Is there a Betty Ford for toddlers?

Respect my CLASSINESS!

This is it.  I officially outrank you all in the classiness authori-tay.

I got dressed in a hurry this morning  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:

• 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?

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?

Here's the post where I jump on the bandwagon

I am jumping on the bandwagon. It is a good bandwagon, so I figure what the heck.



I've wanted to say something about my experiences with breast cancer, but after reading so many other posts, I truly feel unworthy of sharing the same blogging space as some of you.

My Baba (grandmother) had breast cancer when I was quite young - 6 or 7 years old. I don't even remember, although I have now become very used to seeing her prosthetic breast and going bra and bathing suit shopping with her.

A close friend of mine had breast cancer a few years ago and had to endure a year of treatments and a mastectomy before she was officially in remission. I taught her piano lessons during this time of her life, and I felt truly blessed to be able to spend some quality time with her NOT talking about the cancer.

I had a lump removed from my left breast 2 years ago. It was a fibroadenoma, which is a benign growth. It was not essential to have it removed, but there was a risk that it would grow if I were to become pregnant (which I did 6 months later). So I went under local anesthetic and had the thing removed. No, I did not save it in a jar.

But this story is the true reason for joining Team Why Mommy. Awareness and spreading a message of hope (as taken from Toddler Planet):

Inflammatory breast cancer

Monday July 23rd 2007, 3:11 pm
Filed under: About Us / Favorites, breast cancer

We hear a lot about breast cancer these days. One in eight women will be diagnosed with breast cancer in their lifetimes, and there are millions living with it in the U.S. today alone. But did you know that there is more than one type of breast cancer?

I didn’t. I thought that breast cancer was all the same. I figured that if I did my monthly breast self-exams, and found no lump, I’d be fine.

Oops. It turns out that you don’t have to have a lump to have breast cancer. Six weeks ago, I went to my OB/GYN because my breast felt funny. It was red, hot, inflamed, and the skin looked…funny. But there was no lump, so I wasn’t worried. I should have been. After a round of antibiotics didn’t clear up the inflammation, my doctor sent me to a breast specialist and did a skin punch biopsy. That test showed that I have inflammatory breast cancer, a very aggressive cancer that can be deadly.

Inflammatory breast cancer is often misdiagnosed as mastitis because many doctors have never seen it before and consider it rare. “Rare” or not, there are over 100,000 women in the U.S. with this cancer right now; only half will survive five years. Please call your OB/GYN if you experience several of the following symptoms in your breast, or any unusual changes: redness, rapid increase in size of one breast, persistent itching of breast or nipple, thickening of breast tissue, stabbing pain, soreness, swelling under the arm, dimpling or ridging (for example, when you take your bra off, the bra marks stay – for a while), flattening or retracting of the nipple, or a texture that looks or feels like an orange (called peau d’orange). Ask if your GYN is familiar with inflammatory breast cancer, and tell her that you’re concerned and want to come in to rule it out.

There is more than one kind of breast cancer. Inflammatory breast cancer is the most aggressive form of breast cancer out there, and early detection is critical. It’s not usually detected by mammogram. It does not usually present with a lump. It may be overlooked with all of the changes that our breasts undergo during the years when we’re pregnant and/or nursing our little ones. It’s important not to miss this one.

Inflammatory breast cancer is detected by women and their doctors who notice a change in one of their breasts. If you notice a change, call your doctor today. Tell her about it. Tell her that you have a friend with this disease, and it’s trying to kill her. Now you know what I wish I had known before six weeks ago.

You don’t have to have a lump to have breast cancer.

P.S. Feel free to steal this post too. I’d be happy for anyone in the blogosphere to take it and put it on their site, no questions asked. Dress it up, dress it down, let it run around the place barefoot. I don’t care. But I want the word to get out. I don’t want another young mom — or old man — or anyone in between — to have to stare at this thing on their chest and wonder, is it mastitis? Is it a rash? Am I overreacting? This cancer moves FAST, and early detection and treatment is critical for survival.

