Ignoring the grunts as I scrambled to cook dinner I discovered THIS in my Eco-shopping bucket under the kitchen table. I’m concerned he may have found the beer judging from his blasé look…
So while taking baby K to his first year appointment last week, I noticed a new parenting phenom–pushing iPhones to kids as a way to offload actual parenting duties.
Now, before you think I’m getting all high and mighty, let me preface this entry by saying I’m not against technology. Nor am I against kids using it from time to time. In fact when juggling three kids alone at the local fish and chip restaurant (what the f$%k was I thinking?) I did cave and put Thomas on for the older kids so that I could finish my meal in relative peace. And for a last resort, I readily admit the iPhone has been a pure and utter Godsend.
What freaked me out about last week though was hearing this: “Honey do you want me to read a book? Or play a game on the iPad?” She might as well have been asking “Do you want to go to Grandma’s in Hamilton or jet off to Disneyworld and meet Belle and Snow White?” Continue reading
I’ve always considered myself a pretty relaxed mom in that I’ve let my boys explore the world fairly uninhibited (only leashed them for about 2 weeks during the height of the “bolting for the street phase.”). But as my third boy approaches the “into everything in sight” stage, I’ve noticed I’m starting to really let my standards slide–how else is he going to learn??? You’re probably on your third boy if:
- Cords are a valid distraction so long as they’re unplugged from the wall (they can still be plugged into the computer though–a small shock could possibly have a Pavlovian effect).
- You’re fine with your 6-year-old spinning the baby around provided said baby is still giggling (even though you’re well aware that it could all end in tears and a visit to the hospital).
- You’ve “lost” your baby in the backyard only to discover him stuck, lying on his back in a bush like an overturned turtle (true story).
- You’ve started telling people that the semi-permanent bruise on your baby’s forehead is, in fact, a birthmark, despite the fact that it seems to move from one side of his head to another.
- Day four of his life was spent in the emergency room because you literally dropped him on his head (to be fair, it hurt me way more than him).
- Crumbs on the floor are a legitimate form of nutrition.
- Dirt and rocks also count as food.
- 2 days in the same sleeper is the norm…(I’m an environmentalist trying to conserve water!)
- You’re grateful that the baby inherited his dad’s dark skin because you frequently forget to apply sunscreen.
- You’re relieved you forget to apply sunscreen because, although you bought the stuff, the Vitamin D remains unopened.
Yup. Preggars for a third time! Just when I thought I’d seen the last of dirty diapers, sleepless nights and a line-backer like body I up and got knocked up!
Okay, I must admit it. Being married to an Asian guy, and somewhat identifying with Kate in her sad attempts to maintain control when clearly control was nowhere to be found, I was more than a little bummed about Jon and Kate’s breakup. It was sad for the kids, yes. But more importantly, it left all those people who say “yeah, we’re dysfunctional, but isn’t everyone?” a little more uncertain. Continue reading
My God, it’s hard to believe it has been so long since I’ve posted. Having a second baby really threw me for a long, unexpected, exhausting loop! As if there weren’t enough excuses, I thought coming up with more might be helpful not just for me, but for new mom’s everywhere, looking for new ways to rationalize a lax attitude, so here goes. (forgive me, I’m a little rusty).
1) Between diapers and potty training there’s just literally too much shit to deal with in a day.
2) My 2 1/2 year old reconfigured the laptop and I couldn’t figure out how to unlock his parental controls.
3) I was too busy every day preparing every single recipe from the “Wok with Yan” cookbook and blogging about it.
4) I was too bummed by the fact that that Julia chick stole my idea, and got a movie deal out of it just because “Julie & Julia” is catchier than “Pam and Yan.”
5) I didn’t want to steal Brad and Angelina’s thunder re. the twins.
6) I was too busy reading the one (yes, count ’em) ONE book that I’ve been reading for the last YEAR. (It’s called the Birth House, and although a great book, am not able to read more than 2 pages without falling asleep).
7) Keeping up my 6-pack abs takes several hours at the gym every day and I’m too exhausted when I get home.
8) I was just too well-rested and didn’t want to ruin my uniterrupted sleep with a late-night blog.
9) Entering my babies in weekend pagents, sewing cowboy costumes for them and winning “Grand Supremes” takes up a lot of time!
10) My doctor cut me off riddlan.
It’s been a while since I’ve posted. And for good reason: we went from not even having cable to getting satellite. Which means hours previously spent surfing the web and writing once Noa’s asleep, have now been replaced with every home improvement show imaginable.
While You Were Out, Trading Spaces, Flip That House, Moving Up…the list goes on. What I’ve realized is that these shows kind of make me feel the way most women do after flipping through Glamour or People magazine: fat, unkempt and just, well, not put together.
Is my house fat?? I wish. But the stuff crammed in our little 1300 square foot semi makes sometimes leaves me feeling like someone who’s 200 pounds trying to squeeze into a size 2. We started out as minimalists, but then we went and had a baby. It was like suddenly POOF out of nowhere an eighteen wheeler packed with JUNK fell out of the sky and randomly landed in our house.
