Friday, December 30, 2011

Santa shops at Costco...

     Well, we managed to navigate our way through another Christmas holiday, enjoying the fun of the season while simultaneously trying not to go crazy. The kids were fantastic- even though their routines and schedules were discarded like the bows, tags, and ribbons adorning their gifts, they stayed in great humour throughout the late nights, early mornings, and crowded rooms. As usual, they were spoiled beyond belief; bringing home an incredible haul of toys, clothes, books, and "babies." We anticipated our families and friends supplying the bulk of their Christmas loot like they tend to do, so Santa brings them a few large gifts to share, stuffs their stockings and Mommy and Daddy wraps up their practical gifts. This year Santa left them a kick ass kitchen/BBQ set with about 1000 accessories that will, with any luck, take Saku an entire year to steal and eat one by one. I love the fact that our kids are still small enough that we can give them practical gifts that they need anyways, and they don't realize that we shafted them with a shitty, unfun present. We gave Dryden a new dresser for his bedroom; Noelle received an electric fireplace for her frigid bedroom and Santa stuffs their stockings with toothbrushes, toothpaste, cool band aides, diaper cream, socks, hats, mittens, bibs, and cold medicine. Ok, I made that last one up...but you get the point. There will eventually come a time when I will have to buy them less lame stocking stuffers and buy that other shit like other parents: whenever the kids need it. Until then, enjoy unwrapping that bottle of shampoo little ones- Santa knew you ran out!

Friday, December 23, 2011

T'was The Night Before The Pomainville's

T'was the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Upside down yogurt containers were everywhere- each containing a mouse.
The stockings were hung on the windowsill with care,
With the hopes that Nicholas would put some good shit in there.
The children were (more or less) nestled snug in their beds,
While visions of chocolate pudding danced in their heads.
And Nick in his boxers, and me not feeling my best,
Had just collapsed into bed for a much needed rest.
When out on the lawn, there arose such a clatter
I waddled from the bed to see what the fuck was the matter.
Away to the window, which I had recently washed,
Tore open the curtains, and scraped off the frost.
Our thousands of Christmas lights glistened off the snow,
That Nick had spent hours shoveling, with a slight drunken glow.
When, what to my sleep-encrusted eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer.
The driver was missing (who drives a sleigh? What a dork!)
And perched on our roof, behind that, was the Stork.
"Nick!" I yelled, "Wake the hell up- I think the baby is here!!"
Nick rubbed his eyes drowsily, whispering, "it's far too early for that m'dear."
"Now Nicholas! Now Dryden! Now Noelle and Saku!
Get out of bed- go pack your bags- we still have so much left to do!"
Put our stuff in the van, the hospital we must give a call,
Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!"
And then, with some straining, I could hear through the ceiling
The stork and the reindeer were wheeling and dealing!
As I drew in my head, thinking that Christmas was canned,
Down the stairs ran my Nicholas, shotgun in hand.
He climbed up on the roof, and stared that stork down,
Nick told him to back the hell up, and turn right around.
We weren't ready for Baby, at least not on Christmas Eve,
We hate unannounced visitors... it's my #1 pet peeve.
The stork's eyes, how they were terrified- his bladder let go
He was backing up slowly, his head shaking "no"
Now Nick and I are reasonable, on this you must agree,
But Baby coming early would ruin Christmas you see.
So Stork, you frig off, we still have 20 more days,
We'd like to have Christmas, at home, with the kids anyways.
The stork scrambled away, squawking like a whiny little elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself.
Nick climbed down the ladder, and came back in the side door,
And about Baby coming early, we would have to worry no more.
We checked on the kids, and hopped back into bed,
The arrival of morning we were starting to dread.
As I snuggled down deeper, Baby still safe in my belly,
Nick turned on the TV and we both watched some telly.
My eyes started to close, and Nick whispered to my right,
"Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night."

Merry Christmas My Friends! xo

Friday, December 16, 2011

Shit, that's right- I have a blog!

     Wow...have you ever misplaced something or packed it away, and then forgotten that you ever owned it in the first place? My husband feels that way about the Wii and Playstation...and that's a little how I feel about this blog. I got busy doing life stuff, and forgot about it completely until tonight. I might not have even remembered it tonight either if it wasn't for me going into labour. (I can hear my mother-in-law in my head right now as she's reading this: "Going into labour? What the hell is she doing blogging? Call Nicholas and Get To The Hospital!") Back up: I didn't actually go into labour. I have developed a serious sensitivity to gluten, dairy and numerous other foods since the beginning of my pregnancy; I foolishly shared a brownie/cakey thing with Dryden for dessert after lunch and my body is now calling me on my cheat, telling me that the brownie hates me, hates everything about me. This is totally on par with something I would do: mistake indigestion cramps with the beginning stages of giving birth; and I thought to myself that it would make an amusing blog entry. And then I thought, "holy shit- I forgot that I have a blog!"

     I was a little disappointed that I wasn't actually going into labour. I'd love to have the baby a few weeks early and have her here before the holidays. My husband, however, is conflicted. He doesn't have any holidays left at work for this year, so he'd like her to wait until 2012 to make her arrival. But he also acknowledges the benefit of claiming her as a dependant for the entire year of 2011 if she comes in December. As the sole breadwinner in our family, his logic is amazing. After I realized that (a) I am an idiot and that (b) tonight was not Baby Time, I immediately began to get that tight, panicky feeling in my chest. What if the baby does come early? I am completely unprepared. I figured I'd get through Christmas first and then tackle preparing for a new human being to come live with us- but what if we don't get the luxury of such laid back planning? I haven't unpacked any of the baby clothes, our bassinet was ruined during our move here in August, I lent my breast pump out and it perished in the line of duty, I have no itty bitty diapers (newborns can fit in size 6 Pampers, right?), I couldn't even tell you where our baby car seat is, I haven't arranged for a caregiver for the two older kids while we're at the hospital, and I haven't even thought about packing my bag for the hospital yet. I have no lists of "Things to Do For Baby" compiled yet, the baby monitors are in the toy box I think (where did I put the cords for them??), we threw out all the pacifiers when Dryden outgrew them...oh my god. I think I'm having a meltdown. 40 weeks is a deceiving amount of time to be pregnant. Its long enough that you get comfortable and forget that there will be a stage after being pregnant, that eventually you have to prepare for an actual, real, live baby to arrive. And that you have to take care of him/her. All the time.

     My sister made me my baby shower book when I was pregnant with Noelle and in it contained "The Birth Order Of Children." It was funny when I read it then. I actually get it now.

                                           "The Birth Order Of Children"

1st baby: you begin wearing maternity clothes as soon as your pregnancy is confirmed.
2nd baby: you wear your regular clothes for as long as possible.
3rd baby: your maternity clothes are your regular clothes.

1st baby: you practice your breathing regularly.
2nd baby: you don't bother b/c you remember that breathing didn't do shit last time.
3rd baby: you ask for the epidural in the eighth month.

1st baby: you pre-wash all clothes, color coordinate them, fold them neatly into various drawers.
2nd baby: you check to make sure the clothes are clean and discard the ones with stains.
3rd baby: Boys can wear pink, right?

1st baby: at the first sign of distress, whimper or frown, you pick up the baby.
2ns baby: you pick up the baby when his screams threaten to wake your first born.
3rd baby: you teach your three year old to rewind the mechanical swing.

1st baby: if the pacifier falls on the floor, you put it away to take home, boil, and sanitize it.
2nd baby: when it falls on the floor, you squirt it off with some juice.
3rd baby: you wipe it off with your shirt and pop it back in.

1st baby: you change the baby's diaper every hour, regardless whether they need it or not.
2nd baby: you change the diaper every 2-3 hours as needed.
3rd baby: you try to change the diaper before others start to complain about the smell or you see it sagging around their knees.

1st baby: you take baby to Baby Gymnastics, to Baby swimming, to Baby Story Hour.
2nd baby: you take baby to Baby Gymnastics.
3rd baby: you take baby to the grocery store and the dry cleaners.

1st baby: when s/he swallows a coin, you rush the child to the ER and demand x-rays.
2nd baby: when s/he swallows a coin, you carefully watch for it to appear in the diaper.
3rd baby: when s/he swallows a coin, you deduct it from their allowance.

1st baby: you spend a good bit of every day just gazing lovingly at your newborn.
2nd baby: you spend quite a bit of every day making sure the older kid isn't squeezing, poking, or hitting the newborn.
3rd baby: you spend a little bit of each and every day hiding from the children!

