Hang on to the f*cking rope!

A cousin of my father's is planning a family reunion on my Baba's side of the family. It has been 10 years, 3 deaths, many weddings and several births since the last one. In a family of 70 (TOTAL), one in which everyone knows everyone else, I think it is probably wise to have another reunion before someone else kicks the bucket.

The reunion concept is sort of unique: various events at various locations in a single city. Unlike the last reunion, where we all went to a ranch-retreat for a weekend, we will not all be staying under the same roof, nor eating the same nasty-ass rationed ranch cooking that we were forced to eat last time (trust me: a gang of Slovaks knows the difference between hot dogs and tofu-dogs). Nor will we be awoken by a loud cow bell at 7:00 for breakfast, then told that we are not allowed to have 3 pieces of sausage, only 2. We will not be kicked out of the hot tub at 10:00pm. Nor will we be paying absurd amounts of money for this abuse.

I've been to a few hyper-organized anti-fun reunions, and I think this open idea has its perks. My Baba thinks otherwise. I think.

Baba: So what do you think of this reunion thing?
Me: Umn, I think it's ok. Why?
Baba: Well, I think it's a dumb idea.
Me: Why?
B: Well, it's all scattered! Where are we all going to be together?
M: Well, there are tentative activities planned for all of us, aren't there?
B: Yeah, like a BBQ. But are we going to have to bring our own meat or what?
M: Probably, or else everyone will pay $20 or something and someone goes shopping.
B: Yeah, and buys shitty meat.
M: Well, then you could bring your own meat.
B: That's stupid.
M: Well, I'm sure those details will be ironed out.
B: And what about this "going to the Mall" idea? Who wants to go to the mall?
M: Well, maybe she's thinking of those from out of town who don't get to go to the mall very often.
B: Yeah, but she's thinking like a teacher and that we'll all go together and walk in a line and hold on to a rope so no one gets lost.
M: There's not going to be a rope. Plus, you don't have to go to the mall. It's your choice.
B: But everyone should be together!
M: Well, do you want to hang on to the stupid rope then?
B: I want to go to Heritage Days.
M: You can go to Heritage Days! That's one of the ideas for activities for the weekend.
B: How are we all supposed to go to Heritage Days?
M: It's a pretty big festival, I'm sure there's room.
B: Yeah, but are we all going to have to walk together and hang on to a rope?
M: But you said you want everyone to be together!
B: Well, we should be!
M: Then what are you talking about?
B: And where are we all going to stay? Not everyone has a place to stay, and motels are expensive for 2 nights.
M: Not anymore than it cost for us to go to that ranch, and everyone said that we would not do that again.
B: Yeah, the food sucked, it was a crappy place, but at least we were all TOGETHER. Aren't there camps around where you could rent cabins and a hall?
M: Yes, but they are expensive, you'd have to bring in all your own food, cook it, do all the dishes, then clean the place spic and span at the end to get your deposit back. Who wants to be on dish duty at a reunion?
B: That would be better than what she's got planned. I want to go to Heritage Days!
M: Then hang on to the fucking rope!!

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NB: I did not actually swear at my grandmother. I am a good granddaughter. I just have no clue what the fuck she wants here.

So maybe I overreacted just a tad

Update on the mind-wandering anxiety:

My blood pressure, while still higher than usual, is not in the hypertension/preeclampsia range anymore.  My scale is out of whack, apparently, as I gained only 3 pounds in 10 days, not 5 pounds in a week. And to top it off, my fundal length increased from 22 cm to 25 cm in 10 days.  My doctor was amazed; he figures that this growth spurt spawned the temporary hypertension, as it may have been causing some stress on my body.  He wants to see me in a week to make sure that everything goes back to normal.  Oh joy: sitting in the doctor's office for another 2 hours while trying to entertain the dude with the scant-rancid waiting-room toys.

So to summarize:

1. Not dying


2. Not hypertensive


3. Baby growing


4. No stretch marks


5. Matthew was still tasty


6. If you have no friggin idea who Matthew is, go back and read this.

I wasn't going to post today, but...