I know these shows are supposed to offer inspiration–I mean with a $1000, a can of paint, some cardboard tubing and a glue gun it seems like just about anyone can convert their den into an urban oasis. But when I watch them, I just feel kind of depressed. ‘Cause the reality is, no matter how much clutter I clear or how funky an idea I have the only way it would get done in the first place (and stay looking perfect) is to ship Noa (now 16 months old) off to toddler boot camp or a nursery school that takes baby boarders.
The only light, within this pit of home improvement self-hatred I find myself trapped in, is How Clean is Your House? For those of you who haven’t seen it, it’s about human sloth. More specifically, people who typically live in a fantastical blend of bacteria and shit. So much so, in fact, that the hosts are always marvelling at how the home owners have managed not to succumb to some deadly bacterial infection.
Now those people make me feel good!
So I’m in the library today with baby Noa, sifting through the mass of board books when I hear this woman (and I kid you not, this actually happened) say to her 2-year-old, “Monet, we have to go find Matisse and then go home.”
I thought I didn’t hear her right. I mean would someone actually torture their kids in this way? But then, clear as a bell, I heard her address her young children as Monet and Matisse. I wondered aloud to my sister-in-law what they would name a son–Pablo? Da Vinci? Personally, I’m going with Warhol- which I think would be a stellar first name any child would love to have (and would surely never get teased about). Is it any wonder that kids today are getting high on air from aerosole cans and cutting when there are people in this world bestowing names on their unsuspecting offspring like Monet and Matisse?
Truly some parents should be put away for their stupidity. How are these kids ever going to be anything but freaky goth kids strung out on crystal meth? I’m willing to bet several cans of Campbell’s soup on it.
Was watching ‘Little Mosque on the Prarie’ this evening after putting the baby down and spotted a couple of actors I worked with on a show. You see before I became a blogger extraordinaire and a communications ‘guru’ (I’m being ironic here folks), I studied and, upon graduation, temporarily worked in theatre (as an actor, director and stage manager). Needless to say, I got really tired of the poor life and being a brutal waitress, decided to get out.
But that little TV show got me thinking about the four years of training/studying I did and how I still use these skills in relation to motherhood:
- All those strange breathing/finding your inner voice exercises I did in acting class really came in handy during labour for those low primal grunts.
- I’m able to ‘feign’ excitement when Noa puts the puzzle piece in the box for the hundreth despite the fact that I’m actually sleeping with my eyes open.
- I do a mean puppet show.
- Endless improvisation exercises have allowed me to develop new lyrics to lullabyes including extensive revisions to ‘Hush little baby…’ Examples: “and if that diamond ring don’t shine, Papa’s gonna buy you a bottle of wine. And if that bottle of wine is sour, Mama’s gonna take you to happy hour. ”
- Animal impersonations are my middle name.
- I’m prepared to make a complete ass of myself for a couple of laughs from my ‘audience’ of one.
- The pay is crap.
- Just like with the Actor’s Equity Union, once you’ve joined the motherhood gang, like it or not, you’re in it for life.
- Not showering for several days is truly a form of artistic expression.
- Motherhood is a lot like being a stage manager: you’re there to make sure everyone’s needs are catered to, the set dishes are washed, floor mopped and that everything runs on schedule and NOBODY thanks you.
Sometimes it’s painfully obvious that when I make sweeping generalizations there is someone up there (woman, man, reincarnated spirit, mass of energy–whatever turns you on spiritually) just waiting to bite me in the ass.
Case in point: allergies.
God, if I had to hear about those damn allergies again. The Western World seems to have gone HYPERallergenic. I mean you’re now officially the Devil if you try and send your kid to school with a peanut butter and jam sandwich. “It’s so freakin’ ridiculous,” I recall ranting to a neighbour. “Just a complete overreaction by the schools to cover their ass liability-wise.” I was a total eye-roller on the issue and really believed it was mommy paranoia taken to the max.
That is, until Noa had a lick of a yogurt popsicle and in 60 seconds or less proceeded to blow up–looking as if he had gone ten rounds with Ali or Tyson. The little guy was impressive though: despite the fact that he resembled horror-flick Chuckie, he still managed to smile and laugh as I tickled his nose on the car ride to the Emergency Room. Ah yes, the big cheese in the sky was definitely sending a message loud and clear.
Now my perogative is a little different:
KEEP YOUR F*%CKING MILK, CHEESE AND YOGURT AWAY FROM MY SON OR I’LL HUNT YOU DOWN!
Ah yes, God works in not-so-mysterious ways…
Heard about the whole facebook and breastfeeding kafuffle http://www.thestar.com/article/255628and and have got to say–bravo to the uptight right! You’ve now made eating a sin! In the spirit of this wise and well-thought-out decision, I believe pictures of the following should also be banned:
1) All 50-something, overweight hairy European men wearing Speedo racers–I mean seriously, doesn’t this make every woman want to slather themselves in anti-bacterial gel?