Thursday, October 20, 2011

How To Build A Better Mouse Trap

     I come from hardy stock: we were raised in the country, calling an old fixer-upper of a house "home." Seeing a mouse dart zig zagging across the kitchen in the Fall was fairly common for our family. My sister and I weren't screamers; we calmly put down our crayons, closed our Zellers coloring book and told which ever parent was home that we had a mouse. If our three older brothers were home, this announcement would be like a call to arms- prepare for battle- get ready for the hunt. They would arm themselves with whatever tool or weapon they could find (and that Mom and/or Dad would let them weild) and set up elaborate plans to kill or capture the mouse. My parents went along with this routine, which I now fully understand as a parent myself, because it kept three rambunctious and mischievous boys occupied for hours. We eventually got a cat when I was 10 (he is still alive, despite being older than dust in cat years) and we no longer had a mouse ritual; the cat would find them, play with them until they died, and that was it.

     I was not surprised in September (after moving into our very own old fixer upper in the country) when, upon entering the kitchen to replenish juice boxes, a tiny grey fluff with a tail zipped across the floor, frantically searching for a crack, any crack, in which to escape. I got the juice from the fridge and went back outside. I sat beside my husband on the deck and said, "oh yeah, the dentist called to confirm your appointment on Monday. And I just saw a mouse in the kitchen." After the kids were played out and ready for naps we went inside, where once again, we were greeted by the little grey mouse. I pulled open our Tupperware-landfill-drawer and took out a yogurt container, walked up to the mouse and *plop* trapped him under it. "Wow! You really are a country girl..." my husband said, slightly amused and slightly relieved that I wasn't hysterical. My husband caught one more tiny mouse later that day and then nothing else. We thought we had gotten off rather easily and were quite pleased with ourselves.

     Last night, after suffering through a No Nap day with two increasingly grumpy toddlers, all I wanted was some peace and quiet. I tucked the little ones in bed, made a tea, turned off the T.V. and as many lights as I could without stumbling around in the dark and retreated to the living room. Saku was snoring on the couch and I was goofing around on Pintrest (yes, that is where I have been all month instead of blogging. I'm sorry. I think I got most of it out of my system. I joined a support/craft group....we meet Tuesdays after my Pepsioholics meeting...) Suddenly, through my DIY daydreaming haze I heard the telltale sound of itty bitty teeth nibbling in one of my kitchen cupboards. I looked over at Saku- who was still snoring and farting on the couch- and mentally traded him in for a cat. I went into the kitchen, turned on a single light, got a empty yogurt container and opened the cupboard door. There, right smack dab in the middle of space was a tiny mouse, who instantly froze when he saw me (thinking I was a Tyrannosaurus Rex and couldn't see him if he didn't move?) I *plopped* the yogurt container over him and congratulated myself on being more awesome than a creature the size of my thumb. Now, although I am not (ahem was not) afraid of mice, I still find them disgusting and dirty. They give me the willies. I wanted to go through the food in that cupboard to see if anything was chewed or opened so I could toss it. The first thing I picked up was a long forgotten box of Special K Blueberry cereal from the back of the shelf (I don't recommend it BTW) which I peeked into to see if the bag was still clipped shut and WHOA holy shit!!! Out jumped another fucking mouse- right at me! All of my Country Girl training was instantly forgotten and I dropped the box of cereal and yelled...probably swore. Loudly. I can't be sure because instead of running away from me, this badass mouse was coming towards me. I let out a couple of girly screams and did the universal "There's-A-Mouse-On-The-Floor" dance. Saku, finally roused from his frigging beauty sleep and from drooling on my throw cushions, came running to my defense...until the mouse turned on him and sped towards his big furry paws. He too let out a girly scream (I swear) and ran back to the living room, which is a step up from the kitchen and obviously far safer from an invading mouse army. And that is where he stayed for the rest of the night. Wuss. I couldn't tell you where the mouse disappeared to. I can tell you where all the food from that cupboard went though- right to the compost pile. I was supremely grossed out. The cupboard was empty- save for the solitary upside down yogurt container/mousey jail so I left the door wide open and went back to the living room and positioned my chair to face the empty abyss from which the mice come (could totally be the title of a movie, yes?) Ten minutes later, don't I see the little bugger in there again trying to knock over the container (which I cleverly weighed down) to free his buddy. I ran over there with my container (Saku followed me, all excited, but stopped abruptly at the living room step) and got into position...until the I-have-a-death-wish mouse turned and ran straight at me. BAH! Yogurt container went flying and I made it to the living room step in about two enormous jumps (not bad for a pregnant lady eh?) and stood panting beside Saku- who was giving me a smug "told you so" look. WTF was up with this mouse?! Now I'm thinking, "does he have rabies?" Back to my chair, and I added oven mitts and an old wooden spoon to my arsenal. And Doc Martins...that I tucked my pants into (shut up and stop laughing- this is serious!) Sure enough, 25 minutes later The Steven Segal of the mouse world was back trying to free his trapped buddy. And true to form, he ran towards me instead of away to safety- but I had boots and oven mitts on this time bitch and I kinda held my ground. He played chicken with me until the last possible second and then zipped over towards the wall and started climbing my curtains!!!!!!  ( Did you know mice could do this? I didn't.)  I. Went. Postal. "Do you know how expensive these were?! Get off my fucking curtains!!" I yelled at him and attacked with the spoon. He flew off, landed hard, and zipped between a crack in the baseboards. I was pissed now- it just got personal. This back-and-forth continued until 11:30 pm; I was starting to get really discouraged: I was being outsmarted by a goddamn mouse. Finally, probably due to his exhaustion not my reflexes, I was able to catch the dare devil under the yogurt container. I put something heavy on top and called it quits. Nick could figure out how to get the lids on the containers without freeing the mice; my part of the hunt was done. My husband set our only trap in that same cupboard when he got home from work (good christ, why didn't I think of that?) and it got another one before we even went to bed.

     Neither of us slept at all last night; every sound was thought to be the arrival of new hoards of mice, I kept sitting up and shaking out the duvet cover in case there were mice on it, Nick checked the kids' rooms every hour. Nick was disgusted (he did not grow up in a fixer upper, and to him, a house with mice in it is a dirty, gross home) and I had a sever case of the willies. We got up tired this morning and right after breakfast we bundled the kids up and went shopping for poison and traps. Lots of traps. We kept the cupboard empty, smeared peanut butter on a handful of traps, and put a child safety lock on the door. As I write this blog, two traps have snapped in there. I know this because Saku marched right up to the living room step...and waited for me to go look. Worst. Guard dog. Ever. Nick has already started trolling MLS to find a new house, and I am seriously considering hitting up the animal shelter this weekend to adopt a pet that will actually have my back during the next stand off...

     I long for the good old days when our house was just old and crappy, not old, crappy, and infested, and when I was confident that I would not shriek and pee myself a little when a tiny grey fluff with a tail darts across our floor. Sigh.

Wednesday, September 28, 2011

31 Day Challenge

     Today was boring. Like poke your own eyes out kind of boring. Like change your marital status on Facebook just to get messages kind of boring. Like you could easily daydream for eight hours straight and not miss anything when you snap out of it kind of boring. I think that I have a touch of cabin fever, or Autumn induced anxiety, or restless leg syndrome. Or perhaps I'm stuck in another rut (I am getting fatter so it's harder to climb out of these pesky ruts...). I've become complacent again- content to let life merely happen instead of exerting the effort into making life fantastic; I vow to spice things up a considerably. I love this time of year- the smell and the ensuing crunch of leaves on the ground when stepped on, the bite in the air that welcomes jeans and sweaters out from the depths of closets everywhere, the aroma of chili and freshly baked bread coming from my kitchen. October is therefore the perfect month for me to challenge myself to get off my ass and quite simply put- be more damn fun. Here is my "31 Day Challenge" to do at least one different thing every day of this coming month.

   In October I Will:

1st- Plan a free/uber cheap outing with Nick and the kids
2nd- Take the kids (and maybe the dog if I'm feeling stupid) for a walk down our road.
3rd- Play Wii's Just Dance 2 with Dryden for an hour.
        Speech class with Lynn.
4th- Start and complete a craft project from my "Crafts I Love But Will Probably Never Do" list
5th- Go visit someone I haven't seen in a while.
       Call Neesha just to chat.
6th- Write a letter to a friend.
7th- Decorate the house for Fall.
        Take the dog for a walk.
8th-  Date Night with Nick (Saturdays will soon be reserved for date nights with the Habs so I have to hurry)
9th- Take the kids to the park.
10th- Schedule a play date (for me and/or the kids.)
         Speech class with Lynn.
11th- Visit someone else I haven't seen in a long time.
         Call Karley just to chat.
12th- Dig out my scrapebooking stuff and work on finishing that last album.
13th- Do an outside craft with the kids.
         Write a letter to a friend.
14th- Lunch date with Nick.
15th- Go to McMaze for a wagon ride and pumpkins.
16th- Go for a drive for poutins/ ice cream
17th- Do a Halloween craft with the kids.
         Speech class with Lynn.
18th- Make a "blanket fort" in the living room and set up a tea party.
         Call Ashley just to chat.
19th- Go for a walk solo.
         Write a letter to a friend.
20th- Go visit someone I keep promising an outing with...lots of choice there actually :)
21st- Full on Spa Night: bubble bath, candles, Pepsi, new book, mani/pedi, facial, anything else I can manage before getting sleepy
22nd- Throw our annual B.Y.O.P Halloween Party!
23rd- Go out for breakfast- maybe invite some brave friends to join us?
24th- Have Erica/ Nyesha over for a play date lunch.
         Speech class with Lynn.
25th- Go visit someone, anyone really.
         Take the kids for a walk- definitely no dog this time, I already know it.
26th- Write a letter to a friend.
          Call Marie to chat.
27th- Play Wii with Dryden for an hour.
28th- Start and complete a craft project.
29th- Plan an outing with Nick
30th- Plan an outing with Nick and the kids...and maybe the dog. We'll see.
31st- Go visiting to hand out Halloween goodies to family and friends.
         Take the kids trick or treating with Marie and Erica.

