I am trying to be better about blogging. What else is new? I'm always trying to be better about blogging. The thing is, I have 2 kids. One is 8 months old and one is almost 2 and a half. So I'm a busy lady. I spend the whole day trying to entertain them and keep them from crying, trying to make them eat vegetables and share their toys... and I always fail. Failing all the time. By the time I actually have time to sit and write something, I'm usually absolutely exhausted and I just want to sit on my ass, drink some wine and watch some awful reality television until I go to bed at like 8. I need 11 hours of sleep to feel half decent the next day. This is probably due to the stress of trying to be the world's best mother. Or, more realistically, Hamilton's best mother, which last I heard, I was in the running for.
I feel so guilty when my kids are being quiet and watching TV. In the morning for an hour or so is fine, but when it's a beautiful day and Carter is watching a movie contentedly, I am consumed by guilt. Look at me, sitting on my ass, letting my kid's brain turn to mush. What is wrong with me? He should know how to count to 100 by now. I should start teaching him that right now. Nah. Don't feel like it. Maybe I should try out one of those highfalutin activities for children that I saw on Pinterest.... Ugh, fuck it, he's happy doing this. I can be a bad mother today.
And so it goes.
But I do spend a lot of time being one-on-one with the kids. I am always trying to come up with fun and interesting ways to keep them busy. So this is what takes up the majority of my time, and wears me down to a nub by the time Mike gets home from work. Parenting does not come effortlessly to me. It takes everything I have, often in expense of my beloved hobbies. I haven't painted in God knows how long. It takes me weeks to read a book where it used to only take a day or two at most. And people are always asking when I am going to blog, and the truth is that sometimes I just have nothing left to give, even though my heart is yearning to write. I will have the time again someday.
Even though I am always questioning whether or not I am doing any of this properly, I have come to learn that the most important aspect of parenting is just quality time. What's the harm in watching a little bit of TV if that's what the kids feel like doing? As long as we're doing it together, that's what really counts. It isn't necessarily what you're doing, but how you're doing it. We don't watch TV quietly. We discuss things (as much as we can, seeing as Carter is a late-talker - another thing I torture myself about relentlessly). We talk about colours, numbers, what's going on, our favourite things, et cetera. And we very rarely spend the entire day in the house. We go out and about all the time. It completey drains me. Carter needs to be kept busy, and he needs to explore his world every day. So we chase the squirrels together, we play in water sprinklers, we take long walks, we play with friends, pick flowers, run errands, spend money. We do it every day, and we do it together. So maybe I'm not a terrible mother after all. Maybe I can relax a little.
We have a problem with mice. Mike and I were talking about it when Carter was in the room, and we thought (out loud, big mistake) that maybe it's time to get a cat. WELL. Carter just said KITTY all day long, over and over and over again. So last night we drove out to Ancaster and we got Carter a cat. We named him Milo. I probably would have been fine with just setting more traps and putting out more poison, but Carter was so giddy over the idea of getting a cat that you know I just had to get the boy a cat. Milo is 10 weeks old and I'm not sure how he's adjusting just yet. He hides in the kitchen a lot. Whenever he ventures out to the livingroom, Carter will pick him up and place him in strange places all over the house. Like inside the filing cabinet. Or in the high chair. Or he'll carry him around in a laundry basket, a big shit-eating grin on his face. It has been decided that even if Milo doesn't kill all of the mice, even if he doesn't kill a single one, seeing the glee all over Carter's face when Milo is nearby is worth it to me. And I hate cats. HA.
Wednesday, September 5, 2012
Thursday, August 30, 2012
For Owen.
Everything I never got to explain to you, all of the ways that I let you down, for neither of us ever getting to the real truth of things. I'm sorry for all of that. There is so much I want to say to you now, and I never will. Because you're gone, and you did this awful thing to yourself, so I shouldn't feel guilty about it. But I do. I feel horribly guilty. You expected me to make your life better, to save you. I broke your heart and made your life worse. I know how you felt about me, and I didn't return those feelings to you because I didn't want to share your life with you. I wanted you to change everything for me. I wasn't patient. When it became evident to me that you were going down and you would take me with you, I dropped you like a sack of wet potatoes instead of standing by you, the way Linda ended up doing. I'm glad that you found a real love like that. You deserved it. You deserved a woman who would stand by you and have your children.
But your children deserved more of you. And I'm sure you know that.
There is so much I wish I could say to you. The last time I saw you, I was driving past and you were on the street, yelling into your cell phone. Typical Owen. I said out loud, to Mike, "Well, at least he's not dead yet".
that was a couple of months ago.
And you're dead now.
And I am filled with feelings of regret and guilt because I know I should never have been involved with you to begin with. You were expecting too much out of me, I was 19 and very naive. Too immature to be in that relationship and too straight edge to ever be comfortable in your world. But I know you loved me. I know you thought I would save you. And I let you down. I'm sorry that I couldn't be what you needed me to be. I feel like had I stayed with you, you may have lived a longer life. Or maybe you wouldn't have. Maybe instead of Linda and her kids, it could have been me and mine. At that funeral. Sad and confused. Had I stayed with you, I never would have discovered the deep and meaningful partnership that I have with Mike. And I wouldn't have my beautiful boys, who fill my days with emotions ranging from absolute fury to pure giddy delight. This family is all I ever wanted. My dream came true. My dream that was born when I was with you. I'm sorry that you didn't end up being my prince charming. I know you tried your best. I did too, for a long time. But I am glad to be here, with these kids. I'm glad you found Linda and got to feel how wonderful being a parent can be. I'm just so sorry it all ended for you in such a tragic way. Your death did not befit the kind of man you really were. You had demons, yes, but you were magnificent when you were sober. You were funny, generous, kind, smart, patient, and loyal. How I wish you could have kept it all together. How I wish I could just have a conversation with you one last time.
But my heart breaks mostly because our children are around the same ages. And I can't imagine mine losing their father right now. I'm so sorry you don't get to see them grow up. They'll never know you. It's heartbreaking. This isn't my pain, I have to keep reminding myself. This is your family's pain now. And I left you because I never wanted it to be my pain. But I hurt all over anyway. I wish you could have just stopped. You had children, you should have just stopped what you were doing. You never had a better reason.
I guess there's nothing left to say. I'll keep you in my heart. But I have to let go of the guilt and remember that we both made choices that landed us where we are today. You are finally at peace now. And I'm still here, trying to raise my babies to be beautiful men.
I have loved you, and in some way I always will. But I am letting go of the guilt now.
Take care... I will always remember Owen the good guy. VIII
PS. Babycakes is fine, my mother thanks you.
But your children deserved more of you. And I'm sure you know that.
There is so much I wish I could say to you. The last time I saw you, I was driving past and you were on the street, yelling into your cell phone. Typical Owen. I said out loud, to Mike, "Well, at least he's not dead yet".
that was a couple of months ago.
And you're dead now.
And I am filled with feelings of regret and guilt because I know I should never have been involved with you to begin with. You were expecting too much out of me, I was 19 and very naive. Too immature to be in that relationship and too straight edge to ever be comfortable in your world. But I know you loved me. I know you thought I would save you. And I let you down. I'm sorry that I couldn't be what you needed me to be. I feel like had I stayed with you, you may have lived a longer life. Or maybe you wouldn't have. Maybe instead of Linda and her kids, it could have been me and mine. At that funeral. Sad and confused. Had I stayed with you, I never would have discovered the deep and meaningful partnership that I have with Mike. And I wouldn't have my beautiful boys, who fill my days with emotions ranging from absolute fury to pure giddy delight. This family is all I ever wanted. My dream came true. My dream that was born when I was with you. I'm sorry that you didn't end up being my prince charming. I know you tried your best. I did too, for a long time. But I am glad to be here, with these kids. I'm glad you found Linda and got to feel how wonderful being a parent can be. I'm just so sorry it all ended for you in such a tragic way. Your death did not befit the kind of man you really were. You had demons, yes, but you were magnificent when you were sober. You were funny, generous, kind, smart, patient, and loyal. How I wish you could have kept it all together. How I wish I could just have a conversation with you one last time.
But my heart breaks mostly because our children are around the same ages. And I can't imagine mine losing their father right now. I'm so sorry you don't get to see them grow up. They'll never know you. It's heartbreaking. This isn't my pain, I have to keep reminding myself. This is your family's pain now. And I left you because I never wanted it to be my pain. But I hurt all over anyway. I wish you could have just stopped. You had children, you should have just stopped what you were doing. You never had a better reason.