2) Shots of Toronto’s CN Tower–it is after all, the world’s largest phallic symbol.
3) A woman sipping a $5 coffee from that famous American chain–otherwise known as the “mother’s milk” of a generation.
4) Ultimate fighting on YouTube: I know my husband’s addicted and the homo-eroticism of all those sweaty men rolling around is simply blasphemous.
5) Donuts coated in icing sugar–as children exposed to this kind of lurid food may, later in life develop a cocaine addiction.
6) Milk in general: I mean really, doesn’t it just take you back to that obscene breast of mama?
7) Hot, cheap designer shoes on eBay–which may cause women to orgasmically cry out, “oh yeah baby!”
8) Super baggy rap star pants belted low to reveal boxers–okay, I really believe these should be banned. Why? The part I find offensive is that this rapper “trend” has lasted at least 15 years. Boys, it’s time to move on to another ridiculous look please. Perhaps, walking around with one shoe or pairing these pants with a Speedo…
9) All retractable, domed stadiums–naturally, this conjures up images of the cervix dilating during that horrible, pornographic process known as childbirth.
10) Any photos or info regarding Britney Spears (okay, she’s one mama I actually hope is NOT still breastfeeding. Think of what that milk must contain…)
Okay, I’ve got to admit it: saying another baby is cute is like a Nike ad–you just do it. You HAVE to say the obligatory “what a cutie” and “how many months?” even if you think the baby looks like a Cabbage Patch Kid on acid. Truth be told, most of us are thinking “cute baby, but not as cute as my baby.” It’s nature’s way of making sure you don’t pitch the kid out the window when he has a complete and utter meltdown at 3am.
9 Other Lies:
2) “I don’t know why he’s crying when he’s usually so good.”
Read: the only time the baby shuts up is when he’s chomping down on a boob or in the bath.
3) “I’ll just have half a glass of wine since I’m breastfeeding”
Truth: okay, so maybe you end up drinking 8 half glasses–so what?
4) Yeah, my husband took the baby last night to give me a break.
Reality: I screeched at my man to “take the damn baby now or else I’m jumping out the bedroom window!”
5) I think the little guy is teething
Read: the neighbours called the police because they thought we were operating a poultry slaughterhouse out of our apartment.
6) Wow, he’s got a really unique cry.
Read: thank God my baby doesn’t sound like a chicken being slaughtered.
7) You know the pediatric society now recommends breastfeeding until at least 2 years old ?
Truth: you know if you stop breastfeeding, those french fries and chocolate cake you scarfed down at breakfast will go straight to your hips.
8) I religiously give my baby Vitamin D.
Fact: your baby is 10 months old and is still on the first 5ml bottle of the stuff.
9) “She just flung herself off of the bed!”
Truth: You were “resting your eyes” while your little gymnast decided to try out pillow vaulting as a new hobby.
10) “Our sex life has never been better.”
No explanation required.
- Having to explain that you didn’t spill a drink on your nipples.
- Being trashed on three drinks.
- Pumping in one of those scuzy bar bathrooms while listening to two tarted up chicks argue over who’s more wasted.
- Having to explain to the 22-year-old college kid why you can’t hit the all-night pizza-joint then make out.
- Staring at the guy at the bar while internally thinking “my son is going to be way cuter than that!”
Realizing your muffin-top jiggles while you dance.
- Answering the “what do you do?” chat up line with “I wipe up poop, pee, spittle and do an occaisional load of laundry.”
- Being completely trashed on three drinks.
- Trying to entertain a baby at 6am when you’re still buzzed from aforementioned three drinks.
- Having to explain to the next table that, no it’s not their “beer goggles,” your breasts really did double in size over the course of the evening.
- Your baby’s first foods are Twinkies and soda pop.
- Your boob alcohol level is beyond 0.5 % (hey man, beer helps you make more milk!).
- You believe that the idea of second hand smoke being harmful is just a conspiracy theory made up by those damn anti-smoking Nazis.
- You put your 6-month-old daughter in a “My mom’s a M.I.L.F.” onesie.
- You’ve appeared on Maury with your 150 lb baby.
- The baby refers to the cow on the Baby Einstein video as “Mama.”
- You own a copy of “Gangsta Rap Lullabies.”
- There are cigarette burns on your Baby Bjorn.
- You think ketchup is actually a baby food condiment.
- You often try to settle arguments by flashing your boobs, especially when appearing as a guest on Jerry Springer.
- “Cutting Back” to a caraffe of wine and a half pack of menthols during pregnancy.
- Putting rum on our gums when teething.
- Peanut butter and jam sandwiches.
- Riding our bikes unsupervised and helmet-free.
- Hanging out in the car while mom ran into the supermarket for groceries.
- Playing outside until dark (and sometimes even in the dark).
- Walking to school with your “older” eight-year-old neighbour.
- Goofing around in the back of the car without a child seat or a seat belt for that matter.
- Stepping outside without sunscreen.
- Walking to the corner store to pick up smokes for Dad.