Thursday, September 15, 2011

Death by Play Dough & Other Random Thursday Occurances

          A few things to note today. As Mommy, I have an official proclamation to make: Hear ye! Hear ye! From here on in, we at the Pomainville residence, will no longer be purchasing, or accepting, food scented play dough. Furthermore, play dough will only be played with on the dining room table, out of reach of enormous 100lbs dogs who cannot tell the difference (or don't care that there is a difference) between actual cherries, and a blob of soft, red plastic-y shit that smells vaguely like cherries. Nick's attention was diverted for 30 seconds while he dove to save Noelle from doing a face plant off the sofa and smashing any remaining teeth she still has in her little mouth; while his back was turned, Saku ate 1/2 a pound of play dough off the kiddie table that Dryden was playing with. Dryden, in turn, pitched a fit because he wanted his toy back (watch for it in the yard tomorrow my little friend) and kept making the sign for "more." Cute as that was...we only had the one container of play dough in the house...which was now inside the dog...which we now have to watch like a hawk to ensure that he doesn't barf on our brand frigging new carpet that we just had installed yesterday [ he has this quirk- he will only barf on carpet. I've watched him sprint around the house looking for a carpet to up-chuck on instead of heading to the door.] Also, I have two loads of freshly washed and dried laundry that has to be redone as Dryden insisted on wearing half of it while sitting on top of the other half as he ate a filled-to-the-brim blueberry fritter. Keep in mind, this was all accomplished in the 45 minutes that I was gone to my ultrasound.

     I had yet another ultrasound today; they couldn't get pictures of the heart last time and the umbilical cord was between the fetus' legs so we weren't able to tell if the kids were getting a new brother or sister (I was betting on a boy- I was positive that I saw him flip the technician the bird...) So I waddled in there today, my fingers crossed. My legs were crossed too- I had to pee sooo badly. She was able to get all the heart pictures she needed and the little pound-of-butter sized baby waited until the last minute to open its legs and clue us in to what we'll be bringing home in the New Year. Before she told me (I can't tell what anything is on those ultrasounds. I usually just nod and say "oh yes, I see, the bladder, right...) the technician asked what we were hoping for: a boy or a girl?

     This is a loaded question that Nick and I have been asked over and over again. We respond that it really doesn't matter, we just want a healthy baby and we always get The Face in response. The Face says, "What a crappy, unoriginal answer..." I know it is- I hate it when people give me bland, orchastrated answers like that too; however, to us a plain, regular old baby sounds great regardless of what color we get to dress it in. A boy would be fun for Dryden- a brother to play with, another boy to get into mischief with, a built-in buddy. The Pomainville brothers. It has a nice ring to it. They'll be sharing a room so the blue walls wouldn't need to be changed. Yeah, a boy would be great!

     How about another daughter? I simply won't lie; deep in my heart of hearts, I would love another daughter. I don't know how to say this without diminishing the sheer amount of love I have for Noelle and the pure joy that she brings me every single day, but I would consider myself truly blessed to know the experience of having a typical daughter as well. I realize that I am asking to have my (triple layer, death by chocolate, covered in fudge icing) cake and eat it too, but if I am to be honest...then a daughter is what I was hoping for. When Noelle was born, I enjoyed her as a baby, but I also dreamed about the future: sports tournaments and dance recitals, slumber parties and spa trips, first dates and prom, sending her off to university, helping her plan a wedding, maybe holding her first child. It was fun to fantasize while I was up late, feeding her in the dark, deep silence of night. When we were first told that Noelle was special, I took a few days to secretly, and privately mourn the loss of the future that I had seen for her. My heart grieved for those milestones that I now knew she wouldn't experience. After a few days, I got over it. I don't know how, I don't remember what was said to me, or what I did to look past it but I did. And have never looked back. Why would I dwell on the things she can't or won't do? That seems stupid to me. I honestly look forward to the Noelley Milestones: play groups and new friends, first day of school and swimming lessons, pet and music therapy, graduating high school (who am I kidding- I'll be so fucking proud even if it is from the special class. Noelle will have an entire cheering section in the auditorium that day), and traveling the world with her father and I. I know she might not accomplish all of these things- I also know she'll accomplish one's that I haven't even thought of for her yet- that's what's so great about Noelle: she is such an unknown that we eagerly wait and watch every day to see what she will do, or at least try to do. I know that if we had another little girl I wouldn't compare the two- how could I? It would be like comparing warm brown butter glazed apple tart with lemon chiffon whipped cream to...vanilla ice cream. The first is far more complex, the second, a crowd pleaser. Pair them together though, and amazing! (Can you tell that I am pregnant? Everything relates back to my current cravings lol)

     I waited a beat before answering the ultrasound technician and replied, "I kinda want both." She laughed and said, "Well, will you settle for a daughter? You'll have to try for a boy next time. Congratulations."
Wow. A little girl. I went home and was greeted with the play dough mayhem and shared the news. Nick and I were happy; Dryden is tickled that he'll have his very own baby (we've yet to break the news that she won't actually be his) and Noelle just made the sign that she wanted "more" chocolate pudding. She'll be happy that all her favorite baby toys will be resurfacing soon. Today, life seems pretty good. We're all happy and healthy- something we know never to take for granted- the kids hardly fought at all this afternoon, and Nick and I have a firm grip on the most important grace we've been given: the ability to accept the things that we cannot change and the knowledge that everything happens for a reason. Nick was able to sum up exactly how I felt when he said, "Now we'll have one of each: a boy, a girl, and a Noelley." xo

Monday, September 12, 2011

Will Work For T-shirts

     Miss Noelle was tired tonight. She fell asleep on my lap shortly after supper and remained sleeping and snoring softly after I tucked her into her big girl bed- a rarity. Now the question was: how to keep Dryden quiet so Noelle doesn't wake up (her bedroom is on the main floor, unlike the rest which are up on the second floor.) So I packed some snacks and drinks and took Mister upstairs. He was pouting miserably, stomping his displeasure out with each step up the stairs thinking he was being shipped off to bed. He perked up visibly when we passed his bedroom and continued down the dark hallway. "Oooo Momma's [room]" he said with a smile. I tucked him into our bed with his numerous babies and stuffed dogs (all of whom are unoriginally named "Saku"), put his snacks beside him on the bedside table, and popped in a DVD. I don't even feel the least bit guilty for letting Shrek babysit my youngest for the remaining hour and a half of the day. I, personally, am sick to death of Shrek so I took advantage of some spare time and spare energy - another rarity lately- and tackled part of my To Do List: I finished unpacking our bedroom. 

     I unpacked and organized my purged hoard of books and put them on the bookshelf and I finally finished unpacking my clothes. But I couldn't stop there. My dresser, closet, and armoire were bulging, threatening to burst the very next time I opened them. Dryden was busy, content to sing along and roar along with Shrek so I tentatively opened that can of worms: I organized my clothes. I put all the stuff that's slightly snug away (I'm the eternal optimist for my post-baby body), piled my sweaters according to color (don't feel bad, I hate me too right now) and unpacked my maternity clothes. I've definitely already dipped into that stash- do not be fooled; however, I was avoiding unpacking the entire box, choosing instead to root blindly around in there and wear whatever I managed to liberate from the box without taking the lid off completely. I purged through my assortment of shoes as well. A pair of flats, and a pair and a half of sandals (?) didn't make the cut. Their funeral will be held this Wednesday. Please, no flowers. And lastly, I went through my embarrassingly large collection of t-shirts. I tossed almost all of my "work" t-shirts (these are splattered with paint, plaster, modge podge, glitter, grout etc), an alarming number of tops that had a hole right at the belly button (they were otherwise fine...weird) and tons of Ts that were clearly too well worn to keep, some weren't even recognizable as usable tops. Am I the only one who keeps T-shirts until they almost disintegrate? Until they are almost...see through? If I'm not, then here's a shout out to all my other t-shirt hoarders...and if I am the only one- please don't judge.