I guess there's nothing left to say. I'll keep you in my heart. But I have to let go of the guilt and remember that we both made choices that landed us where we are today. You are finally at peace now. And I'm still here, trying to raise my babies to be beautiful men.
I have loved you, and in some way I always will. But I am letting go of the guilt now.
Take care... I will always remember Owen the good guy. VIII
PS. Babycakes is fine, my mother thanks you.
Saturday, July 7, 2012
Oh, The Day I've Had
Bad day. Bad bad day.
It all started last night. I watched 20/20 and decided that I want my kids to be Buddhist-ish (that is to say, I want them to have Buddhist principles but not feel the need to label themselves with any religion unless they choose to). I was feeling pretty good about it because we already have a big happy Buddha at the top of the stairs. So I crossed that off my list of Buddhist-ish things I have to do before I start teaching my kids about compassion and kharma and reaching nirvana, and tucked myself in.
I couldn't sleep. I tossed and turned and I couldn't shut my mind off. I got up to look for some nyquil or anything else that might make me drowsy. Found some Gravol. Gravol didn't work. Then, I'm guessing this was around 2 in the morning or something ridiculous like that, I hear running down the hall. Pad pad pad pad pad, and I roll over and Carter is smiling right into my face. "Mum!" he says. Awesome. So now I have the little devil who has nightmares sleeping beside me, and on the other side I have a 200 pound beast who spends all night sawing logs. After Carter's foot ended up cutting off all blood supply to my brain at around 3 am, I moved into Carter's bed. But I still couldn't sleep. But I did figure out why Carter doesn't want to be in there. Mice. Just running around his bedroom. Awesome. At around 5 this morning, Mike gets up for work. So Iask him nicely if he can pick up 3 redbull for me before he heads off, which he does and which I love him for. I crawl back into our bed with Carter and snuggle in, but after about a 45 minute nap I am awakened by little Oliver. Again: awesome. So now we're up. The weather looks miserable. Carter takes this day to sleep in until 9:00, of course. I chug my first redbull and feel like how I imagine crackheads must feel after a bender on the pipe.
Yadda yadda yadda, some other stuff happens. And then I put Carter down or his nap, and I expect it's going well becuse it's quiet up there for a really long time. Buuuuuut then I hear a squeal of delight coming from my bedroom and - wouldn't you know it - the little goober is up there squirting BLACK PAINT all over my 800 thread count WHITE, EGYPTIAN COTTON BED SHEETS!
MRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAWWWWWWWWWW!!!!
But I'm pretty cool about it, all in all.
Carter. What did you just do?
Do!
Yes. What did you just do.
Doooooo!
Did you just paint mommy's bed?
nods.
Are you supposed to paint mommy and daddy's bed?
nods.
NO YOU'RE NOT MISTER! GET DOWNSTAIRS NOW!
nods. Squirts more paint.
MRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAWWWWWWWWWW!!!!
So I make him help me wash the sheets. He loves this. Go figure.
My sheets are ruined, by the way. My beautiful sheets.
Yadda yadda yadda, some other stuff happens. I make a delicious dinner, Carter doesn't eat it, yadda yadda yadda...
Tanya's computer has been here for a while now. So I'm just using it, doing my thing, checking facebook, and BAM! Carter has thrown one of his little people toys at the screen and it goes black. Except for one little area at the top left hand corner which you can clearly discern as the point of impact. Because it looks like shattered LCD screen. Greeeeeeeeeeeeat.
This is also the precise moment when Mke walks in and I start to cry, because we can't afford to buy a laptop to replace Tanya's, I haven't had any sleep, I can't go back to crappy sheets again after experiencing egyptian cotton, and we REALLY can't afford to buy a laptop but obviously we have to. So off we go. To Future Shop. Where we buy a laptop that we can't afford. It has a little thumbprint scanner, which is pretty cool, and it is really shiny and nice and new but if Carter breaks it, I swear to God and all that is holy I am going to put him up for adoption.
And it is on this nice new shiny laptop (for you, Tanya!) on which I write this post.
What a day.
I'm going to bed early tonight.
It all started last night. I watched 20/20 and decided that I want my kids to be Buddhist-ish (that is to say, I want them to have Buddhist principles but not feel the need to label themselves with any religion unless they choose to). I was feeling pretty good about it because we already have a big happy Buddha at the top of the stairs. So I crossed that off my list of Buddhist-ish things I have to do before I start teaching my kids about compassion and kharma and reaching nirvana, and tucked myself in.
I couldn't sleep. I tossed and turned and I couldn't shut my mind off. I got up to look for some nyquil or anything else that might make me drowsy. Found some Gravol. Gravol didn't work. Then, I'm guessing this was around 2 in the morning or something ridiculous like that, I hear running down the hall. Pad pad pad pad pad, and I roll over and Carter is smiling right into my face. "Mum!" he says. Awesome. So now I have the little devil who has nightmares sleeping beside me, and on the other side I have a 200 pound beast who spends all night sawing logs. After Carter's foot ended up cutting off all blood supply to my brain at around 3 am, I moved into Carter's bed. But I still couldn't sleep. But I did figure out why Carter doesn't want to be in there. Mice. Just running around his bedroom. Awesome. At around 5 this morning, Mike gets up for work. So Iask him nicely if he can pick up 3 redbull for me before he heads off, which he does and which I love him for. I crawl back into our bed with Carter and snuggle in, but after about a 45 minute nap I am awakened by little Oliver. Again: awesome. So now we're up. The weather looks miserable. Carter takes this day to sleep in until 9:00, of course. I chug my first redbull and feel like how I imagine crackheads must feel after a bender on the pipe.
Yadda yadda yadda, some other stuff happens. And then I put Carter down or his nap, and I expect it's going well becuse it's quiet up there for a really long time. Buuuuuut then I hear a squeal of delight coming from my bedroom and - wouldn't you know it - the little goober is up there squirting BLACK PAINT all over my 800 thread count WHITE, EGYPTIAN COTTON BED SHEETS!
MRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAWWWWWWWWWW!!!!
But I'm pretty cool about it, all in all.
Carter. What did you just do?
Do!
Yes. What did you just do.
Doooooo!
Did you just paint mommy's bed?
nods.
Are you supposed to paint mommy and daddy's bed?
nods.
NO YOU'RE NOT MISTER! GET DOWNSTAIRS NOW!
nods. Squirts more paint.
MRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAWWWWWWWWWW!!!!
So I make him help me wash the sheets. He loves this. Go figure.
My sheets are ruined, by the way. My beautiful sheets.
Yadda yadda yadda, some other stuff happens. I make a delicious dinner, Carter doesn't eat it, yadda yadda yadda...
Tanya's computer has been here for a while now. So I'm just using it, doing my thing, checking facebook, and BAM! Carter has thrown one of his little people toys at the screen and it goes black. Except for one little area at the top left hand corner which you can clearly discern as the point of impact. Because it looks like shattered LCD screen. Greeeeeeeeeeeeat.
This is also the precise moment when Mke walks in and I start to cry, because we can't afford to buy a laptop to replace Tanya's, I haven't had any sleep, I can't go back to crappy sheets again after experiencing egyptian cotton, and we REALLY can't afford to buy a laptop but obviously we have to. So off we go. To Future Shop. Where we buy a laptop that we can't afford. It has a little thumbprint scanner, which is pretty cool, and it is really shiny and nice and new but if Carter breaks it, I swear to God and all that is holy I am going to put him up for adoption.
And it is on this nice new shiny laptop (for you, Tanya!) on which I write this post.
What a day.
I'm going to bed early tonight.
Friday, June 22, 2012
Keeping Busy
Phew. Sorry I haven't been here in a few days. Maybe a bit longer. I know some of you look forward to my posts. (Hi mom!)
I wanted to share some of the awesome stuff we've been up to lately! First, an intro. Ahem:
So when I first had Carter, I was a little concerned about what kind of mom I would turn out to be. I would commonly joke about how unfortunate he was to have me for a mother. But in all seriousness, I was focusing on all of my shortcomings and thinking that there was no way I would be able to be everything he needed me to be.
I took to it all like a duck to water. I am very loving to my children, very snuggly, and although I don't have very much patience when it comes to Carter's incessant whining (and I'm telling you - he's relentless), I am always available for I-love-you's and creative playtime. Speaking of which..