Thank you.

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.

Wordless Wednesday: A much needed nap

Holidaying with the Little Dude

Being on holidays is hard work.

Since I am not a huge fan of my current city of residence (notice that I do not want to call it "home") and that I am not going back to work this year, I decided to take an extended trip back west to visit our family and friends. This means Sacha and I would be solo for over 2 weeks before my husband would arrive. I have traveled alone with Sacha before when he was a scant 12 weeks old. This, however, has been a whole different ball game.

Things I have learned about traveling and holidaying with a 1 year old:

• Most people do not employ child-proofing measures in their home, giving Sacha free reign to play with bottles of alcohol (empty and full), glass figurines, pretty plasma HDTV screens, electrical outlets, scissors, pens, razors, needles, and other devices of baby torture and instruments of parental neglect.


• The lay person does not understand the the Werewolf Effect: Although I would LOVE to go out for dinner/movies/drinks/evening hutspas with you, I really can't because Sacha will turn into a total werewolf and possibly begin devouring any and all persons who attempt to make him laugh, smile, or even just placate his ferocious evening ways. I am sorry, but if you want to visit, you'll have to do it in the daytime. When we aren't at risk of being eaten alive.


• Car rides should cease and desist after the Witching Hour of 5:00 pm, when the Werewolf Effect starts kicking in. If not, rabid biting and snarling are sure to follow. You have been warned.


• I can Mom-my-Ride a pristine rental car in under 60 seconds.


• Contrary to many posts I have read, flying with Sacha has been relatively easy, thanks to the very patient passengers on board Air Canada's flights. This is not to say that Sacha doesn't get grumpy and jerkish. Only that the others on board seem to empathize with me rather than try and slip my child a sedative in his sippy cup or make snarky remarks about my jerk of a kid. Only I may do that.


• One should not expect a toddler's sleep to be hunky-dory when changing sleep arrangements on a weekly basis. Although I am extremely annoyed that he has resumed multiple night wakings and resisting falling asleep without me in the room, I must remember that the surroundings are all new to him, and he must be shitting himself to be in a strange place, strange bed, with strange smells and sounds. Ok, so maybe he still shits himself anyway, but it must be terrifying to be so little and feel so alone at night.


• I should really try and remember the previous point whenever I just want to shake him silly in the night for crying so damn much. (Not that I ever would, so please don't call social services on me.)


• There is not much point to packing toys to play with when pots, utensils, tupperware, and cell phones will do the trick. Save yourself some luggage space.


• If possible, staying with friends or family that also have young kids is your best option: playmate, kidproof house, and ADULT CONVERSATION for the mamas makes for excellent days and evenings.









• Alcohol adds to the enjoyment of the above point.


• Starbucks is a mother's best friend. Having one within a 5 minute drive is even better.  If you're really lucky, the little dude will fall asleep on the way there.  Excellent...

Me, a kid, and a restaurant

Dining out used to be fun. It used to be a treat, a way to escape from the everyday monotony of cooking macaroni and hamburger and eating it for days on end as leftovers.

Today, that all changed.

Sacha and I met up with a friend of mine for supper. We decided on a restaurant that I had visited in my pre-mommy days, Taste of Ukraine. My friend had never been there, and I was seriously craving some carbs wrapped in carbs. Of course, I had Sacha with me this time, but eating out with him has never really been an issue. Until now.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH! EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEH! SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEECH! GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAWWW!

In a total manic state, Sacha alternated between insane laughter and glee to expressing his discontent for the place in very overt terms. I was doing everything in the book: soother, sippy cup, toys, little maracas, finger foods, rocking him, tickling him, walking around with him, reading books, basically everything short of drugs. And this was only because I didn't have any. Stupid mommy.