     I kinda forgot about Dryden while I was on my mad purge-a-thon. I caught a glimpse of him from beyond the pile of discarded clothes; he was fast asleep under our duvet...drooling on Nick's pillow. I carted him off to his room, making a second trip for all his babies/puppies- I kissed all of them too (I have a feeling Dryden zonked out before he could complete that part of his bedtime ritual) and tucked everyone in for the night.

     Tomorrow, I might tackle the linen closet. Or not.

Thursday, September 8, 2011

The Tooth Fairy is Scrambling...

     I had an idea early on this morning of what I wanted to blog about tonight. I had plans with a girlfriend from high school this afternoon; she is down from Kingston and made time to come out to "the farm" to see me. I won't lie- I was primping for her. I cleaned the house and made coffee cake and fretted over my hair and outfit. And so of course, I was doomed to have one of those "nothing-fits-my-hair-looks-stupid" days. I settled for a decent outfit but couldn't find a necklace that went with it. My hair is in desperate need for some attention; its currently some quasi-shade of brownish red. I tossed it up into a messy bun and that was the best I could manage. I looked fine, but I felt...bad. I definitely didn't feel attractive, or polished, or well put together. Regardless, I was really excited to see Jane. An hour before she was due to stop by, I received a panicked phone call from Nick, "Call the dentist and tell him we're coming. Noelle had an accident at speech therapy and smashed her face on the cement floor." (Why does a facility made to treat children with mental and physical disabilities have concrete floors? Shouldn't that entire building be made out of Styrofoam!?) That was it. I grabbed the phone...and where the hell did we put the phone book? Did we even unpack it?? My hands were shaking and my inflamed heart was racing. I dialed 411 and waited for the number. Meanwhile, Dryden- oblivious to the situation and to Mommy's anxiety- picked that moment to saunter into the kitchen and pitch a fit. I yelled at him loudly and harshly and shooed him (and his confused, heart broken tears) away. After I called the dentist, I made amends with Dryden by snuggling with him on the bean bag chair, and waited for an hour to hear back from Nick. A very long hour.

     Nick called back and said that we were being sent to CHEO. I scribbled a hasty letter to Jane and taped it to the door and arranged for Dryden to stay at my mother's. As I approached our car I got my first good look at poor little Noelley. Her carefully chosen top was stained brown, her mouth was outlined with dried blood and her lips were already blue/black, puffed out into a semi-permanent pout. All I can say is God bless the Children's Hospital of Eastern Ontario- they fit us in an hour earlier than booked, prepped her for for the procedure swiftly and without fuss, and removed her two front teeth in less than five minutes. Normally, I'm a hard ass. I have no problem holding the kids down for needles, blood work, and procedures. I'm not emotional- let's get it done now is my attitude. Today, I struggled to hold it together. I was weepy and very little help to Nick. I couldn't wait to get home and snuggle with Noelle on the rocking chair- I was a softy and didn't know what to do. Cuddling on the rocking chair, watching her sleep, I took a good long look at her bruised face and newly formed gap in the middle of her formerly perfect smile. What an idiot I felt like. I felt stupid for worrying about what to wear or that I needed a dye job. Right now I feel like this whole blog is sometimes stupid- me struggling to find a way to put myself first, to cling desperately to the person I used to be. I'm not first anymore. I would gladly wear rags and shave my head to re-do today minus Noelle's accident. I sometimes get caught up in the insignificant that I overlook the glaring obvious- I am lucky enough to be a mother and everything else pales in comparison.

     After copious amounts of ice cream for Noelle and generous helpings of Pepsi for Mommy, Dryden came home and kissed "Wowelle's" bobo. I have good kids. I have a good husband who kept his cool while I played the cliche blubbering mom and he held Noelle down while her teeth were pulled from her gums. I also have good friends. I know Jane understands and forgives me for standing her up without even having to speak to her- that's why our friendship has survived so many years and so many miles in between. My much debated outfit is stained with blood and drool and I don't even care. Because at the end of the day, I already have a ton of necklaces and my hair looks just fine pulled back into the standard pony tail. It took a shitty day to remind me what is important here at the Pomainville house and I'm grateful for the lesson.

Tuesday, September 6, 2011

Enjoying Country Time

     Finally moved and (almost) completely settled in. It's been an incredibly long two and a half weeks. When we first decided to buy this house, we agreed that we weren't going to renovate or fix it up in any way. Our (overly ambitious) plan is to live in this old house while we build a new house in front of it, then tear this place down. However, ten days before we moved in, our allergies convinced us that a new plan was needed. The old carpets were killing us slowly, draining our lifeforces directly though our noses and blinding us behind curtains of dust induced tears. Now we had to hustle to pull out the old carpets (who the hell were we kidding- as if I could pretend to like neon blue shag rugs and hunter green stairs for more than a few days anyways) and put new floors one week. And then we figured, if we're putting in new floors- why are we tolerating a lavender kitchen complete with canary yellow wallpaper as the back splash? (I shit you not.) So new paint was thrown on every wall pretty damn fast and the trim work was given a new sparkling white life. All this before we even moved a god damn box.

     Moving day: Thank God Nick has friends. Nick, Marc, and Nick M moved every box we had packed (and even packed what I didn't have time to throw in boxes yet) in one day. Marie took Dryden for an Auntie Date Day, so I was left with Noelley to unpack and choreograph some semblance of organization. We were all exhausted.

     This last week: Nick's last week of holidays just so happened to be this week. We were able to reassemble furniture (eff you Ikea and your stupid allan keys too), hang up curtains, shelves, and millions of other things that would have dragged on forever if Nick didn't have an entire week at home. The kids have been genuinely great- they even think that the ridiculously slanted floors are fun and they giggle with each creaking step up the staircase. As for Saku, he loves it here. It took Nick six days after we moved in to install the electric, underground fence to keep him (Saku, not Nick) on our property. During that week, the goldendoodle got braver and bolder, getting closer and closer to the road- daring us to yell or chase him. The day that Nick connected the fence we were both resting on the back deck (which incidentally, needs to be scraped and re-stained...Spring maybe) watching the dog. He strutted his stuff all the way to the ditch in front of our property and looked back at us, giving us one seriously cocky doggy look, and stepped out towards the road. Nick and I are kinda mean because we didn't yell at him or warn him. All of the sudden he yipps and jumps in the air as if someone goosed him in the bum and hauled ass back across the yard towards the deck- turning every now and then to give the road a dirty look. Problem solved: Saku is no longer interested in what lies beyond the ditch, go figure!

     Nick is back at work. The house is fairly put together. The kids are content. Now what? I I have spare time?? Good lord, time to give myself a mani/pedi before I remember that I should be doing something...Cheers! xo


Tuesday, August 23, 2011

Sick of Rude People Raised by Farm Animals

     Have you ever been in the presence of someone so rude and so oblivious to socially accepted niceties that you think, "Was s/he raised in a barn? By sarcastic, snarky sheep?" Honestly, manners are (in my not-so-humble opinion) pretty basic, simple, automatic, and only require the smallest amount of common sense to use in everyday situations. I'm sure my husband thinks I'm nagging when I stubbornly insist on correcting and modifying the kids manners- or lack there of actually. I'm not trying to be  a bitchy mom; hell bent on perfection and moulding eloquent, robot-like little children...I just don't want them to turn out to be rude adults who should know better. I came across this list tonight and I am passing it on, along with my promise to keep annoying my kids with reminders to be polite, to remember their manners, and to not pick their nose (in public at least.) I also give my absolute permission for others to correct and demand better manners from my kids- I only have a finite amount of years to drill this stuff into their spongy brains so assistance is welcomed. Some adults may benefit from reading this list...and keeping a copy in their pocket for constant references! I have taken liberties with the list, altering and adding to it to suit my needs and tastes.