Worrying about what a shitty mom I could possibly turn out to be, and knowing that I can't very well take the kids back to the stork because of any percieved inadequacies on my part and as is usually the best course of action: instead of worrying about everything that I cannot do, I quickly learned to capitalize on my strengths. I am pretty crafty, after all. AND because family members and friends are always asking me about the cool stuff I do with Carter, I decided I will start sharing my secrets with everyone via the blog...
So with the intense heat of the last couple of days, I have kept myself busy.
This is a little charm I made for Fathers Day for Mike and my Dad and I made a few extra for the special people in our lives. I picked up some Sculpey at Michaels and dug out a heart shaped cookie cutter from Carter's play doh accesories and made these sweet little thumb-print hearts. I bought the irredescent sparkly stuff and followed the directions on the label. Easy peasy! And everyone loves them.
This is great. I got this free printable from this place, and printed it out and put it in a dollar store frame and now Mike and I leave "I love you because" notes to each other every day. I feel like it's going to go a long way.
And on the right is the totally awesome piggy bank that carter made at Crock-A-Doodle in Dundas. If there was a fire in the house and I could only take one thing, this piggy bank would probably be it. IS IT NOT FANTASTIC? I highly recommend Crock-A-Doodle.
I made this for the boys and hung it on the wall in the stairwell across from their bedrooms.
I wanted to share some of the awesome stuff we've been up to lately! First, an intro. Ahem:
So when I first had Carter, I was a little concerned about what kind of mom I would turn out to be. I would commonly joke about how unfortunate he was to have me for a mother. But in all seriousness, I was focusing on all of my shortcomings and thinking that there was no way I would be able to be everything he needed me to be.
I took to it all like a duck to water. I am very loving to my children, very snuggly, and although I don't have very much patience when it comes to Carter's incessant whining (and I'm telling you - he's relentless), I am always available for I-love-you's and creative playtime. Speaking of which..
Worrying about what a shitty mom I could possibly turn out to be, and knowing that I can't very well take the kids back to the stork because of any percieved inadequacies on my part and as is usually the best course of action: instead of worrying about everything that I cannot do, I quickly learned to capitalize on my strengths. I am pretty crafty, after all. AND because family members and friends are always asking me about the cool stuff I do with Carter, I decided I will start sharing my secrets with everyone via the blog...
So with the intense heat of the last couple of days, I have kept myself busy.
This is a little charm I made for Fathers Day for Mike and my Dad and I made a few extra for the special people in our lives. I picked up some Sculpey at Michaels and dug out a heart shaped cookie cutter from Carter's play doh accesories and made these sweet little thumb-print hearts. I bought the irredescent sparkly stuff and followed the directions on the label. Easy peasy! And everyone loves them.
This is great. I got this free printable from this place, and printed it out and put it in a dollar store frame and now Mike and I leave "I love you because" notes to each other every day. I feel like it's going to go a long way.
And on the right is the totally awesome piggy bank that carter made at Crock-A-Doodle in Dundas. If there was a fire in the house and I could only take one thing, this piggy bank would probably be it. IS IT NOT FANTASTIC? I highly recommend Crock-A-Doodle.
I made this for the boys and hung it on the wall in the stairwell across from their bedrooms.
Carter doesn't look impressed in this photo but that is probably because I'm taking pictures of him in the bath, in all fairness. He's not stupid and he likes his privacy. Totally understandable, but he's all over the internet anyway. At least I didn't put your tallywacker in the picture, kid.
So this is bathtub paint! A HUGE HIT!
Just mix together a bunch of baby soap, quite a bit of corn starch and some food colouring. I just kind of mixed it all together so I don't have exact measurements, but you can play with it until you get it right.
Aaaaand that's all I have for now, but we are always doing something awesome and I will definitely share more things with you shortly.
Tuesday, June 12, 2012
Terrible Twos.
Terrible Two's is an understatement.
It should be called the apocolyptic two's.
Or the absolute-edge-of-sanity-two's
Or the one-more-day-like-this-and-I'm-going-to-shoot-myself-in-the-face-two's.
You catch my drift.
It's amazing how sweet and kind and bright little Carter is. Sometimes I look at the two of us together and I have myself convinced that I am doing a great job; I am the best mom in the world. Eat your heart out. Sometimes I see him holding hands with Mike, walking through the parking lot into the grocery store and my heart just swells with pride and love.
Sometimes.
Other times, I have days like today. The whining and nagging and screaming starts at 8 in the morning and does not relent until 8 at night. No matter what I do. I make every effort in the world to please my son. Oftentimes, I go overboard and make life far too easy for him, sometimes I know I don't discipline him, sometimes I give him treats even though he's being a total brat just to shut him up. But I also know that I am a cool mom and I am always trying something new to keep him entertained and engaged, and I always try to incorporate education into all of our activities. I am not perfect, not by a long shot. And on days like today, that is never more evident.
I took the short man and the baby (baby strapped to my chest, 2 year old holding my hand) to the grocery store up the street to get tomatoes and onions. I've done this on good days and everything's gone fine. Great, even. But today was bad. He insisted that we take his lightning mcqueen car, and then he insisted on pushing it on the sidewalk alllllllll the way to the grocery store. Fine, whatever. I guess. Oliver is teething so he's not being an angel either, but whatever, he's pushing the car, everything's fine. We eventually get there. Carter is grabbing all kinds of fruit and yum yum's, as he calls every sugary thing he can find, and just dropping random shit all aver the grocery store. I pick some things up, but having 20 pounds strapped to your chest and a 2-year old who won't hold your hand is severely limiting when you never excercise and you smoke cigarettes, so some things just stay on the ground. And some tomatoes end up beside the baby food. What? I'm not super-woman. I'm just trying to get through a grocery trip sp I can make my hard-working husband some dinner for a change.
Eventually, I wrangle the three of us to the express lane; all the while wondering what happened to the sweet little baby that I gave life to in March 2010. Then, as Carter spots the Kinder eggs, I realize that that sweet little baby is gone. My 2 year old terror is now asserting his own independence in a world that just doesn't agree with him. But, remembering that we handicap our children when we make life easy for them, I choose the tantrum over giving in. What a scene.
Dirty looks from every direction. 3 people ahead of me in line while I just pray that not every last one of them is paying with debit (which they are) while Carter throws himself on the floor kicking and screaming and embarrassing me. Sticking to my guns. No matter what. He runs, I run, baby starts crying because he has smacked his head into my bonier-than-normal collarbones as I pick up Carter and now have to carry over 50 pounds, plus a full grocery bag 6 blocks home.
Yippee.
Carter is freaking out the entire way home and when we get there, I remember my mother's tried and true method and I carry that little bugger all the way upstairs and into his bed. And I say to him you get all of your crying out, and when you're nice and calm you come out of your room and give mommy a kiss, okay?
Well it wasn't 40 seconds later whan he emerges from his room, red and bleary-eyed and looking for some kisses. Nice and calm.
For about 10 minutes.
It should be called the apocolyptic two's.
Or the absolute-edge-of-sanity-two's
Or the one-more-day-like-this-and-I'm-going-to-shoot-myself-in-the-face-two's.
You catch my drift.
It's amazing how sweet and kind and bright little Carter is. Sometimes I look at the two of us together and I have myself convinced that I am doing a great job; I am the best mom in the world. Eat your heart out. Sometimes I see him holding hands with Mike, walking through the parking lot into the grocery store and my heart just swells with pride and love.
Sometimes.
Other times, I have days like today. The whining and nagging and screaming starts at 8 in the morning and does not relent until 8 at night. No matter what I do. I make every effort in the world to please my son. Oftentimes, I go overboard and make life far too easy for him, sometimes I know I don't discipline him, sometimes I give him treats even though he's being a total brat just to shut him up. But I also know that I am a cool mom and I am always trying something new to keep him entertained and engaged, and I always try to incorporate education into all of our activities. I am not perfect, not by a long shot. And on days like today, that is never more evident.