After about 15 minutes of this and waiting for our food to arrive, the owners of the restaurant approached us. They asked us if we would want to move to a back dining room as they were concerned that the screeching was offending the paying customers. Completely embarrassed by the whole situation, I just nodded and meekly packed up my stuff and went to the back room, where Sacha instantly stopped screaming and began exploring the place with relative silence and peace.

To make matters more annoying, the owners seemed to feel like they needed to make it up to us by checking in on our meal every 5 minutes, thus interrupting our PRIVATE conversation. In fact, our conversation more seemed to be interrupting their check-up meetings. They offered to take Sacha from me to give him a tour of the kitchen so that I could eat. Like, have you EVER met me before? Moreover, do you KNOW what a toddler will do in your nice professional kitchen? This is what he'll do. They then offered "insight" as to why Sacha was acting the way he was - teething, growth spurt, learning how to walk, hungry, etc. Just nod and smile, I thought. Get the bill and get out of here.

Now, I can't say that the back room was a bad idea. I knew that the back room existed, and I had thought that it would have been a better place to seat us FROM THE BEGINNING. But the way they approached us was and handled the situation was not kosher, my friends. Not kosher.

To help all those who may find themselves in the manager's positions, here is a list of things you should NOT say to a parent with an unruly kid:

• Your son sure can scream!


• How can you listen to that all day?


• Why would you bring your son out in public when he's like that?


• Could you tell your toddler to be quite?


• What's wrong with him?


• Your kid's voice is giving me small pox.

You could instead say:

• Do you think your son would enjoy the back room? There is a lot of space for him to crawl and walk around.


• Our back room is more kid-friendly. Would you like us to move you there so that your son could play?


• Would you like some ketchup to distract your son and keep him occupied while you eat?


• Would you care for a drink? It's on the house. In fact, we'll buy a round for everyone in the place!

I know you have some good restaurant stories and can probably add to my list of do's and don'ts. That's what the comment section is for!  Have at 'er!

You are...

Gotta love my niece, the ever impressive orator, Elliot.

Tonight, we were watching the telly when she starts looking at me and saying: "You are...someone else.  You are...you are...you are...Mommy!  You are...Matt! You are Tony!"  And so on giving me names from various other members of the family.

Then this:

"You are...a big cunty couch!"

And of course, the more Andi and I laughed, the more she said it with such conviction:

"You are CUNTy couch!  CUNTY couch!"

Who needs TV when you ARE a cunty couch!?

Oh. My.

Generally, the google search terms that lead to my blog are pretty straight forward: anything to do with Cheeze Whiz, boys named Sacha, or parenting crap. On occasion, though, the wierdos come out to play:

areola pictures through see through shirt

What??? Seriously?

And this one:

mustard stain your poop

So are you trying to make your poop yellow?  Or are you trying to alter the colour of your fecal matter after the fact?  I really don't understand why anyone would want to mess with their shit, but whatever floats your boat!

Godzilla Reincarnate

There are certain things I omit from the standard parent-kidling conversations about my son: that he doesn't sleep through the night, that he is a major mama's boy, that he likes to use tampons as soothers, that he bites, and that he destroys things faster than Bush can say evil-doers.

I had never really noticed the dramatic destructive tendencies Sacha possesses until we arrived in Alberta for our extended holiday. To illustrate my point, I have compiled a brief list of the things Sacha has destroyed since our arrival to Alberta.

1. My mom's kitchen


2. My mom's $700 area rug by dripping peach mung all over it


3. The view-finder on my camera


4. A glass plate from Elliot's tea party set


5. A sugar packet display at Boston Pizza


6. An entire table and sitting booth at Boston Pizza


7. A Sesame Street keychain display at Elephants Never Forget


8. A Baby Einstein display at Elephants Never Forget


9. Pretty much all of Elephants Never Forget


10. A shelving unit filled with to go containers at Bueno Gelato


11. Pretty much every to go container on said shelf at Bueno Gelato

Things Sacha has attempted to destroy:

1. My parent's 52" plasma HDTV


2. A display of expensive art at a friend's place of work


3. My sister-in-law's HDTV


4. Two computers and their CD-ROM drives


5. A cat


6. A space heater


7. My sanity (the jury is still out on which list this item belongs on)

And the list grows exponentially by the day...