                                     27 Manners People Should Know...But Don't:

-When asking for something, say "please."
-When receiving something, say "thank you."
-Do not interrupt adults when they are speaking to each other unless it is an emergency; they will notice you and respond when they are finished talking...or they are ignoring you for a reason- take the hint.
-If you need to get someone's attention right away, the phrase "excuse me" is the polite way to interrupt a conversation.
-When you have doubt about doing something, ask permission first. It may save you lots of trouble later on... aka a sore bum or long time out.
-The world is not interested in what you dislike. Keep negative thoughts to yourself, or share them in private amongst your friends.
-Do not comment on other people's physical characteristics- unless, of course, they are compliments. You're not perfect; you shouldn't expect others to be.
-When someone asks how you are, tell them and then remember to ask them in return.
-When you have spent time over at a friend's house, thank them and their parents for having you over and let them know you had fun- even if you didn't!
-Knock on closed doors- and wait to see if there is a response- before entering. ( A serious pet peev of mine)
-When making a phone call, introduce yourself first, then ask if the person you are calling is home and may you speak to them.
-When answering the phone and they are asking for someone who isn't home say, "No, he isn't available right now. May I take a message?" (and for the love of Pete, actually write the frigging' message down on paper.)
-Be appreciative for any gifts you receive. Say "thank you" and follow up with a short thank you letter.
-Never use foul language (in front of adults at least.) They already know those words and find them boring and unpleasant coming from your mouth.
-Don't call people mean names. Even when you're angry.
-Don't make fun of anyone. Teasing shows others that you are weak and mean spirited and ganging up on someone is cruel.
-When a play or presentation is boring, sit through it quietly and look interested. They people putting it on are trying their best. You will one day be part of a crappy play/musical and will appreciate the respect.
-If you bump into someone, immediately say "excuse me." Or yell "What's your problem!?" See which one gets you a better response.
-Cover your mouth when you sneeze or cough, and don't pick your nose (or your bum.)
-As you walk through a door, look behind you to see if you can hold it open for the next person.
-When an adult asks you to do a favour, do so without grumbling or making dirty faces.
-When someone helps you, say "thank you." They are more likely to help you again.
-Use utensils properly at the table. If you don't know why there are so many forks by your plate- ask the nearest adult for help to chose which one.
-Keep a napkin in your lap and use it to wipe your face if need be.
-Don't slurp, or burp at the table. Don't fart either. Please.
-Don't reach for things at the table- ask to have them passed to you.
-Never miss the oppurtunity to keep your mouth shut.

Wednesday, August 17, 2011

Not a Typical Nude Mommy Post

How a Zombie Apocalypse Would Benefit Me

     I'm having an "off" night. I'm enjoying a gratuitous Pepsi while watching mindless TV; I also called it quits with packing tonight- eight boxes piled high next to the back door are a testimate to my deserving access to my former vices. I might have been able to resist the seductive allure of an evening nestled on the couch, bathed in the glow from our wall mounted TV if I hadn't happened upon channel 551- "The Truth Behind Zombies." I was a mindless zombie you might say (wow- that was friggin' horrible. My apologies- the sugar from the Pepsi has obviously kicked in.) I love zombie movies; there's nothing better than being alone at night, all the lights off, huddled in the corner of the couch, half hiding behind the kids' Toy Story blanket, being scared silly by the latest walking dead film. My fascination with these gruesome, violent, needlessly and unapologetically gorey movies date back to when I was seven years old. My parents brought home a revolutionary technology- the VCR and a bunch of movies; amongst those VHS tapes was "The Night of the Living Dead." It was my introduction to black and white films (I actually thought the VCR was broken: "Dad, this one's garbage- they forgot to color it.") It scared the bejesus out of my that first time and it was literally years before I stopped being genuinely afraid of zombies. I'll be eternally grateful to my parents for not censoring our movie selections: I was hooked for a lifetime of watching horror movies by myself (or with reluctant and terrified girlfriends) in the dark - as close to the terror of vampires, zombies, aliens, deadly viruses, and psycho killers as my living room would allow me.

     Tonight's zombie show is more of a "how-to" guide. It was arguing for the realistic possibility of a zombie-like outbreak and how to survive it. After investing an hour watching this craziness, I'm fairly confident that I would not only survive a zombie take over, but I would actually thrive. As a matter of fact, a "zombie reckoning" would help me accomplish almost all of the goals that I set out to achieve with this blog.

- I would lose tons of weight. Running from zombies burns a whole crap load of calories. Also, food would become limited...unless you're a zombie (obviously)
- I'm almost positive that I would pray more ("sweet Jesus Christ, let me shoot this zombie ...head!")
- I think I'd be more social. Since I've studies zombies for years, I might be considered an expert...maybe even sought after as a consultant! job opportunities in the Zombie Era...
- I'd spend less money. Looting will be acceptable and no one will really care if I'm wearing Silver jeans and Steve Madden boots. I will loot Walmart and every dollar store in a 100 km radius.
- I will watch less TV (besdies, I hear zombie sitcoms aren't really that funny- except when they eat the live audience)
- No more drinking Pepsi. I predict that it will be used as a zombie mace and the bubbly liquid will be hoarded
- Most of my family will be zombies (ha! Serves you guys right for not believing in them!) so I don't really have to worry about visiting them anymore
- Get serious about jogging: this is vital to my survival. Zombies love fat people who can't run very far/fast
- Plan a schedule for the week:
>hunt for food
>avoid zombies
>find and hoard water and Pepsi
>play with the kids
>kill some zombies

     Unfortunately, a Zombie Apocalypse is not in our immediate future and so I have to continue putting forth an effort to become a well-rounded, healthier person. I guess it's for the best. As for the rest of my evening, a show about Area 51 is about to start, followed by one on Stonehenge. I need to watch these shows to get this stuff out of my system for now. Cheers!

P.S. For the love of Pete- stay out of the cemetery after dark! You're just asking for zombie trouble...

Monday, August 15, 2011

Garage Sale Disclaimer

     This last weekend we held our very first garage sale. During the process of packing we've discovered that we have an embarrassing amount of stuff that really doesn't enrich our lives- in fact, the "stuff" only clogs our visual and physical space. We piled up our stuff, along side the stuff left at our new house by Nick's grandparents...and the resulting mountain was overwhelming. We cleaned everything, stuck cute little colour coded price stickers everywhere, made up some flyers, bought some (shockingly overpriced) "garage sale" signs and got ready to make millions. For those of you who have never had the pleasure of organizing and executing a yard sale before, let me provide you with a disclaimer that I've compiled in the wake of this past weekend to discourage you from doing so.

-Do not permit your husband to go out drinking with his best friend the night before, as he will not show up on time (or at all) the next morning to help set up- thus causing the first fight of a very long weekend.
-Setting up a large yard sale takes forever. I was pretty organized- everything priced, like items sorted into separate boxes and a basic concept of where I wanted everything placed- and it still took 3 people well over two hours to place everything on the tables.
-Early birds show up fucking early- like 6:30am. And they are sickeningly cheerful. Beware.
-People will joyfully dicker over, what I thought, was the lowest price possible for something tiny. I thought that when I put a $0.10 price tag on something- people would pay $0.10 for said item. I was fully prepared to dicker over the $100 fireplace...just not for the five page long children's book I wanted a dime for.
-Think long and hard about the location of your "home base." I situated myself in the front yard, closest to the road to optimize visibility for traffic- passing cars would have no problem seeing our plethora of treasures and would not be able to resist stopping and giving me all their money. However, I failed to scout of potential shady spots too. At 10:00 Nick came to visit me and said, "You haven't put on your sunscreen yet have you?" I slathered it on...but too late. At noon I went inside for some water and Marc, Nick's buddy, said: "Whoa! You are sooo red! Tout rouge bahahaha!"
-Never doubt that someone will want to buy the crappiest thing that you own. Slap a price tag on it even if you really just want to chuck it.
-Children makes their grandparents buy tons of your junk. Be super nice to them and slip an extra stuffed animal in their bag to sweeten the deal.
-Have your children (if you have any) babysat. At a different location. They are suddenly in love with anything and everything that you are trying to sell and will try to sabotage every sale with their crocodile tears and sad puppy dog eyes.
-Don't be an idiot and put "rain or shine" on your ad/flyer. No ones stops in the rain. You will be soggy and make no money.
-Be innovative; at the end of the day- start bundling. Examples include: everything on this table for $5. Buy a coffee mug, get a waffle iron free! Buy a TV, get two other TVs that don't really work for parts, all wedding decorations 97% off...
-At the end of the yard sale, do not return any of the unsold stuff to your home. Take a trip to the Salvation Army, to Habitat for Humanity, and The Dump and get rid of it. You were selling it because you didn't want it anymore. Apparently no one else wanted it either.
-Repeat this mantra over and over until it sinks into your thick head:
  I will never do another yard sale. Ever.
  I will be more respectful at other people's yard sale.
  I will never leave a yard sale without buying something.
  I will dicker over a $0.10 item for no other reason than for fun.

In closing, the yard sale was fine; a learning experience. It was gorgeous out- I got to spend time outside and I got a burn/tan for my efforts. I made $350 profit-which was nice. Our yard sale was a fantastic opportunity that motivated me to purge through our stuff and free up valuable space. No need to pack and move things that we don't really want or need. It was also a great way to get rid of stuff without simply tossing it into a landfill. It was not, however, an awesome way to make hoards of money; it was an enormous amount of work for minimal amounts of cash.

Friday, August 5, 2011

For Sale: One Mother's Sanity (slightly used)

     I'm loving August. Everyone wants to socialize- birthday parties, BBQs, campfires, brunches and lunch; the invitations have been have been popping up like my long forgotten dahlias.