I took the short man and the baby (baby strapped to my chest, 2 year old holding my hand) to the grocery store up the street to get tomatoes and onions. I've done this on good days and everything's gone fine. Great, even. But today was bad. He insisted that we take his lightning mcqueen car, and then he insisted on pushing it on the sidewalk alllllllll the way to the grocery store. Fine, whatever. I guess. Oliver is teething so he's not being an angel either, but whatever, he's pushing the car, everything's fine. We eventually get there. Carter is grabbing all kinds of fruit and yum yum's, as he calls every sugary thing he can find, and just dropping random shit all aver the grocery store. I pick some things up, but having 20 pounds strapped to your chest and a 2-year old who won't hold your hand is severely limiting when you never excercise and you smoke cigarettes, so some things just stay on the ground. And some tomatoes end up beside the baby food. What? I'm not super-woman. I'm just trying to get through a grocery trip sp I can make my hard-working husband some dinner for a change.
Eventually, I wrangle the three of us to the express lane; all the while wondering what happened to the sweet little baby that I gave life to in March 2010. Then, as Carter spots the Kinder eggs, I realize that that sweet little baby is gone. My 2 year old terror is now asserting his own independence in a world that just doesn't agree with him. But, remembering that we handicap our children when we make life easy for them, I choose the tantrum over giving in. What a scene.
Dirty looks from every direction. 3 people ahead of me in line while I just pray that not every last one of them is paying with debit (which they are) while Carter throws himself on the floor kicking and screaming and embarrassing me. Sticking to my guns. No matter what. He runs, I run, baby starts crying because he has smacked his head into my bonier-than-normal collarbones as I pick up Carter and now have to carry over 50 pounds, plus a full grocery bag 6 blocks home.
Yippee.
Carter is freaking out the entire way home and when we get there, I remember my mother's tried and true method and I carry that little bugger all the way upstairs and into his bed. And I say to him you get all of your crying out, and when you're nice and calm you come out of your room and give mommy a kiss, okay?
Well it wasn't 40 seconds later whan he emerges from his room, red and bleary-eyed and looking for some kisses. Nice and calm.
For about 10 minutes.
Thursday, June 7, 2012
The Time The Dresser Fell On Carter
This morning was a morning like any other morning. I woke up, dreading what lie ahead of me for the day. The whining. The refusing to eat. The long walk to the park. More whining. Long walk home from the park. More refusing to eat. Begging for freezies. Begging to help me with the laundry. Throwing shit. Drawing on shit. Carter being Carter. No day is ever easy, but I weather the storms like any other stay-at-home mother. AND - say what you will, it is MUCH harder to be a stay-at-home mother than it is to be a mother who has a day job. I just had to get that off my chest.
So actually, all in all, the morning was going well. Oliver was happy (Oliver is always happy) and Carter wasn't whining too much, and I was thinking about packing a picnic and heading to Gage Park with the kids and the dog. I decided to mull it over in the shower. I put Ollie in his crib to watch his Ocean Wonders aquarium, and Carter just had the run of the house as usual. Cars was on. So I have myself a shower. I'm conditioning my hair and singing Psycho Killer, and then I hear screaming. Not regular run-of-the-mill-Carter-being-a- shithead kind of screaming, but painful screaming. I take a second to process the fact that I'm really wet and naked and I have no idea what's going on or where it's happening, and I just poke my head out and I notice that Oliver's dresser is... not upright.
I make a mad dash. I am totally naked. Carter is wedged between Ollive's crib and dresser, and the weight of the dresser is pretty well just resting against his forehead. I'm being calm. I am aware that when you make a big deal out of these things, it tends to scare kids and make things a million times worse for them. So I'm the hero. I lift the dresser with one hand and scoop out my baby with the other. I check him over for any serious damage. He has a mark across his temple and his eye, it might turn into a black eye. But he seems okay.
I, however, am not okay.
I call everyone whose number I know by heart. My baby just got crushed by a piece of furniture and I have to get him to the hospital! Horrible things are running through my head! Concussions! Internal bleeding! Aneurisms! Ebola! You name it - and no one answers the phone. I have no money for a cab and now I'm just angry because I know that certain people I've called are deliberately ignoring my call. So I turn to facebook and make a big, embarrassing, F-bome-ridden status update that I later deleted pleading for help. Everything is fine at this point - Carter is eating a freezie and just being a little sooky because his new jungle gym fell on him. Shit happens. He's being a champ about it.
But you know what happened? My not-as-close-as-we-should-be friend Katrina called me and offered to drive us to emerge, and just check on us to see if everything's okay. And that meant a lot to me. And even though I'm not extending my deepest gratitude in a traditional way, I am broadcasting it on my blog and I'm sure she'll read this and know that it meant the world. I am going to make myself a good friend to her - even if she doesn't want me to.
And throughout the day, an outpouring of concern and similar "bad mother" stories flooded my facebook inbox, from some rather surprising sources. And I learned a couple of valuable lessons today.
1. Dressers should be anchored.
2. Some family members may not answer the phone because they have a headache, or because they have the flu for the tenth time this week, or because they're scared you want to bring your busy, loud little boy over to interrupt their TV show (I'm not talking about my parents, who are wonderful grandparents who happen to be in another province today)
3. Freezies are a magic cure-all.
4. Support can come from unexpected places and...
5. It's time to be a better friend.
OH! And also,
6. It may be better to shower before bed rather than in the mroning, because all the bad shit goes down as soon as I turn my back for 5 seconds. Of course.
Thanks, guys.
So actually, all in all, the morning was going well. Oliver was happy (Oliver is always happy) and Carter wasn't whining too much, and I was thinking about packing a picnic and heading to Gage Park with the kids and the dog. I decided to mull it over in the shower. I put Ollie in his crib to watch his Ocean Wonders aquarium, and Carter just had the run of the house as usual. Cars was on. So I have myself a shower. I'm conditioning my hair and singing Psycho Killer, and then I hear screaming. Not regular run-of-the-mill-Carter-being-a- shithead kind of screaming, but painful screaming. I take a second to process the fact that I'm really wet and naked and I have no idea what's going on or where it's happening, and I just poke my head out and I notice that Oliver's dresser is... not upright.
I make a mad dash. I am totally naked. Carter is wedged between Ollive's crib and dresser, and the weight of the dresser is pretty well just resting against his forehead. I'm being calm. I am aware that when you make a big deal out of these things, it tends to scare kids and make things a million times worse for them. So I'm the hero. I lift the dresser with one hand and scoop out my baby with the other. I check him over for any serious damage. He has a mark across his temple and his eye, it might turn into a black eye. But he seems okay.
I, however, am not okay.
I call everyone whose number I know by heart. My baby just got crushed by a piece of furniture and I have to get him to the hospital! Horrible things are running through my head! Concussions! Internal bleeding! Aneurisms! Ebola! You name it - and no one answers the phone. I have no money for a cab and now I'm just angry because I know that certain people I've called are deliberately ignoring my call. So I turn to facebook and make a big, embarrassing, F-bome-ridden status update that I later deleted pleading for help. Everything is fine at this point - Carter is eating a freezie and just being a little sooky because his new jungle gym fell on him. Shit happens. He's being a champ about it.
But you know what happened? My not-as-close-as-we-should-be friend Katrina called me and offered to drive us to emerge, and just check on us to see if everything's okay. And that meant a lot to me. And even though I'm not extending my deepest gratitude in a traditional way, I am broadcasting it on my blog and I'm sure she'll read this and know that it meant the world. I am going to make myself a good friend to her - even if she doesn't want me to.
And throughout the day, an outpouring of concern and similar "bad mother" stories flooded my facebook inbox, from some rather surprising sources. And I learned a couple of valuable lessons today.
1. Dressers should be anchored.
2. Some family members may not answer the phone because they have a headache, or because they have the flu for the tenth time this week, or because they're scared you want to bring your busy, loud little boy over to interrupt their TV show (I'm not talking about my parents, who are wonderful grandparents who happen to be in another province today)
3. Freezies are a magic cure-all.
4. Support can come from unexpected places and...
5. It's time to be a better friend.
OH! And also,
6. It may be better to shower before bed rather than in the mroning, because all the bad shit goes down as soon as I turn my back for 5 seconds. Of course.
Thanks, guys.
Sunday, June 3, 2012
mumbo jumbo
Who's the littlest little booboos? You're the booboos! You da booboos! Whatcha doodins, booboos? I wuv my wittle booboos, yes I do! Yes I do! Yes I do, yes I do!
I am disgusted with myself.
Years before having children, I never would have thought that I would be such an awful offender in all things baby talk. Actually, a lot has happened to me since having children that I really can't believe, but the baby talk is at the top of the list.