A meal at the slaughterhouse

I am hiding out at Poot and Cubby's house. Literally. We be roomies until Monday.

To celebrate this momentous occasion of toddler/infant/preschool debauchery, we decided to brave it and go out for lunch yesterday. Us mamas were very hungry. The kids, not so much as they have a habit of snacking, munching and gluttony around the clock.

Sacha is no stranger to the restaurant glamour, and I am experienced in the ways of bringing Sacha out in public to consume food. However, I have never attempted to bring S to out with other children that could aid and abet his scheming ways.

We sat in a booth, which was fantastic for S. He could crawl about and muck about in all sorts of things, with Elliot at his side cheering him on.

He decided to crawl up onto the table and grab the bowl full of sugar packets. Elliot laughed. He took the out one by one, inspecting them, and then tossing them to the floor. Then, he crawled underneath the table to resume inspection of said packets and started ripping them open and drooling over the contents.

Lunch came, and I put him in his high chair, gave him some fries and squirted some ketchup on the side for him. Mmmm...ketchup is a main course, no? He started by dipping his fingers in it, then his whole hand, then smeared it all about his face, his hair, up his nose until there was none left on the tray.

But S was not satiated. He then dove headfirst into his tray and started licking it like mad, scrambling for every last mL of ketchup.Why the hell did I even order fries? I should have just asked for a ketchup bottle, as it would have been FREE and that's all he ate, anyway. Oh, and a banana that I brought for him. Which he dipped in ketchup. A new delicacy, perhaps?

Then, there was the fun of potty time with Elliot and Sacha. Elliot wanted to go pee while I was cleaning up Sacha in the bathroom. She then held his hand and the pair waltzed around the restaurant together. It must have been a grand old time, because they went to the bathroom three times in five minutes, with nothing coming out but a couple of farts. From both parties. Mamas not included.  Ah, kids and farts.  Is there anything funnier?

I looked back at the table area before we left and felt a great urge to clean up.  I didn't, though.  I just left a nice tip instead :)

My name is WHAT? My name is...

Mrs. Mustard it is!

Thanks for your input!  My fam all seemed to like Mrs. Mustard, so thanks to Mrs. Chicken for her suggestion :)

I'll take nom-de-plume for $1000, Alex

It has been brought to my attention that I comment a lot on the innerwebs. I am big into providing feedback in a timely fashion - what can I say, I'm a teacher.

Since I know that Sarah is by no means a rare name, I think I will start writing and publishing under a nom de plume, just in case you thought that Sarah Jessica Parker, Sarah Michelle Gellar, Sarah McLachlan, Sarah Polley, Sarah Brightman, Sarah Harmer or Sarah wife of Abraham were the ones writing those witty and insightful comments and posts. IT WAS ME DAMMIT!

Names up for consideration are:

• Ms. Mustard


• Cheezy Lady


• Ms. Mix-a-Lot


• Cheeze Wizard


• Cheeze Witch


• Ms Plastic

If you have any ideas or preferences for any of these fabulous names, leave you opinion in the comments section. Your input is greatly appreciated.

In a timely fashion :)

My deepest apologies

Dearest Sleep Deities,

I would like to formally apologize for anything I may have ever done to offend you and cause you to want to send your wrath my way.

I am sorry for perpetually sleeping in every morning for 3 years in high school, thus making my mother late for work as she had to wait for me to preen my vain self before she could drive me to school.  I feel greatly ashamed at the laughter I used to let loose whenever any of my friends talked about their babies who woke up at 5:00 am on a Saturday while I reveled in the splendor that is my  feather bed until 1:00 pm.  I am also embarrassed that I ever rebuked those who occasionally slipped their child some baby Benedryl before bed, or drank a sinful glass of straight up scotch on the rocks wine before nursing, just to get a good night's sleep.  I cannot express how sorry I am for these atrocities.

