Wordless Wednesday: Happy Halloween!

Want more WW? Go here!

Are you smarter than a...

This site is sweet.  It tests your vocabulary, something which I think would interest most bloggers.

Free Rice

The words start off somewhat easy, and the more you get right, the more difficult they become. There are 50 levels, it's rare to make it to 48.  I got up to 36.  Try it out and leave a comment with your highest score.  It's more addicting than you think!

Don't knock it 'til you tried it

Overheard at a maternity clothing store while waiting in line to pay for my 2 items and maternity thongs (YES!):

Preggo Gal: I went bra-shopping with my mom last week and we got fitted.
Non-preggo friend: Oh yeah?
Preggo Gal: I was sized at a 40DD. I'll have to go to Walmart to pick up some bras.
Non-preggo friend: looking up at the vast nursing bra section right in front of them You don't want to try any of these on? They would have your size here.
Preggo Gal: No, these are nursing bras.
Non-preggo friend: You're not going to nurse?
Preggo Gal: Oh no. I'm having none of that.
Non-preggo friend: Why not?
Preggo Gal: I just can't see myself doing something like that. I don't think it's my thing.
Non-preggo friend: Why do you say that?
Preggo Gal: gets a look of disgust on her face It's just not something I would do.

Here's my commentary:

HOW DO YOU KNOW UNTIL YOU'VE TRIED IT, DUMBASS????  With all of the literature out there about how breast is best, bonding between mother and baby, how could you stand there in a maternity store and look disgusted when someone mentions breastfeeding?  Or think that it probably isn't your thing?  How the fuck do you know that?  You've never had a baby before!!!  You've never NURSED before!  You've never had a screaming baby in the middle of the night wanting to be fed while you thank God for giving you breasts that you can just whip out instead of fussing over a bottle of formula and getting it to the right temperature.

Ugh.

I will admit, the first time the nurse brought Sacha to me and plopped him next to me and tried to help him latch on, I had my doubts about this boobie business.  I mean, my breast was bigger than his head!  I couldn't see his face when he nursed, and he demanded immediate hunger satisfaction, which is not really how it goes in those first few days before your milk comes in. The little bugger wouldn't stay latched for more than a few seconds, which is not enough in those first days to get much of anything. He screamed, I cried.  One nurse even told me that "you can't force a baby to breastfeed.  You can force a bottle, but not a breast." Bah!

I promptly requested another nurse, who set up a little syringe and feeding tube with formula in it to tape onto my breast. That way, when he latched on, I would push the plunger just enough to get him motivated to stay latched.  Then, I took away the syringe and he stayed on for as long as I let him.   That nurse was a saint to show me that trick.  It saved my sanity in those first 2 days before the goods came in, which I discovered totally by surprise when I accidentally squirted a different nurse in the face.

And then, nursing seemed to just get easier by the day.

I even set up little obstacles for myself, just to see how far it would go.  I could sit on one corner of the couch and spray the opposite end of the coffee table.  Score one for me!

Ok, don't pretend you haven't done it.  What else are you supposed to do to stay sane when you're stuck in the house with an infant and a cat?  Make your own fun.

Ah, if preggo gal only knew what she'll be missing.

Halloween-ku

Halloween Party
Crying kids, too much candy
Fun for who, I ask??

 

Tastes like lemon

I'm coming out with it:   I like fat.  I dislike things that are non-fat or low-fat. Really, a good Ukrainian girl would.  Why bake something when you can fry it up in a pound of lard with some bacon tossed in for good measure?  Who needs sauce when you've got butter?  Loads and loads of butter.  But in my everyday, regular eating habits, this is why I've gone back to fat:

A while ago, my father-in-law was having a conversation with us about yogurt.  At the time, I was infatuated with the yumminess of Source yogurt.  (I never bought yogurt unless it was fat free, and Source yogurt is even sugar and aspartame free.  It is sweetened with Splenda.)  He came right out and said that he didn't know how we could eat the stuff because all fat free yogurt "tastes like lemon.  I don't know why they bother having different flavours because it all tastes like lemon."  I laughed.  Tony laughed and said that was the dairy farmer in him talking.

When I started buying those little Minigo yogurts for Sacha (obviously not fat-free because he needs all the fat he can get), I started nibbling on them.  Boy, are they good!  I started buying fatty yogurt for myself and it is So. Much. Better.  Period.

I bought some Source yogurt a month ago after indulging in the yummy fattiness of whole yogurt for the past  8 months or so.  The flavours sounded amazing: peach-passion fruit, coconut-pineapple-banana (or something) and more.  When I tasted them, I noticed something.  Fat free yogurt DOES taste like lemon!   Bah!  I couldn't even eat them.  I went and bought some fatty yogurt instead.  Activia is my bag, baby.