And I sound just like that blurb in italics. Say it in your stupidest baby talk voice, and times it by like, a jillion, and that's how pitiful and disgusting I sound when I do this, all. day. long.
And I can't believe I'm still doing this! My 2 year old barely says a word and I'm all like, what's going on, why doesn't he talk? wha wha wha
Well. I wonder what happened. Maybe he isn't talking yet because I am setting such a terrible example of communication for him all the time. Why hasn't this occurred to me before?! I shame myself. Also, I really want a cinnamon bun and Mike came home without cinnamon buns. He should know better. And I also told him to bring home nail polish remover. Another fail.
Aaaaaaaaaaanyways, I keep catching myself resorting to this baby talk and I stop myself. I am going to talk to my kids like they are people, and not baby unicorns made out of cotton candy, from now on. I've made up my mind. This ends here.
Matt Logelin talks to his daughter like she is a grown up. I think he even says fuck around her constantly, and his kid is, like, the coolest kid in the world. You should read his blog. I'm a big fan, except I hate the way he writes.
he writes
his blogs in
this kind of way
and it makes
you scroll
too much, and it's annoying
and I kind of want to
kill him for that,
but his blog is awesome.
He will probably read this someday and think I'm an asshole for that. Oh well.
So we had a very boring day today. When I don't do something special with the kids, it feels like I failed the day. I know Mike doesn't feel this way at all. But I like to do fun things with the kids, and make beautiful memories for them whenever possible. so today was a failure day. But tomorrow will be better. Today would have been pretty good if Mike brought home the cinnamon buns... but he let me down on that one.
I am disgusted with myself.
Years before having children, I never would have thought that I would be such an awful offender in all things baby talk. Actually, a lot has happened to me since having children that I really can't believe, but the baby talk is at the top of the list.
And I sound just like that blurb in italics. Say it in your stupidest baby talk voice, and times it by like, a jillion, and that's how pitiful and disgusting I sound when I do this, all. day. long.
And I can't believe I'm still doing this! My 2 year old barely says a word and I'm all like, what's going on, why doesn't he talk? wha wha wha
Well. I wonder what happened. Maybe he isn't talking yet because I am setting such a terrible example of communication for him all the time. Why hasn't this occurred to me before?! I shame myself. Also, I really want a cinnamon bun and Mike came home without cinnamon buns. He should know better. And I also told him to bring home nail polish remover. Another fail.
Aaaaaaaaaaanyways, I keep catching myself resorting to this baby talk and I stop myself. I am going to talk to my kids like they are people, and not baby unicorns made out of cotton candy, from now on. I've made up my mind. This ends here.
Matt Logelin talks to his daughter like she is a grown up. I think he even says fuck around her constantly, and his kid is, like, the coolest kid in the world. You should read his blog. I'm a big fan, except I hate the way he writes.
he writes
his blogs in
this kind of way
and it makes
you scroll
too much, and it's annoying
and I kind of want to
kill him for that,
but his blog is awesome.
He will probably read this someday and think I'm an asshole for that. Oh well.
So we had a very boring day today. When I don't do something special with the kids, it feels like I failed the day. I know Mike doesn't feel this way at all. But I like to do fun things with the kids, and make beautiful memories for them whenever possible. so today was a failure day. But tomorrow will be better. Today would have been pretty good if Mike brought home the cinnamon buns... but he let me down on that one.
Tuesday, May 29, 2012
being myself.
Some people have a really hard time opening up and being themselves.
I have the opposite problem. I have a hard time being anything but myself.
And I always admire people who can keep their opinions to themselves, not fly off the handle in the face of percieved injustice, hold their liqur, the list goes on.
I have run into a lot of mothers in this world who feel the need to put on this mask of perfect harmony, as if their kids are perfect and they love every minute of being a parent, and that's what they show to the whole world. Well, take it from me: those women are full of shit.
I have a big problem with these women, because being a mother is hard. They will tell you the same thing; it's the hardest job there is. But they will say it with a big smile on their faces and add something like but it's the most beautiful thing I could have done with my life!
Well fine. Fair enough. It is beautiful when your little baby smiles for the first time, the first time they hug you back, when they're so attached to you that they don't want you to leave their sight. These are all just afew tiny rewards of being a parent. And they do make it all worth it. But why can't we talk about the shitty parts of being a mother? Why can't we unite in solidarity and just shout it out loud: SOMETIMES I FEEL LIKE STICKING MY HEAD IN THE OVEN!!!
Just sometimes. I mean, why can't we just admit it?
Why can't we be a little more honest about it?
By pretending that everything is hunky dory all the time, how are mothers who are struggling with parenthood expected to feel? Like failures, because they are not measuring up to this bullshit, nonexistent standard that they can never hope to reach? Ew!
I love being a mom. But I also love being myself. And here are a few facts about myself:
I am usually the loudest person in the room.
I'm not shy.
Sometimes I say things that are really inappropriate, like jokes about dumpster babies.
I also make a lot of jokes about drnking.
I drink a lot of wine to unwind after a rough stay-at-home mommy kind-of-day.
If I don't like someone, it's obvious and it makes me look like a real asshole.
Sometimes I wish I had more time to do the things that make me feel like myself again. Things that I never get to do anymore. Write, paint, listen to Leonard Cohen and highlight my favourite stanzas in poetry anthology books.
Sometimes I feel a teeny bit resentful because I never lived my dreams.
But these things never stop me from going into the boys' rooms when they're sleeping peacefully in the middle of the night and shedding a tear because my heart is just overflowing with pure love for these little guys and the carnal instinct to keep them safe and happy no matter what.
Admitting that motherhood can be a real pain-in-the-ass, thankless job that sometimes downright blows does not make us bad mothers. If anything, it makes us better. It allows us to look inside of ourselves and be honest and always strive to wake up and be a little bit better than we were yesterday. We can support each other.
If you ever have a rotten day with your kids, you can always talk to me about it. I won't think you're a monster. I'll think I found a kindred spirit. And I need more of those.
I have the opposite problem. I have a hard time being anything but myself.
And I always admire people who can keep their opinions to themselves, not fly off the handle in the face of percieved injustice, hold their liqur, the list goes on.
I have run into a lot of mothers in this world who feel the need to put on this mask of perfect harmony, as if their kids are perfect and they love every minute of being a parent, and that's what they show to the whole world. Well, take it from me: those women are full of shit.
I have a big problem with these women, because being a mother is hard. They will tell you the same thing; it's the hardest job there is. But they will say it with a big smile on their faces and add something like but it's the most beautiful thing I could have done with my life!
Well fine. Fair enough. It is beautiful when your little baby smiles for the first time, the first time they hug you back, when they're so attached to you that they don't want you to leave their sight. These are all just afew tiny rewards of being a parent. And they do make it all worth it. But why can't we talk about the shitty parts of being a mother? Why can't we unite in solidarity and just shout it out loud: SOMETIMES I FEEL LIKE STICKING MY HEAD IN THE OVEN!!!
Just sometimes. I mean, why can't we just admit it?
Why can't we be a little more honest about it?
By pretending that everything is hunky dory all the time, how are mothers who are struggling with parenthood expected to feel? Like failures, because they are not measuring up to this bullshit, nonexistent standard that they can never hope to reach? Ew!
I love being a mom. But I also love being myself. And here are a few facts about myself:
I am usually the loudest person in the room.
I'm not shy.
Sometimes I say things that are really inappropriate, like jokes about dumpster babies.
I also make a lot of jokes about drnking.
I drink a lot of wine to unwind after a rough stay-at-home mommy kind-of-day.
If I don't like someone, it's obvious and it makes me look like a real asshole.
Sometimes I wish I had more time to do the things that make me feel like myself again. Things that I never get to do anymore. Write, paint, listen to Leonard Cohen and highlight my favourite stanzas in poetry anthology books.
Sometimes I feel a teeny bit resentful because I never lived my dreams.
But these things never stop me from going into the boys' rooms when they're sleeping peacefully in the middle of the night and shedding a tear because my heart is just overflowing with pure love for these little guys and the carnal instinct to keep them safe and happy no matter what.
Admitting that motherhood can be a real pain-in-the-ass, thankless job that sometimes downright blows does not make us bad mothers. If anything, it makes us better. It allows us to look inside of ourselves and be honest and always strive to wake up and be a little bit better than we were yesterday. We can support each other.
If you ever have a rotten day with your kids, you can always talk to me about it. I won't think you're a monster. I'll think I found a kindred spirit. And I need more of those.