With that being said, would you PLEASE restore the sleep I once had by helping Sacha sleep a) in his crib, b) more than 3 hours at a time, and c) later than 6:00 am every damn  blessed morning. If you would also be so kind as to consider my request to restore his normal nap patterns that we shared until last week, I would be forever greatful.

I remain yours respectfully, in perpetual awe and fear of you, oh mighty Sleep Deity.

Sincerely,

Sarah

PS - To the Sleep Goddess: You look fabulous.  Have you lost weight?

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++

PPS - It doesn't hurt to sweeten the pot, right? 

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.

Wordless Wednesday: I be lovin the chocolate!

Me...as a toddler...

I got your back, cuz!

Snippets of conversations at my in-laws when Elliot (our 2 and a half year old niece) and Sacha saw each other for the first time in 4 months:

• Sacha: BAABAABAABAABAA!

        He grabs the coasters off the table, hurls them at the floor, then giggles.

Elliot: Sacha, be careful! You hurt yourself!

Sacha: EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

        He laughs devilishly as he takes the wine bottles out of the wine rack and starts                 licking the tops.

Elliot: Sacha make a mess!  I clean up!

• Later, Sacha is walking while holding my finger.  Elliot is watching.

Elliot: You wanna me to hold your hand, Sacha?  Okay, I help you!

Sacha: YEAHYEAHYEAHYEAHYEAH!

It's so nice to know that Elliot's got Sacha's back!

To my dear husband

Honey,

You were right.  I will probably never write these words again, but I though you would appreciate them.

Sacha's decision to boycott all things nap-related has forced me to endure the crankiest of crankmeisters throughout the day.  He got the best of me, that little turd. He knew that I would get tired of his screaming and eventually give up and let him crank his little butt around the house while I shuddered in misery.  You, for some bizarre reason, are able to withhold the swearing and exaggerated sighs, and just hold him while he throws his temper tantrum, and he eventually calms himself and floats blissfully into slumber whenever you put him down for naps.

Calm down, you said. You are shushing as loud as the pressure washer outside!  No wonder he doesn't sleep!  You need to relax so that he can relax!

Yeah, well fuck you, I thought.  Go back to your pill-counting job and leave the parenting to me, you poopy-faced stinky butthead.

I see now that I was wrong, and you were right.  I stayed calm, let him throw his hissy fit, and he fell asleep in my arms within 5 minutes.  Maybe 10.  Either way, he is asleep and I am online now, all thanks to your words of wisdom.

Now, to celebrate the occasion of you being right (and therefore, me being wrong), I will proceed to go to the liquor store and drink myself silly so I never remember writing this letter.

Love,

Me

I just want you to know

Tomorrow, Sacha and I are flying out west to visit the family and we'll be sans ordinateur for the next month.  That's right, a month with no iMac to guide my day.  I will keep you updated as best I can while hijacking Andi's computer, attempting to connect my mother's computer to the innerwebs without crashing, and between naps I will surely be taking if Sacha continues his reign of nap-terror in a new timezone.

Until then, good night and good luck.

Wait, I need the luck.  And the good nights.

Oh what the hell, good luck to us all.

Sacha and Maman's Room of Fun

Hear ye, hear ye!

Why spend another day playing with crusty stinky play dough or colouring grossly anatomically incorrect dinosaurs when there is a new amusement park just waiting to entertain and impress you!

Sacha and Maman's Room of Fun is now open visitors of all ages!

Hours of operation: Ass-crack of dawn to last call. We break for the Backyardigans and sometimes 4 Square *shudder*

Admission: We pay YOU! In free drinks! Read more to learn how this works.