      We also have a daily commitment to socialize at our local swimming pool, as the little ones started swimming lessons this week. I must say though, we have very little time to spend chatting with the other parents. Nick and I visit with the other moms and dads until the lessons start and then we have to get into the pool with a dozen or so 4-7 year olds. Our kids are the only two toddlers, so they have a class all to themselves ( private lessons? For $50? We must have ripped someone off here...) However, we are also the only parents required to get in the pool with their kids; until the kids are four years old, a parent must be present in the pool too. So essentially, I'll be getting swimming lessons for free too.

Side Note: I'm screwed if our lessons ever move down into the deep end. I will die 10 different deaths from humiliation if an eight year old has to rescue my "plump" ass from drowning. I will go so far as to wear floaties to prevent this...I can borrow Dryden's "Sponge Bob" ones.
     I had major hang ups about wearing a bathing suit. My regular ones don't fit so great on account of my inflated belly and the maternity ones I bought-although pretty- do not fit well either. Out of the pool they look fine. As soon as I get in the water, the top tends to float up around me so that I look like an enormous jellyfish ready to sting and paralyze someone's kid. I talked myself out of acting like a jackass about the whole situation. "Ok Rachel- you're pregnant and fat. You cannot go swimming in jeans and a hoodie. All the other moms will be wearing bathing suits too. Get over it."      And then we show up- and I am the only friggin' mom that needs to get in the pool. Figures. I am still resisting the jeans and campus crew hoodie, but I do wear a tank top now. No need to frighten small children out of the water...

     I've been feeling really well this week- the morning sickness may or may not have finally buggered off. I had slightly more energy than usual, so I wasted no time and took advantage. I finally started the much hated job of packing. { kindly insert very sad violin music to the background. } Nick's grandparents, whom we bought our next house from, moved into a much smaller apartment- they have no room for the majority of their lifetime's worth of stuff. In a moment of magnanimous generosity (idiocy) I volunteered to hold a yard sale for them. If I have to invest hours cleaning, pricing and organizing, if I have to get up at 6 am to greet the early birds with a smile, if I have to stand out in the sun and dicker over $0.25 for an entire weekend, then I'm going to get rid of as much crap as I possibly can. I've been gathering stuff from our house to sell also- why pack and move this stuff if we don't even really want it? I also put some calls in to my mom and sisters: send me your and I will sell them! I'm kinda excited- I've never had a yard sale before. Actually, that's not entirely true. When I was in high school I helped my sister-in-law Neesha organize one at her house and sat out there with her. No one stopped by! So the next weekend, we set it up at my parents' place (clearly, they have better consumers there) and no one frigging' stopped by again!! My brother loaded the truck and took a trip to the dump. Neesha and I bought ice cream cones and tanned our legs for the rest of the afternoon. We missed out on the salesman of the year award by this much l---l 

     I'll let you know how it turns out...and how many trips to the dump we have to make when it's all over lol


Thursday, July 28, 2011

I Love Two

     Where the hell did July go!? I'm fairly embarrassed that I only posted one blog entry for this entire month. In my defense, (or "here's my best excuse" ) it has been a busy month. We've had the cottage to deal with- insurance adjusters, contractors, demos, starting the renovations, dealing with the police who swear they are investigating (bon chance mes amis on that one), calling all the renters and returning their deposits and cancelling the house showings. Also, we've sold our house in Ontario! So there was the house inspection and lawyers to sell our souls to...and now we face the god awful notion of packing up all of our crap and organizing a cross-town move.

     But July has also hosted a milestone for our little family. Dryden turned two; we celebrated with a back yard party with family and friends. It was actually the first birthday where one of our children understood the concept of "birthday party" and that made the day extra joyful and exciting. Watching him open his gifts, bows and curly cues whizzing in all directions, and smile at the candles on the ice cream cake melted my heart into a puddle of emotional mommy goop. I can still remember the day he was born as vividly as though it were yesterday, and not 732 days ago. It was a Saturday. And I had to yell at Nick: "Sober up for Christ sake! I can't drive myself to the hospital." Good times- great memories. Our neighbours had a big backyard bash that day/night and Nick was hammered, clearly not expecting to be called upon to do anything coherent. His father drove me to the hospital and Nick passed out in our room as soon as the nurses made up a bed for him. Super helpful labour coach, he was not. {This time around, there will be a moratorium on booze for the two weeks before my due date.}

       In honour of Dryden's decent into the dreaded Terrible Two's, I have brainstormed all that I love about my very old two year old. Lately, my mind has been anxious and excited for all the things I love about newborns, and it could use a dose of Toddler Love.

- When he falls asleep while eating lunch. I'm a mean mommy- I keep saying his name so he jerks back awake and looks around all confused before his head slowly starts to droop again.
-Tea party time. My kids won't drink plain water unless it is poured from a cheap plastic teapot into an equally cheap plastic tea cup.
-The joy that a transport trailer driving by induces.
-The first time each summer when their bare feet touch the grass; they yank their feet up into a quasi-frog position and look at me with eyes as big as saucers.
-My kids think potatoes are bouncy balls- most days it cracks me up when they find the bag in the pantry and throw them and the dog goes nuts trying to retrieve them.
-When Dryden pretends: chopping fake veggies at the play kitchen; talking on the "phone" aka the battery-less remote control from a long dead TV; vacuuming the floor with a plastic hockey stick.
-Their ability to control the dog highlights my complete lack of ability to do so. All Noelle has to say is "Sit!" and down he goes, sitting all pretty. Dryden simply yells, "No! Mine!" and the dog drops whatever toy he was trying to slink off with. Meanwhile, I'd be chasing the little fucker around the table for half an hour, getting more and more enraged. Either the dog is utterly stupid...or I am.
-Dryden's obsession with gas tanks. We showed him on his big toy car where you put the gas in to make the car run. Now it is impossible to pass any vehicle without him opening the gas tank cover, looking in and proclaiming, "yup...full." Next he'll be kicking every one's tires...
-How awesome he thinks the toilet is. Flushing it brings gales of laughter and clapping.
-He dances at the drop of a hat. Text msg ring tones, McDonald's commercials, singing toys, the dinging the car door makes when left open...
-And he only has two dance moves: The Hop, and The Side-to-Side Shuffle. Both moves are unimpressive really. Actually, he's mastered the two dance moves that all men do...
-How unbelievably fast he gets dirty. Clean outfits go on after breakfast. I turn around to bring the dishes to the sink, turn back and wtf? he's covered in juice, sticky green stuff, pudding stains magically appear like some cheap David Blaine trick and his face is so grimy he looks like a 40 year old coal miner. What the hell just happened in the last 20 seconds??
-His new favorite expression is "Yeeeehaw!" from Toy Story. Cracks Nick up every time.
-He loves giving bedtime kisses. I want to squeeze him every time he stands up in his crib, rubbing his heavy eyes, and reaching out to ensure I don't forget. The terrible 2s will be tolerable so long as a bedtime kiss waits for me at the end of each day xo

Friday, July 8, 2011

The Week That Broke Me

     This week was a festering, buzzing fly encrusted pile of crap. The beginning of the week held great promise- I had my first ultrasound. I'm always filled with excitement and renewed anticipation whenever I see proof that there really is life living inside me. The ultrasound went well, I saw our baby; it waved at me. And that's where things started the slow degenerative slide into the realm of craptastic. I couldn't pee after the ultrasound (anyone who has ever had an ultrasound understands that I had to drink 6.8 gallons of water prior to my appointment and sympathizes that I was certainly ready to hit up the bathroom.) I had been having trouble peeing for a few weeks now. Sometimes, even though I am full and willing, it takes up to an hour before I can go. And once, I had to go to the ER and have a catheter inserted so I could void. It was embarrassing- but no one was overly concerned so neither was I. Until Tuesday. I came home and tried to pee again but to no avail. I ran the tap water next to me. Nope. I shifted positions. No go. I hoped in the frigging shower. No. And now I was soggy. At this point my bladder sent an urgent signal to my brain informing it of an impending explosion if I didn't figure things out soon {code yellow! code yellow! reservoir overflowing! evacuate stat!} I called Nick, and almost sounded coherent explaining that he needed to turn around and come home. This was done while 'dancing' around the dining room table- the stupid dog hopping and barking after me thinking I was playing with him instead of trying to placate my bladder. I couldn't wait; I ran to my neighbours' and told her that the kids were napping in their rooms and Nick was on his way home. If the house happens to burst into flames- please go rescue the little ones...and then I ran to the truck and headed to the hospital.
   Side Note: Although I am no longer up for nomination for Mother Of The Year, Julie is certainly Neighbour Extraordinaire. She came over and read a book on the stairs while waiting for Nick to arrive home. Also, the house did not burst into flames. Small wonders...
     So in the catheter went...relief! Until the doctor told me that it was going to stay in and that I was going to see a neurologist the next day. A neurologist? Well. Shit. That can't be good. Home I went with a head full of worry and a bag strapped to my leg.
     The neurologist took 10 minutes to send my back to the ER- c'est pas ma job essentially. Different ER doctor. Took him two hours to figure out what was wrong and solve it.
   Side Note: I must admit, the four previous doctors may have figured it out too if I had given them all the information. "Nope, I'm not on any medication Sir" ~ Rachel
     At the last minute I told this doctor that I was on meds for morning sickness and Bingo! I am allergic to Diclectin and my reaction presented itself in the form of urinary retention a.k.a not being able to pee on my own. Stop taking the pills and spend the next three days "re-training" my bladder. The urologist I saw yesterday set me up with home care, so a nurse came to my house to remove the catheter today and will come back to re-insert it if need be.
    So I can pee again!!  But the vomiting from morning sickness had reared its ugly head again. I just can't win.