Saturday, May 26, 2012
Has It Been So Long?!
I shame myself.
It has been SO LONG since I have written ANYTHING that I am filled with anxiety just typing this.
But I owe you an explanation.
Motherhood has been stressful. I don't know if I'm handling it well. Actually, I'm pretty sure I'm a great mother, but it wears on me. It leaves little time to do much for myself. But as any parent (or non-parent, as it were) will tell you, everyone needs me time. So I have decided to revive This Young Mum and continue to share my adventures with the internet world! I used to have regular readers in Africa. I wonder what those 2 are up to these days...
Anyway. Yeah. Stressful. It's not like I haven't thought about you. I do it all the time. I always want to write. But I am so busy with play dates and watching Toy Story (1, 2 and 3, respectively) all day, every day, that I haven't been able to devote the time to you that you deserve. Between all the runny noses and shitty diapers, it's a wonder I still manage to look as fantastic as I think I do every day, lt alone sit here in the cafe by myself and write this. Yes, I am at a cafe (it has a bar in it, yeah, shut up) and yes, I am alone. Snoff all you will.
...
So it's a little later on now and I am waiting for my indian meal at the restaurant downstairs from the baltimore house (where I was)
Now I can't focus on anything besides eating, so I have to go. But I will be back. I missed being "a blogger" and thus, you will hear from me again soon. I missed you everyone. I will enjoy my me-time once more.
It has been SO LONG since I have written ANYTHING that I am filled with anxiety just typing this.
But I owe you an explanation.
Motherhood has been stressful. I don't know if I'm handling it well. Actually, I'm pretty sure I'm a great mother, but it wears on me. It leaves little time to do much for myself. But as any parent (or non-parent, as it were) will tell you, everyone needs me time. So I have decided to revive This Young Mum and continue to share my adventures with the internet world! I used to have regular readers in Africa. I wonder what those 2 are up to these days...
Anyway. Yeah. Stressful. It's not like I haven't thought about you. I do it all the time. I always want to write. But I am so busy with play dates and watching Toy Story (1, 2 and 3, respectively) all day, every day, that I haven't been able to devote the time to you that you deserve. Between all the runny noses and shitty diapers, it's a wonder I still manage to look as fantastic as I think I do every day, lt alone sit here in the cafe by myself and write this. Yes, I am at a cafe (it has a bar in it, yeah, shut up) and yes, I am alone. Snoff all you will.
...
So it's a little later on now and I am waiting for my indian meal at the restaurant downstairs from the baltimore house (where I was)
Now I can't focus on anything besides eating, so I have to go. But I will be back. I missed being "a blogger" and thus, you will hear from me again soon. I missed you everyone. I will enjoy my me-time once more.
Monday, July 25, 2011
If your kid is anything like my kid, than your kid will eat anything as long as it's on a stick.
Cake pops are fantastic.
They're cute, they're tasty, but they're usually a total pain in the ass to make.
But Aubrey and Lindsay have come up with a 5-minute cake pops recipe that even the laziest momma will be excited to make!
Ch-ch-ch-ch-check it out!
Thursday, May 12, 2011
o_0
Wow. Today isn't very awesome.
I must be going through something. I just feel sickly. Like a terminally ill patient. I'm hungry but I don't want to eat anything. The baby is driving me up the wall. He's bored and nothing I seem to come up with is entertaining him in the least. We went out. Went for a walk to Tim Hortons in his special car. We sat and shared some soup and I let him have a timbit. He's had one short nap... and when he started waking up I felt like jumping off a building.
He just wants to get into everything now. Everything. He climbs up on all the furniture constantly and there's just nothing I can do about it! I keep moving him and saying no, putting him somewhere else with a toy or something but he does it again. and again. and again.
I'm lonely at home today by myself too.
I got this great book yesterday that I can't even start reading because I can't take my eye of this kid. He just climbs on everything. What are you supposed to do with that? And of course I never blog anymore so I have to do that... so while I have him temporarily occupied I'm doing this instead of reading my fantastic-sounding new book.
I should be cherishing my time with Carter that I have left before I have to leave him for a week... but right now I just wish he would fall asleep for 3 or 4 hours. Or go to a friend's house and bother the shit out of some other kid's mom for a while (someday!!!).
Well. He's crying again.
Have I mentioned he doesn't eat anything anymore?! And when he does it - God, he's picky.
So I've also had it up to here with making 3 different meals for him 6 times every day.
In the end he will always eat cold cuts and cheese. So.
My heart is beating really hard and really fast and I feel like screaming at somebody but nobody has done anything wrong. Maybe when Mike comes home he will leave something out of the fridge and I can get my anger out by screaming about botulism or something.
I'm doing the very best I can with my life and I just feel like I'm failing everything.
Fucking bi-polar.
Some days and other days. If only I could put it into words.
I'm going to go eat this orange and spend the rest of the day trying to figure out how to appease my baby and how to avoid hearing anybody speak, until I can finally curl up in bed and start this whole circus over again tomorrow morning.
I need this vacation. Badly.
I must be going through something. I just feel sickly. Like a terminally ill patient. I'm hungry but I don't want to eat anything. The baby is driving me up the wall. He's bored and nothing I seem to come up with is entertaining him in the least. We went out. Went for a walk to Tim Hortons in his special car. We sat and shared some soup and I let him have a timbit. He's had one short nap... and when he started waking up I felt like jumping off a building.
He just wants to get into everything now. Everything. He climbs up on all the furniture constantly and there's just nothing I can do about it! I keep moving him and saying no, putting him somewhere else with a toy or something but he does it again. and again. and again.
I'm lonely at home today by myself too.
I got this great book yesterday that I can't even start reading because I can't take my eye of this kid. He just climbs on everything. What are you supposed to do with that? And of course I never blog anymore so I have to do that... so while I have him temporarily occupied I'm doing this instead of reading my fantastic-sounding new book.
I should be cherishing my time with Carter that I have left before I have to leave him for a week... but right now I just wish he would fall asleep for 3 or 4 hours. Or go to a friend's house and bother the shit out of some other kid's mom for a while (someday!!!).
Well. He's crying again.
Have I mentioned he doesn't eat anything anymore?! And when he does it - God, he's picky.
So I've also had it up to here with making 3 different meals for him 6 times every day.
In the end he will always eat cold cuts and cheese. So.
My heart is beating really hard and really fast and I feel like screaming at somebody but nobody has done anything wrong. Maybe when Mike comes home he will leave something out of the fridge and I can get my anger out by screaming about botulism or something.
I'm doing the very best I can with my life and I just feel like I'm failing everything.
Fucking bi-polar.
Some days and other days. If only I could put it into words.
I'm going to go eat this orange and spend the rest of the day trying to figure out how to appease my baby and how to avoid hearing anybody speak, until I can finally curl up in bed and start this whole circus over again tomorrow morning.
I need this vacation. Badly.
will do.
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
A Short Short Post
Well.
Today my psychiatrist dumped me.
I guess that's a good thing, though? I don't know.
I just know that I don't like being dumped.
I haven't had a whole lot to say lately. Inspiration tends to strike in the middle of the night, when there is no way in hell I'm going to sit in front of the laptop and write anything. In the morning, it's always gone. I need to start getting up in the middle of the night and writing, before all of my readers abandon me for another blogger and feeds them regularly.
If you haven't found a way to see Oprah's Master Class, the 2-parter on herself is the most incredibly inspiring thing I have ever watched, ever, and I highly recommend you tune to OWN (her network) and find it, watch it, record it, keep it forever, and watch it some more.
Anyway, here's a little clip I found on youtube:
And if for some reason you want to make fun of me because I worship Oprah, get the fuck out.
Anyway. I will try to write something lengthy and witty as soon as I can.
Today my psychiatrist dumped me.
I guess that's a good thing, though? I don't know.
I just know that I don't like being dumped.
I haven't had a whole lot to say lately. Inspiration tends to strike in the middle of the night, when there is no way in hell I'm going to sit in front of the laptop and write anything. In the morning, it's always gone. I need to start getting up in the middle of the night and writing, before all of my readers abandon me for another blogger and feeds them regularly.
If you haven't found a way to see Oprah's Master Class, the 2-parter on herself is the most incredibly inspiring thing I have ever watched, ever, and I highly recommend you tune to OWN (her network) and find it, watch it, record it, keep it forever, and watch it some more.