So there it is.  From Mrs. Mustard's mouth to yours:

Whole fat yogurt = good.

Non-fat yogurt = lemons.

Blogroll? What the hell is that?

Attention all readers and linky-love seekers:

It has come to my attention that my blogroll is in need of some updating.  In fact, many of you probably don't even realize that I have a blogroll: it was getting so long that I took it out of my sidebar and put it on its own page, called Good Reads.

So here's what I want you to do: Go and have a peek, check and see if you are there, and if your link goes where it should. If the link doesn't work, or you want to be added to the roll, leave me a comment.

Merci!

Wordless Wednesday: Little Pumpkin

More WW

Fart-ku

Pregnancy secret:
I walk all day making noise
A smell left behind

 

The Calm after the storm

Sacha can be a huge ball of energy. Sometimes, even 2 parents aren't enough to contain his force. I present for your viewing Exhibit A:



Then, there are times when he's so quiet and content in his own world, that I just have to stop whatever I'm doing (in this case, making dinner) and watch him, as you will see in Exhibit B:



Man, I love this kid!

Stranger than fiction

I've heard from many women that they all had strange and vivid dreams while pregnant. I did not encounter this with Sacha. This time around, I sometimes wake up and believe that what I dreamed actually happened, then call my sister to make sure she didn't die, or call my friend to make sure he wasn't trampled in a horrible running-of-the-cow parade.

Last night's siesta took the cake.

I dreamed I had triplets, all boys, and had to nurse them all at the same time.  I had them placed on a couch and did the old "lean over" method. Sweet jebus!   To make it more interesting, as they nursed, they morphed into toddlers, and all started biting me!

I woke up petrified. Wouldn't you?

95 is the loneliest number

I don't know how many of you are on cre8buzz, but if you are, you will know that 95 is a lonely number. And this most humble blog? It's ranked at 259. That's not so great. In fact, it licks goat bum. My blog is licking goat's bum, people, and that hurts the soul, not to mention the tongue.

So what can you do? If you are members of cre8buzz, go and check out my page. I just purdied it up this weekend, and if you so desire, you can leave your most humble of opinions (in the form of ratings) on the Cheeze blog. If you are not members, go and check it out. It may be your cup of tea to rate my blog sign up.

I am nothing if not shameless.

Pimp-mama

While wasting time one afternoon, mainly avoiding the massacre of dishes piled up in my sink, Sacha and I headed to the mall for some lessons in mall ratology.  I took him to a display on fire safety, where they were handing out free suckers.  I watched him run around, making cute faces at strangers and showing everyone his sucker. We explored some sales at the bookstore, pondered the delights of milkshakes and ice cream, and then studied the wonder of the vending machine.  Sacha played with the dial you turn to vend the candy, and tried to stick his sucker in the coin slot. He suddenly abandons his sucker and is fingering something shiny in his palm.  I grab his hand and pry it open - a toonie*.  The kid found a toonie in the vending machine!  Score for me!  My kid made me some sweet cash!

In summary:

1. Take my kid to hang out at a mall, like all the classy parents do


2. Give my kid a sucker to get him doped up on sugar, like all the classy parents do


3. My kid earns me $2. I let him play with it for a while, but eventually take it away (choking hazard, no?) and buy myself a beverage.


4. From now on, just call me pimp-mama.

*For my friends to the south, toonie is our colloquial word for our $2 coin, which is currently worth about $2.06 US.  That has never happened in my lifetime, so it bears mentioning on here.

Food-ku

The cravings are here
Whispering to me at night
Salsa and sour cream

 +++++++++++++

Wanna join the fun? Visit Haiku Fridays!

Smiles!

This is way overdue, but since Sacha is napping, and I AM smiling, I thought it was time to pass on the Smiles Award that Whymommy awarded me for this. As much of a great piece of literature that post was, I feel that there are many more deserving people to pass this on to:

Jennifer the Binky Bitch at Playgroups Are No Place for Children for this great post about the Red Ball Chase

 

Cate at Monkeys and Marbles for living with a farting husband (don't we all?!)

 

Mrs. Chicky at Chicky Chicky Baby in celebration of finally getting her Zofran (too bad our friends to the south don't have Diclectin)

 

Jackie at Jackie's Life for warning us about more dangerous toys made in China

 

Mrs. Flinger for her potty mouth

 

Scarbie Doll at Martinis for Milk for battling it out with a newborn and a toddler (my life in 7 months).