     This week we also discovered that our cottage was broken into and trashed. The insurance will cover it, but we will lose the rental income from it for the rest of the summer...and we had to take it off the market as well (hard to sell a cottage with water damage and holes in the I'm told anyways.) Now Nick will have to work some serious overtime to keep our budget balanced and to compensate for the loss of my income.

     I had to buy a dress yesterday. We have Nick's best friend's wedding to attend this weekend and with all the peeing issues I was having, things got left 'til the last minute. I went to my urologist appointment early and went shopping. Miracle of all miracles, I found a pretty dress that fits and baubles to match and went to the cash. Where was my wallet? Oh that's right- on the kitchen counter next to the laptop where I checked my bank account. I had $12 in loonies and toonies in the cup holder of the car. I put the dress back and sat in the car. And cried. After my moment of self pity had passed, I went into Walmart and bought the cheapest magazine I could find. I then headed to McDonalds and got a happy meal and snack sized Mcflurry- extra Oreos crumbs please. I sat in the sun and ate my lunch, read my (surprisingly good) magazine and collected my marbles.

     I'm ready for a better weekend. Or at the very least, not a crappy one. Please.

Thursday, June 30, 2011

90 Day Coin

     Hello! My name is Rachel. ( Welcome Rachel!)  I am an addict. (low murmurs and seat shifting) It has been 90 days since I've had my last Pepsi. (eruption of applause and whistles) It's still one day at a time for me (" I hear ya"... "me too sista") but I'm pretty proud of myself- Thanks for all you support! (more clapping, some hugging, and bad coffee shared by all.)

     So this is how my last Pepsi Drinkers Anonymous meeting would have went if it existed. I may have embellished slightly, I don't think it's been 90 days yet; but I'm at the point where I don't need a Pepsi every day to get through the day. Ironically enough, I think this pregnancy has saved me from a life of servitude to Pepsi Inc. My stomach is too weak for anything other than water or, maybe on a good day, watery iced tea. I'm confident that eventually I will be able to enjoy the odd Pepsi with a pizza without worrying that I'll spiral out of control and drink a whole case in a weekend (its been done many a time before.)

                                         {Morning Sickness Break- Apologies!}

     I'm feeling terrible today. I didn't take the morning sickness pills last night as I wanted to see if it has passed hasn't. I was hoping at the 12 week mark it would bugger off. Thankfully I have a dozen refills on the prescription.

     I just looked back on my list of life changes that I want to I'm not doing so great. Basically the Pepsi thing is my only real achievement; and to be frank, I never really intended to follow through with that one! lol go figure...
Now that I'm feeling better (well besides today) I'm going to get back on track and be genuine in my efforts.

    Ok, the smell of Saku's dog food is making me gag so I have to cut this blog short and go upstairs. Jesus, how does he eat that shit?

Tuesday, June 28, 2011

Our Lives: The Post Philly Era

     We've had a few days at home from our conference in Philadelphia now to return to our regular routine and to internalize everything we've learned at the numerous workshops we participated in. I'm having a difficult time deciding how I feel about our week there.

     The nine hour drive there went surprisingly well. We left at 4am thinking the kids would go back to sleep and nap periodically. Turns out that was a very (foolish?) optimistic plan. They were awake the entire time...or so I was told- I'm way smarter than the kids and went back to sleep about 15 meters away from our house.

     We got a better rate at another hotel (half price) so we weren't staying at the hotel where the actual conference was staying. We were about 15 minutes away a.k.a 75 minutes with traffic. So we won't be doing that next time. We did have a kick ass pool though...

     I don't know what we were thinking; we had everyone in the same room- Nick, myself, Noelle, and Dryden. Noelle decided that Thursday night was an inappropriate night to sleep and was up all night. Therefore, so was I. I kicked everyone out of the room at 8am for breakfast and went back to bed until noon. So that shot almost an entire day of workshops for me.

     The workshops themselves (the ones I was able to attend) were fine. I was disappointed that the few things I really wanted more info on (ie: sleep, CVI, how to attain funding for therapies and programming) were not touched upon at all. I loved the potty training one. I wish I had been able to leave with more information.

     We were super fortunate that Nick's parents came with us to help with the kids; the entire experience would have been (terrible?) without their help. They have no choice but to come next time too...or we are leaving the kids at home (with them lol.)

     I also didn't get an awful lot of time to socialize with other parents. The workshops were from 9 am until 6 pmish and then by the time we went for supper, and a swim and got the kids ready for bed...well that was my night. I stayed in the room with the kids every night and Nick went to the bar and drank and hung out until last call. (Did that come across as bitter and resentful? Hmmm...)

     The ride home was somehow two hours longer- what the hell?- and not nearly as smooth as the ride there. We watched about 349 hours of "Toy Story" and navigated our way through countless tantrums (ever try to throw a temper tantrum while strapped into a car seat? Just pisses the kid off even more and extends the period of misery for everyone in the car.)

     Although I have mixed feelings about this conference, I do feel as though it has lit a fire within me to do more; to push harder for Noelle and to be less complacent; to fundraise more for the lesser funded therapies and programming. [Noelle waited two years on a waiting list to see a speech therapist. I now realize that I should have been outraged and furious. No one should have to wait that long for such a vital developmental tool.] Both Nick and I are excited to become more involved with the Dup 15q Alliance and to take a more active role in the next conference.

     All in all, it was a worthwhile experience and worth the trouble and frustration and we will eagerly do it all over again in two years. We know what worked for us this time and what didn't and are now that much more prepared.

Friday, June 17, 2011

Prepping for Philly!

     I spent the sum of my morning and early afternoon running around completing and crossing things off my extensive list of Things To Do and Things To Pick Up in preparation for our week long trip to Philadelphia. We are packing the kids in the truck, (along with an exorbitant amount of shit that we probably won't even use) and driving 8 hours in the middle of the night to attend a conference for Idic15 families. It's our first opportunity to meet and network with other families with children like our Noelle and to access professionals, and experts who specialize in these type of chromosomal abnormalities. Normally I would have been far more organized and prepared for this trip- I would have had numerous lists, actually, I would have had a list to organize all my lists...but I've been fighting off morning sickness and haven't even felt like it. Hence the hustling today.

     While shopping, I was horrified to notice that I may already be showing; for my first pregnancy, I was six months along before anyone could tell I was renting my womb out to a hungry little monster. For my son, I think it wasn't until I was a little over three months along before the tell-tale belly showed itself. Now, however, I am in that awkward stage of pregnant where I don't quite looking preggers- just fat and unkept. I kept alternating between sucking in (people who see me think to themselves, "She's a bit pudgy but not gargantuan.") and jutting my belly out to exaggerate the baby bump (people who see me think, "Aw! Pregnant!") It was exhausting. When I got to the cash I was too preoccupied with my order to realize that the cashier was a hot 19 year old guy until I was face to face with him. I panicked, not knowing whether to suck in or jut out- I think I tried to do both simultaneously...and just farted. Loudly. I tried to give an almost inperceivable jerk of my head to indicate that it was the older woman beside me...but I don't think it worked- why would I be blushing scarlet if she farted?

     And that was my glamorous day...jealous?

Friday, June 10, 2011

The More the Merrier

     Apparently, I am the type of person who needs multiple time consuming projects on the go, and precarious little spare time for myself in order to fill my days lately. Which is odd, because I normally Ioath and avoid super ambitious/obnoxious over-achievers like that. They tend to make me look bad and feel guilty. I think its my Christian upbringing; I was bred to feel guilty about everything. I feel contrite for even writing that...We thought it was a brilliant idea putting both our house here in Moose Creek, and our cottage nestled in the hills of Tremblant up for sale at the same time. We failed to factor in the meticulous cleaning that would be required and the house viewings. And the amount of time spent begging and bribing the kids not to lick the walls, block the toilets with dinky cars, wipe their noses on the curtains, color on the cupboard doors, or finger paint on the wainscoting with chocolate pudding.