Anyway, here's a little clip I found on youtube:
And if for some reason you want to make fun of me because I worship Oprah, get the fuck out.
Anyway. I will try to write something lengthy and witty as soon as I can.
Thursday, May 5, 2011
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
So I Cut My Finger Yesterday.
I never cut my fingers when I'm cooking...
Partly because I never cook.
But I do sometimes. I make sandwiches and stuff all the time.
And I never cut my fingers.
So yesterday I was supposed to make a roast beef for Mike. He really wanted a roast beef. He hardly ever requests meals of me. I knew I didn't want to do it, but I was going to.
The reason I don't like making roast beef is because you have to make mashed potatoes with roast beef. Making mashed potatoes is a pain in the ass. Everyone else I know can peel potatoes with a knife. But I'm too afraid of cutting myself (which now seems ironic) and I just can't do it that way.
They make these wonderful products now and you can get them in any grocery store. 100% real potatoes, all mashed up for you and shrink wrapped and ready to go, even with garlic! And they're a little extra money but convenience is worth the extra money, I always say. We saw them in the grocery store yesterday, but I had already found Jam Jams and so that was my special treat. I would have to mash the potatoes the old fashioned way. Just like the Mennonites.
So I sat in front of Dr. Phil (Mike had gone to his dad's for something, Carter was taking his nap) with a roasting pan full of potatoes and my trusty peeler. I was just peeling away and - out of nowhere - SLICE!
I don't know how I got to the other side of the basement so fast, but I did. And I wrapped a dishtowel around my wound without even looking at it. I looked at the potatoes and there was blood all over them. And I felt it - I knew it was a pretty serious cut.
I called Mike immediately. I started crying, saying it really hurt, there's blood on the potatoes, come home fast because I CAN'T EVEN LOOK AT IT!!!
I even called my mom, who is in New Brunswick and can't do shit. Eventually, Mike came home and I still hadn't dared to look at the dishtowel, let alone what was inside the dishtowel.
All the drama that followed, just because of a cut on my finger, is actually quite shameless and hilarious, thinking back.
Mike is the guy everyone needs around during a crisis. He came home laughing hysterically at me because the way I was bawling, you'd think that someone had died. I was grieving for that finger. So he told me to remove the towel but I was too scared. I was like a 4 year old with a sliver in my foot. "Okay okay okay... I'm ready. NONONO DON'T TOUCH IT AHHHHHH!" kind of thing. I put the hand (and the towel) under the tap and it stung like a motherfucker. And then I discovered that the towel was stuck to the open wound. And trying to take it off was agonizing. Childbirth was easier than removing the towel from my finger. Seriously.
Mike keeps telling me to just do it quickly. But he obviously has no idea how much pain I'm going through. I'm not even over-dramatizing. It was excrutiating! At any rate, I got the towel off after many tears and screams and much wailing. In the towel, before I even saw my finger, I saw the piece that I had sliced off. A piece of my fingertip. In a dishtowel. I could discern the fingerprint on it.
Well, fuck that, on went the towel again and I continued to scream.
About 45 minutes after first cutting my finger, I did get the towel off and got it nicely wrapped up in gauze and polysporin. I sent Mike to the drug store and he came back with NON STICK GAUZE (!!!) and finger condoms.
I thought to myself: how clever. Just when I thought that the only good thing about slicing a piece of my finger off would be a break from dishes and baby-bathing, the bastard comes home with finger condoms....
Like I said. Definitely the guy you want around during a crisis.
Finger condoms... honestly...
Partly because I never cook.
But I do sometimes. I make sandwiches and stuff all the time.
And I never cut my fingers.
So yesterday I was supposed to make a roast beef for Mike. He really wanted a roast beef. He hardly ever requests meals of me. I knew I didn't want to do it, but I was going to.
The reason I don't like making roast beef is because you have to make mashed potatoes with roast beef. Making mashed potatoes is a pain in the ass. Everyone else I know can peel potatoes with a knife. But I'm too afraid of cutting myself (which now seems ironic) and I just can't do it that way.
They make these wonderful products now and you can get them in any grocery store. 100% real potatoes, all mashed up for you and shrink wrapped and ready to go, even with garlic! And they're a little extra money but convenience is worth the extra money, I always say. We saw them in the grocery store yesterday, but I had already found Jam Jams and so that was my special treat. I would have to mash the potatoes the old fashioned way. Just like the Mennonites.
So I sat in front of Dr. Phil (Mike had gone to his dad's for something, Carter was taking his nap) with a roasting pan full of potatoes and my trusty peeler. I was just peeling away and - out of nowhere - SLICE!
I don't know how I got to the other side of the basement so fast, but I did. And I wrapped a dishtowel around my wound without even looking at it. I looked at the potatoes and there was blood all over them. And I felt it - I knew it was a pretty serious cut.
I called Mike immediately. I started crying, saying it really hurt, there's blood on the potatoes, come home fast because I CAN'T EVEN LOOK AT IT!!!
I even called my mom, who is in New Brunswick and can't do shit. Eventually, Mike came home and I still hadn't dared to look at the dishtowel, let alone what was inside the dishtowel.
All the drama that followed, just because of a cut on my finger, is actually quite shameless and hilarious, thinking back.
Mike is the guy everyone needs around during a crisis. He came home laughing hysterically at me because the way I was bawling, you'd think that someone had died. I was grieving for that finger. So he told me to remove the towel but I was too scared. I was like a 4 year old with a sliver in my foot. "Okay okay okay... I'm ready. NONONO DON'T TOUCH IT AHHHHHH!" kind of thing. I put the hand (and the towel) under the tap and it stung like a motherfucker. And then I discovered that the towel was stuck to the open wound. And trying to take it off was agonizing. Childbirth was easier than removing the towel from my finger. Seriously.
Mike keeps telling me to just do it quickly. But he obviously has no idea how much pain I'm going through. I'm not even over-dramatizing. It was excrutiating! At any rate, I got the towel off after many tears and screams and much wailing. In the towel, before I even saw my finger, I saw the piece that I had sliced off. A piece of my fingertip. In a dishtowel. I could discern the fingerprint on it.
Well, fuck that, on went the towel again and I continued to scream.
About 45 minutes after first cutting my finger, I did get the towel off and got it nicely wrapped up in gauze and polysporin. I sent Mike to the drug store and he came back with NON STICK GAUZE (!!!) and finger condoms.
I thought to myself: how clever. Just when I thought that the only good thing about slicing a piece of my finger off would be a break from dishes and baby-bathing, the bastard comes home with finger condoms....
Like I said. Definitely the guy you want around during a crisis.
Finger condoms... honestly...
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
my 300th post!
The other day my brother and his wife had to move, so I was given the tremendous opportunity to babysit my sweet little niece Payton. I was pretty excited.
Payton is almost 5 months old. She's still a sweet little thing and she is just beginning to develop her own personality - my favourite part of babyhood.
Carter is 13 months old, so in comparison he is almost like a little kid. Hardly any baby left in him. So of course part of me is beginning to want another baby. It's just human woman instinct. Survival of the species and all that shit. The need to keep procreating (and forgetting how much pregnancy sucks).
Anyway.
Payton was here and for the first 45 minutes or so, everything was great! Carter was talking to her, she was smiling, I was starting to think this dual baby thing wasn't so hard after all.
But Carter got jealous. And once Carter got jealous, there was no keeping the peace.
I couldn't hold the baby without Carter getting all bent out of shape. He was screaming at me, giving me shit, throwing an absolute fit! And I couldn't put Payton down because she had gotten hip to the game and decided that she was going to throw a fit if I paid Carter any attention.
So I was bouncing back and forth between crying babies like a pinball.
This went on for such a long time. I thought I was going to get a break when Carter took a nap but he couldn't take his eyes off Payton. She stole his mommy. He was going to have to sleep with one eye open.
Eventually he got over-tired which only made things worse. So I put him in his crib and let him cry himself to sleep (I never do this!) And he eventually did.
Then Payton fell asleep. But she woke up after 20 minutes in a great mood so we hung out and had a great time until my mom came home and saved me from the insanity.
Anyone who knows Carter will tell you that he is not the kind of kid to throw kinipshin fits because he's jealous of another kid. But they would be wrong. Because that's exactly what kind of kid he is.
Anyway, I'm just glad I realize now that I don't want to have another baby until Carter is old enough to pour his own cereal.