Baby sign at its cutest:

[youtube=http://ca.youtube.com/watch?v=CnDaUgmx2BE]

If you are not familiar with baby sign, Sacha is signing the word "eat" (manger in French) and "more" (loosely translated as encore in French). How I managed to have my camera handy, I have no idea. I never seem to be that lucky.

I took a baby sign class with Sacha in November when he was 14 mos, a little older than most, but it was obviously still successful!

Definitely NOT overreacting

It's Monday, better step on the scale, see how much I gained last week --> I step on --> what? That can't be right --> step off, step back on --> WHAT? 5 lbs in a week? OMG, I'm gonna be huge --> wait, what if this means something's wrong --> oh no, I have hypertension --> the baby is going to be born preemie and small like Sacha --> I'm going to have to go on meds --> frick I hate pills --> good thing I have benefits --> Shoppers has shitty benefits --> maybe I should go to Shoppers and use their blood pressure machine --> yeah, I shouldn't get worked up for nothing --> I go to Shoppers, take off my coat --> stupid bubble jacket, frick I wish my other coat would fit right now --> I put my arm in the machine --> hum the jeopardy song to myself --> what? 148/80? That can't be right --> repeat jeopardy song --> oh crap, 143/86 --> I am getting hypertension --> I'm going to die --> I can feel the blood in my body pulsing against my skin --> that's definitely what having hypertension feels like --> what if I get preeclampsia again? --> I'm going to be stuck in the hospital and the baby is going to have to drink formula and won't nurse --> I'm fo sho going to die this time --> stupid uterus and its lack of stretching abilities --> that's totally what it is --> if I was living 200 years ago I'd be dead already --> I'm like those dumb cows who have to have their calves pulled out of them with ropes because they can't push them out properly --> that was so gross to see --> poor calf --> I can't believe they named him Matthew* and then butchered him --> Matthew tasted good, though --> it's not wrong to think that, right? --> how did I get on that? Man my mind is deranged...

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*Matthew was a calf that my aunt's family raised and butchered for meat. I don't know who named him Matthew, but I vividly recall my Baba commenting at a family meal that Matthew sure was tasty and tender.

24 and a half week tummies

My mother duly noted last week that I have not been taking as many pregnancy belly shots with this pregnancy as I did with Sacha. I haven't really felt the need to take as many photos because a) I already know what I look like when I'm fat pregnant, b) my stomach was not really gaining any ground on my boobs, and c) Sacha impedes progress by standing in front of the camera and screaming at my belly in every shot. Oh, and d) I have take these pictures by propping up the camera on the counter and setting the timer while taking care of Sacha, which means that he gets pissed that I am not taking oh-so-necessary photos of him.

Since the husband was home today, I shoved the camera into his hands asked if he could take some tummy photos.

This is what I got:

Somehow, these are not exactly what I had in mind...

Baking à la Mustard

Just a pinch of flour

Ok, maybe more than a pinch. Wait! I love this song!

I'm bringing cuteness back!

Woot! for messes that I don't have to clean up!

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The circle of greener grass

When I was in school, I couldn't wait to be out of there and get into the workforce.  Studying was getting old, and I wanted to have a life.

Then I started teaching. That made me want to go back to school for all the freedom it allows - sleeping in when you don't want to go to class, setting your course schedule so that you are only taking one class (or none) on Fridays.  Ah, such is the life.  People in school don't realize how sweet it is to have such flexibility.

Then I became a SAHM.  That made me want to go back to teaching.  Ah, the sweet lunch breaks!  The 10 minute recess breaks! So much time to do things I wanted to do! What I would GIVE for a 10 minute recess right now.  I don't even get that when I have to *ahem* download.  Who cares if I've got kids sitting with me serving a detention!  I got to sit in a spinny chair and boss kids around surf the net chatter with students about their oh-so-interesting lives.

And now, I have come full circle.  I long for the studying, the intellectual feasts to satiate the mind and make me feel like a human, and not just a robotic toddler-bum-wiping machin, soon to be a moo-my again.

So, in my quest for brain candy, I have decided to go back to my roots and revisit my music theory and history studies through the RCM.  I can do it by self-instruction, and there are no time-constraints on finishing a particular course or subject by a certain date.  In all honesty, I have studied most of the content in the RCM theory syllabus in university and college, but now I can put it all together and work toward a goal that I have long held: becoming and Associate of the Royal Conservatory, with all the glory and fanciness of a nice title, ARCT, to go after my B.Ed.