Wordless Wednesday: Boobie fest

 

Thanks to LMJ for this fantastic montage. I, unfortunately, do not have any pictures of me breastfeeding Sacha. I do, however, have pictures of me trying to shoo away a cat while holding a baby on a nursing pillow shortly after having breastfed.

Stupid settings on stupid flickr because of stupid orkut

So after reading about the nasty things some people are doing on Orkut, I went and changed the privacy settings on many of my photos.  This, however, seemed to have screwed up the photos on my blog, even the ones that I didn't change, so I am trying to figure THAT out.

In short, people WILL plagiarize off the net, and whether I post pictures on flickr, my own personal website, or on here, they are up for scrutiny and possible theft.  I don't want my pictures floating around on some stranger's personal site, but I am not going to live in an internet bubble because of it.

So if my pictures seem wonky or aren't working, I am on it like a fat kid on smarties.

I've become THAT woman

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

The ultimate parenting question

Which would you rather have?

a) a child that sleeps through the night but wakes up at 5 am every day

b) a child that wakes once during the night, but sleeps until 6:30 or 7?

c) THERE IS NO OPTION C!  You gotta work with what you've got!  And what do I have?  A kid who either wakes up in the night or wakes up for the day at the ass crack of dawn that is 5:00 am.  Sometimes 4:45.  13 month olds suck in the sleep department.

How do your kids fare? Please send some words of consolation or encouragement, or I may off myself by chocolate.

Working the White Carpet

Obviously, Sacha needs to entertain himself when I am cooking.  There are many toys available to him, and he is now fully equipped with wax crayons, paper and so on.  So, what does he choose to do?



This was not my first choice of activities, but what the heck. He's quiet, occupied, and I can get some stuff done!  But this was only phase one.  He then took each individual bag and threw it down the stairs.

This is what my dear sweet husband saw when he came home from work: now he can practice his strut on the white carpet!

Glutton for punishment: the mommy trinity at work

Once upon a time, there was a mommy and her toddler son. The mommy was no ordinary mommy, though. She was pregnant, and as everyone knows, pregnant mommies are prone to terrible personality swings and disorders of intelligence and judgement. Especially when they are awoken at 5 in the morning by their toddler boy who is itching to get out of his crib and play. But this tale does not take place in the morning. Rather, it occurs at dinner time, when both mommy and boy are tired from the day's activities of floor-pooping, food-throwing and kitty-torturing.

Toddler boy is not the most adventurous eater. He has his favourites and sticks to them: Reese Peanut Butter Puffs cereal, yogurt, fruit, most definitely ketchup, but NOT meat. No ham and cheese sandwiches, no spaghetti sauce, no chicken fingers, no fish sticks. No. Meat.

Imagine Pregnant Mommy's surprise and delight when she is making pizza for supper (which Pregnant Mommy is TOTALLY scamming on), he's "helping" by fingering all the toppings and Toddler boy starts eating the pepperoni! Oh rapture! Oh pure joy! At first, the pepperoni she was using was the salami-style, so it was not very spicy. She runs out of that, however, and out come the hot pepperoni sticks. Hot even for her. Toddler boy grabs one and starts chewing. Smart Mommy winces in fear of what may happen. To her total amazement, he loves it. He keeps gnawing at it and scraping the meat off the rough casing with his front teeth, smiling away. Stupid Mommy thinks to herself: this is great! He's eating meat!

Suddenly, Smart Mommy looks over at him and his eyes are welled up and he's got tears pouring down his cheeks. He's still maniacally chewing on his pepperoni. Then the screeching starts.

Stupid Mommy gives him his sippy cup: he downs the whole 9 oz. Then he shoves the damn pepperoni back in his mouth! Frick. Stupid Mommy: you should've taken that away first.

Pregnant Mommy, who thinks that food is the solution to any problem, gives him some yogurt out: he marfs it down. She tries to pry the pepperoni out of his hands, but he's WAILING at her, fighting tooth and nail for the damn pepperoni, even though it IS the root of this whole fiasco. Finally, she tears it away, leaving shards of meat under his nails, and he's sucking on his hands like there will never be pepperoni ever again.

Smart Mommy then takes over and washes his hands so that he doesn't rub the spices into his eyes (because things just aren't enough fun around here).

Eventually, Smart Mommy gets the pizza in the oven and they über-enjoy the pizza for dinner as Pregnant Mommy is craving pizza something fierce these past few days and the heartburn from the pepperoni and banana peppers is totally worth it.

And they live ever after. Not always happily, just ever after.

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

On a totally unrelated note, it's delurking time!  If you are passing by la Maison Mustard, leave a comment, any comment.  Even if it's just "I'm delurking.  Your blog is moderately entertaining." If you're new here, maybe hook my feed into your reader... :P