Attractions include, but are not limited to:

1. Bobbing for bunnies (of the dust variety) from a bucket of mysterious floaty and fluffy lint fun!


2. Taste testing a new variety of crumbled brown "chocolate" nuggets, fresh from the cat's ass source!


3. Cleanliness is next to godliness while watching the Turning Barrel of the front loading Whirlpool! OH MY!


4. Recycling Basketball Training using our wonderfully challenging 3-tiered practice bins for free throws!


5. The Battery Charging button of Colourful Enigma - it makes a different colour each time you push it!


6. Take the Plunge with out very own, very clean, plunger of doom!


7. Learn your colours and put them in the right hamper rainbow mixing station! Every correct toss gains one free drink for the parent supervisor for getting your kid to learn how to do his own damn laundry.

We anxiously await your visit! Why would you waste another MINUTE not spending your whole day in our room of fun? I know I haven't. I spend all day in our room of fun, and believe me, I have earned MANY free drinks!






+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
**Ok, so the last picture does not depict the happiness from the Room of Fun, but it does show a certain Maman and friend enjoying what I can only remember as a free drink. I am pretty sure it was free. It was certainly alcoholic, and most probably purchased by some boy trying to get somewhere. After that, I have no more comments.

The War on Napping

Dear Sacha:

It has come to my attention in the past few days that we have come to a misunderstanding in terms of daytime sleep regiments.  Both the preparatory exercises and the duration are becoming quite arduous and difficult to implement.  Although you may think that you no longer require the same amount of day time rest as you once did, I feel that I should take this moment to remind you of the following

1. When you don't take your naps, you mistake cat litter for cookie crumbs, only to have it clump in your mouth and start expelling itself from your body.


2. From 9:30 to 11 am, the only thing on TV are the Doodlebops and Barney, toward which you have clearly shown your distaste in the form of mass screeching and panic-ridden hammering of both the remote control and the power button on the telly.


3. Mr Dash, your beloved yet tortured cat, enjoys a morning nap on the couch and regrets when he has to open a can of whoop-ass on you when you try and "cuddle" with him.  If you let him have his nap, your head would not itch so much.


4. Daddy is at work all day.  He will not come home no matter how many times you try and dial the phone or kiss it.  It is all very cute, but the ensuing wailing is not.  Daddy's return will seem so much faster if you sleep.


5. Maman is very tired and  gets really pissy when she does not get a morning nap.  In fact, she often gets so pissy that she forgets to give you your morning snack, or something other than fruity cheerios for lunch.

In addition, let me sweeten the pot with these offers:

• I will continue to nurse you as long as you want, provided no one knows but us and you never ask me to make a YouTube video of our nursing sessions.


• I will let you eat ice cream for breakfast WITH oatmeal once a week.


• I will let you try and drive the car* (no specifics as to when).


•  I will let you run around naked in the house and not get mad when you drop a bomb in the middle of your zoo play center.


• I will not bathe you unless absolutely necessary.

Please consider my request.  I would very much like to reach an agreement before I run out of alcohol.

Love,

Maman

Relief and Pride

She has done it.

My sister has walked away from a relationship that most likely would have left her for dead.  He threatened her one too many times and she mustered every ounce of courage and left him, going back home to her family that cares about her and loves her.

I have never been so proud of her.

Marley Hat, The Conclusion

Despite having NO time for myself yesterday, I somehow had the urge to knit last night and finally finished the top part of the Marley hat. Here, Sacha is sporting it while he watches Miffy and Friends (Miffy! A sweet little bunny. Miffy! A smart little bunny...)

I think this is one of my favourites. It will be going to one very lucky Baby Boy Marc when I meet him in a couple of weeks.
I would very much like to knit for a girl, sometime. Every baby that has been born in my family or circle of friends lately is of the male persuasion. Seriously, can I NOT just use some pink??

Wordless Wednesday: Yes, They're Real!