Wait.  I think this means I should be studying right now.  Oh crap, I'm already procrastinating!  I guess that means I am heading into student-mode once again.  Just send me a keg and a rowdy pack of frat boys and I'll be back in business.

Of Penises and Playboy Bunnies

I have always known that having a son would be a whole new world for me. Boys are smelly, often dirty, they break things just to get a reaction, and then there are the teen years: at this point, their brains go on sabbatical and leave their penises in charge. Eventually, Brain returns and it job-shares with Penis, making men reasonable human beings half of the time. Some of the time. For a few minutes out of the day.

I didn't realize, however, that the obsession with Penis began so early. Sacha has grave and continual concern for Penis. As soon as the diaper comes off, he has to hold it for fear that it will fall off or transplant itself onto our jealous neutered cat. In fact, Penis has become a being in its own right, as Sacha feels it entirely necessary to wave "bye bye" to Penis whenever I re-diaper him. He also has grave concern for his daddy's penis, as though he thinks that maybe, just maybe, his own Penis fell off and transplanted itself to daddy, in which case, it also deserves a "bye bye" salute.

At the tender age of 16 months, Penis has already started edging out Brain. Yesterday, as I read to Sacha, he pointed to a bunny in the book. As Sacha is prone to do, he then pointed and mumbled about another bunny, presumably in our house. We do not own a bunny, nor any other bunny type toys. He was insistent, however, that this other bunny existed, and led me to our bookshelf where, lo and behold, he found another book with a bunny on it: the Playboy bunny. We have a copy of the Playboy Bartending Guide, and it has a nice Playboy bunny on the cover and, as Sacha pointed out to me, on the spine. Penis then went for the kill - the back cover has a nice silhouette of a naked lady in a martini glass. When Sacha wanted to know what that was, I just smiled and said a "madame".

The Playboy bunny has become the prototypical bunny in Sacha's mind, thanks to Penis's efforts. He carries that 400 page book everywhere, demanding that I acknowledge his bunny about 500 times daily. I tried to hide the book, but the Penis-Brain duo of terror have made this highly improbable, as he has clearly placed a homing device on the bunny for emergency penile purposes.

I don't know what I'll do when he's 15. Frickin frack.

Praise Alibaba! I found Jesus!

Jesus is the way, and the way to Jesus is moonshine.

Let it be known to all the world that today, I have found Jesus. He has been missing for 2 years and although I looked everywhere, I couldn't find him. I couldn't even put out my nativity set this Christmas (or last) because it just didn't feel right, knowing that Jesus wasn't there.

So where did I find him? He was under the stairs in a little box with our moonshine wine-making accessories. Henceforth, I shall know, and I am telling the world on the internets, that the drinking and making of such fine home-distilled beverages is truly the only way to find Jesus.

Five Years Ago

Over 7 years ago, I found myself a handsome boyfriend:

He also happened to be very intelligent (most of the time), a good cook and baker. I thought he was pretty cool, so I convinced him that he should marry me and let me have his babies. It was a hard sell, seeing that I am also highly intelligent, a good cook, but only a moderate baker. So to up the ante, I decided to gain some weight in my boobs (naturally, no surgery here) so that they were no longer As but Cs. That convinced him, and he bought me a ring.

It's a good thing I got those boobs, otherwise I would not have filled out my dress so well. Not without paying hundreds of dollars in alterations, anyway.

So 5 years ago, today, we made it official. He gave me his word, a ring, and a white rose, promising to bring me a white rose on each anniversary as a reminder of how fragile love is and that we need to nurture it to keep it alive and strong:

And we made a vow to stick together.

In the past five years, we've gained weight together (Oh Cuba!):

We've floated on the Seine together:

We decided that I should gain 44 lbs over 9 months or so:

To produce this (5 days after the belly shot):

And now, 16 months later, we have this:

And this in the works:

And I couldn't be happier.

Happy Anniversary, T!

A new kind of corkscrew

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