     We also discovered that I am pregnant, and we will be welcoming our third baby early in the New Year. Normally, I would have liked to wait until after the first trimester to tell people that I'm preggers but I've been so frigging sick that its been hard to maintain the lie that I have the flu. It doesn't usually last for five weeks. I felt guilty every time I lied to someone. Actually, the first person I lied to called me on it. I told her I wasn't drinking at a wedding because I was on antibiotics and Sasha said, "Hhmm...I think you're actually pregnant- but we can pretend." I've had to bail out of social commitments due to the fact that I'm afraid to venture more than 30 odd feet from the bathroom. My days thus far have consisted of eating very little bland food, throwing it up, playing half assed with the little ones and napping. Lots of napping and ginger ale. I've never been this sick with my other pregnancies. I went to my doctor's today for my first check up and caved in when she asked if I wanted anything for the nausea. I launched my prescription over the counter at the pharmacist today and simply said, "I just wanna eat some lunch. Please, give me pills that will let me eat lunch." Sure, I could have handled that with a bit more couth...lesson learned. I've been trying to prepare Dryden for a new little brother or sister and somehow convey that fact that I have a baby inside me; I point to my belly and say, "Baby." I don't think he got it- he later pointed at my bum and said "Baby?" Although, yes, at the moment there may or may not be ample room for a baby to reside there, I think we need further anatomy lessons.

     So in short, I am looking forward to not vomiting anymore, and maybe feeling like staying up past 8 pm to write a few more blogs. I wish our friggin' house would sell already so we can move to our new place before I am ginormous and have to depend on Nick to pack and organize everything (there's an ugly scene waiting to happen: hormonal me + randomly packed, unorganized boxes = Nick being yelled at, I'm certain.)

Saturday, June 4, 2011

Two very different Milestones

     Something terrifying happened this evening after we tucked the little ones into bed, closed their doors tightly behind us, and retreated into the bathroom to tidy up after an energetic and messy bath time. I was folding towels and Nick was rinsing the tub and shower curtain and wringing out the soggy stuffed puppy that Dryden insisted accompany him into the bubbly water, when we heard a tiny "hi" from the doorway. Now, Nick is super scared of ghosts so he spun around with a hilarious "wtf?" look on his face as I just stood there open mouthed...looking at Noelle coming into the bathroom. Shit. She knows how to open her door now. The bitchy Walmart greeter will see us bright and early tomorrow morning when we go to buy kiddie door knob locks. She was rewarded for her great escape act with an extra hour downstairs playing- really, I just wanted her sleepier when she went to bed so the likelihood that she'd sneak out again would be lessened. We'll have to put the baby gate up at the top of the staircase tonight after we go to bed- just in case.

     I'm not doing very well with my weight loss- I didn't lose anything this week :( But I realize that I also don't feel well and so I skipped Zumba two weeks in a row and haven't been walking at night or gardening in the afternoon while the kids nap- I've been napping right along with them instead. I'm sooo close to my 20 pound milestone. aggravating.

     I'm actually not feeling great right now, so I'll save the rest of what I was going to write for my next blog. I'm going to take a bath (making sure to lock the door so Noelley doesn't barge in and hop in the tub with me.) Surely a good night's sleep will make for a better tomorrow.

Thursday, June 2, 2011

What I love: The Toddler Version

     Nine temper tantrums today...for Dryden, six more for Noelle. I'm beginning to wonder if my Time Outs are an effective means of deterrence. I long to return to the days when it was acceptable to whomp your kids when they were bad. Then again, I am a child from the "Whomp Years" and they weren't really that great for behaviour modification; a good smack upside the head usually only served as great motivation for me to exact revenge. Today, after the final hissy fit- I realized that I will need a list, a reference if you will, to remind me periodically as to why I think (most days) that my toddlers are cute and deserving of my affection, not a satisfying smack

                                                 What I Love About My Toddlers

1- Their chubby feet look so cute in sandals.
2- Bath time. We've never had a grumpy "tubby time" Something about bubbles and communal bathing equals a good time had by all.
3- How hilarious they look when they first start walking- like they just dismounted from a horse, legs wide apart and wobbly. We call them "The Cowboys of St Polycarp Street."
4- Teaching them about body parts and laughing when they mess it up. Our son loves pointing out the body parts he knows on the dog, but he butchers it sometimes; Saku had a "peepee" where his nose should have been and "toes" on his forehead. And we should explain to him that Saku is a boy dog and does not have a "nunny."
5- How they insist on helping with the chores. I think its important to get them in the routine of doing chores at a young age. However, a full size broom is potentially lethal in the hands of a toddler, a child size dusting rag is easily fed to the dog, and loading the dishwasher is an hour long event.
6- How Noelle copies everything we do; every noise I make is imitated. She puts on Nick's hat and copies him too (at least that's what I assume she's doing because she keeps scratching her ass :) )
7- The amazing power of imagination. I love watching Dryden set up a tea party in front of the dog and chat away with him, giving him sips of tea and sharing marshmallows with him; lining up his stuffed animals on the couch and giving them all books to read; taking our laptop on the floor and typing his "homework" on there. Today he taught his baby doll how to blow kisses.
8- How proud they looked after we put away the highchairs and set them up in booster chairs at the table to eat with us.
9- Our first attempt at potty training. Dryden- buck naked- on the potty poking his "peepee" and giggling (typical male) and Noelle booting the potty across the tiny powder room and refusing to sit on it. Both experiences were equally funny.
10- It is a near frenzy every time that the school bus stops in front of our house. The excitement they experience is palpable. There is massive amounts of waving, and blowing kisses, and buh-byes!
11- We finally found a show they like- Elmo's World. Dryden sits in the corner of the couch with a pillow behind him and sits so quiet (and still!) I've never seen him sit in one spot for so long before...

Thursday, May 26, 2011

Lost in Translation

     Today was very frustrating. I was exasperated nearly to the limit of my tolerance for "obnoxious." Yes, I'll concede that because I don't feel well, my breaking point is substantially lower, but still...I was inexplicably frustrated by my kids' lack of communication skills. And yes, I am fully aware that this is not their fault. Dryden is 22 months old and has a vocabulary of maybe 20-25 (random) words and Noelle is fairly similar.  The entire day was spent with both kids alternating their periods of extreme whining (it could be a TLC show..."Extreme Whining" and it can be on right after "Extreme Couponing." Both shows will be uber annoying- but I digress.) It is days like today that I wish I had a universal remote for these two darlings and I could push the "translate" button to have subtitles appear under them to explain what the fuck they are crying about/pointing at/giving me dirty looks for/whining about/throwing a tantrum over. I've composed a little example of what this might look like if I could ask my kids what's up...and they could answer me in a language I can clearly understand.

Me: Why did you take your diaper off at nap time and pee on the floor? And then yell about it?
Kid: The tag on the side was scratching me really bad and I figured nap time was almost over anyways. Once I got the diaper off...woo! the cool air from the ceiling fan made me pee. I cried because I was quite embarrassed. Thanks for not yelling at me.

Me: Noelle, why do you freak out when the dog sniffs you?
Kid: His nose is cold, and wet, and slimy- can you say "gross?" Plus, I hate it when he licks me- he has bad breath

Me: Why do you jerks keep throwing your half full bowls of food on the floor?!
Kid: I love the sound apple sauce makes when it lands on the floor. Such a pretty "Ploop"

Me: What are you pointing at on the kitchen counter top? What do you want? There is nothing up there?
Kid: Counter top? What the hell is that? I'm pointing at the spider crawling on the wall...

Me: Why do you guys freak out every time Daddy leaves for work? Why aren't you used to him leaving at the same time every day?
Kids: Um...Daddy doesn't put us on as many Time Outs as you do and he doesn't care when we play with things you say "No!" he sneaks us marshmallows when you're not looking (For the record, I am ALWAYS looking)

Me: Why do you look me in the eyes, and throw whatever is in your hand onto the floor once I've already scolded you?
Kid: I just want my intentions and feelings to be known without a doubt. I disagree with your sentence of a Time Out and am appealing it to higher powers...

Me: Seriously, you just had a three hour nap- why do you need to whine for a full hour after you get up?
Kid: Dude, I was dreaming about splashing around in the pool with that cool two year old from down the street and he was about to tell me something important and you woke me up! Now I'll never know the secret of bipassing child-proof locks. Thanks a lot...if I'm pissed, then you should be miserable too.

Me: Why do you keep throwing your sippy cup at me?
Kid: you look thirsty?

Me: What was that dirty look for after I told you to stop playing on the stairs?
Kids: I didn't like the tone of your voice Missy!

Me: Why did you shut the door on me when I was saying goodnight?
Kid: I know for a fact that you put me to bed 15 minutes early!! Not cool Mommy...not cool