Payton is almost 5 months old. She's still a sweet little thing and she is just beginning to develop her own personality - my favourite part of babyhood.
Carter is 13 months old, so in comparison he is almost like a little kid. Hardly any baby left in him. So of course part of me is beginning to want another baby. It's just human woman instinct. Survival of the species and all that shit. The need to keep procreating (and forgetting how much pregnancy sucks).
Anyway.
Payton was here and for the first 45 minutes or so, everything was great! Carter was talking to her, she was smiling, I was starting to think this dual baby thing wasn't so hard after all.
But Carter got jealous. And once Carter got jealous, there was no keeping the peace.
I couldn't hold the baby without Carter getting all bent out of shape. He was screaming at me, giving me shit, throwing an absolute fit! And I couldn't put Payton down because she had gotten hip to the game and decided that she was going to throw a fit if I paid Carter any attention.
So I was bouncing back and forth between crying babies like a pinball.
This went on for such a long time. I thought I was going to get a break when Carter took a nap but he couldn't take his eyes off Payton. She stole his mommy. He was going to have to sleep with one eye open.
Eventually he got over-tired which only made things worse. So I put him in his crib and let him cry himself to sleep (I never do this!) And he eventually did.
Then Payton fell asleep. But she woke up after 20 minutes in a great mood so we hung out and had a great time until my mom came home and saved me from the insanity.
Anyone who knows Carter will tell you that he is not the kind of kid to throw kinipshin fits because he's jealous of another kid. But they would be wrong. Because that's exactly what kind of kid he is.
Anyway, I'm just glad I realize now that I don't want to have another baby until Carter is old enough to pour his own cereal.
Monday, May 2, 2011
Friday, April 29, 2011
Suicide Awareness.
I have never been very good at faking anything. I've never faked an orgasm and I have never faked a liking for someone I couldn't stand.
And this hasn't served me well in life.
There were times when I would be at work (where ever I was working at the time) and I would have to dash off somewhere secluded and cry because some stranger was rude to me, or because I was panicking inside for no reason. It's always been a little bit difficult pretending to be happy and well-adjusted when I was always wondering what was so different about me from everyone else: all the people who could go to work all day long and smile and be happy when they had no reason to be whatsoever.
With me, it's almost as if I've always needed a reason to be happy. I would wake up and think about my new lipstick, and think to myself there's a reason to get up and shine today! Or I would have to go to a mall or a bookstore, see a product on a shelf and think this will make me happy for a couple of days, let's buy it! But it was always superficial crap that I didn't need. And none of it ever made me happy. And so I would always keep asking myself what real happiness was, and why it was so hard for me to keep a hold of it. I would taste happiness one day, and the next day I would think what the fuck is so great about this and that when in the end we are just mechanisms waiting to shut down forever? I couldn't keep happiness in my heart and I got exhausted trying. I'd go to bed and have a hard time falling asleep. I would feel my heart beating, pay attention to my breaths, and just imagine myself dead. All of the machinery stopping. No more body. No more brain. No more thoughts. And that would calm me down. Playing dead. I would grasp onto happiness and joy once more. I would be full of energy and full of love and creativity would be surging through me and I felt like myself. And I would later crash again and wonder why I couldn't just switch off and be put away in a storage unit for a while, until they figured out what was wrong with me that wasn't wrong with anyone else. I always felt so alone in my despair and talking about it was like talking about architecture. What do you say?
Faking it can be so exhausting. My friend Tara and I were discussing this last night over coffee. I think she fakes it til she makes it. She's a very positive and grateful girl and being around her rubs off on you. And I wish I were more like that. But I spent so many years of my life faking something that wasn't there, and now I don't fake it anymore.
Now I'm completely honest about who I am. I don't tell lies about myself anymore, and I think that gives me strength. I have found that people are a lot more understanding and supportive than I used to give them credit for. Even the happiest people can understand that the world can be a tiresome place to be, and the pursuit of happiness is never ending. And when you're so exhausted from just making it through day to day, a never ending pursuit of happiness just sounds like the most daunting and painful thing imaginable. So people kill themselves.
People kill themselves and instead of trying to wrap our heads around the incredible anguish they must have felt, we call them selfish and we condemn them for leaving the world of the living behind when so many people loved them. How could they do this to their parents? Their children? How can anyone be so selfish?
Maybe it is selfish. I know I could never take my own life. But I have never been desperate enough to (thank God). History has shown us time and again that anyone can do anything if they are pushed far enough beyond the brink of their own humanity. And that's what happens with suicide. You can't fake it anymore. You can't continue on because you feel like you came off the assembly line in pieces and you just can't put yourself together properly. You shave a bit off of this piece, make it fit here, but in the end you are not whole, and you feel like you will never be happy, and you are just too tired to keep trying.
I am lucky to have people around me that understand me and support me no matter what kind of crazy comes out of my mouth! A lot of people don't have that and I think that the very first step in preventing suicide is to start a conversation about it.
If you know someone and you recognize the signs of a deep depression, you have to open up about it. They may not even know that they are depressed. They may not know that there are ways to treat all forms of depression and anxiety. They have options that they may not know they have. You, as family and as friends, have to reach out to people and say I know it doesn't feel okay now, but I promise, things will get better if you want them to. And it's true.
When I was finally diagnosed with Bipolar disorder, I went online and found forums and discussion boards, did some research and I felt so much less alone and I felt so much less despair. The world is a harder place for me to live in than it is for others, but I have love around me and people who support me no matter what.
I'm not crazy. I have an illness. And so does anyone else who resorts to suicide. We have to start the discussions. We have to bring this issue to the forefront because there are people who need us. There are people who can't afford psychiatric care and don't know that there are other resources available.
This is an epidemic killing people just like any other treatable disease and we, as a society, have to pay more attention to this issue because it is killing the people we love.
And this hasn't served me well in life.
There were times when I would be at work (where ever I was working at the time) and I would have to dash off somewhere secluded and cry because some stranger was rude to me, or because I was panicking inside for no reason. It's always been a little bit difficult pretending to be happy and well-adjusted when I was always wondering what was so different about me from everyone else: all the people who could go to work all day long and smile and be happy when they had no reason to be whatsoever.
With me, it's almost as if I've always needed a reason to be happy. I would wake up and think about my new lipstick, and think to myself there's a reason to get up and shine today! Or I would have to go to a mall or a bookstore, see a product on a shelf and think this will make me happy for a couple of days, let's buy it! But it was always superficial crap that I didn't need. And none of it ever made me happy. And so I would always keep asking myself what real happiness was, and why it was so hard for me to keep a hold of it. I would taste happiness one day, and the next day I would think what the fuck is so great about this and that when in the end we are just mechanisms waiting to shut down forever? I couldn't keep happiness in my heart and I got exhausted trying. I'd go to bed and have a hard time falling asleep. I would feel my heart beating, pay attention to my breaths, and just imagine myself dead. All of the machinery stopping. No more body. No more brain. No more thoughts. And that would calm me down. Playing dead. I would grasp onto happiness and joy once more. I would be full of energy and full of love and creativity would be surging through me and I felt like myself. And I would later crash again and wonder why I couldn't just switch off and be put away in a storage unit for a while, until they figured out what was wrong with me that wasn't wrong with anyone else. I always felt so alone in my despair and talking about it was like talking about architecture. What do you say?
Faking it can be so exhausting. My friend Tara and I were discussing this last night over coffee. I think she fakes it til she makes it. She's a very positive and grateful girl and being around her rubs off on you. And I wish I were more like that. But I spent so many years of my life faking something that wasn't there, and now I don't fake it anymore.
Now I'm completely honest about who I am. I don't tell lies about myself anymore, and I think that gives me strength. I have found that people are a lot more understanding and supportive than I used to give them credit for. Even the happiest people can understand that the world can be a tiresome place to be, and the pursuit of happiness is never ending. And when you're so exhausted from just making it through day to day, a never ending pursuit of happiness just sounds like the most daunting and painful thing imaginable. So people kill themselves.
People kill themselves and instead of trying to wrap our heads around the incredible anguish they must have felt, we call them selfish and we condemn them for leaving the world of the living behind when so many people loved them. How could they do this to their parents? Their children? How can anyone be so selfish?
Maybe it is selfish. I know I could never take my own life. But I have never been desperate enough to (thank God). History has shown us time and again that anyone can do anything if they are pushed far enough beyond the brink of their own humanity. And that's what happens with suicide. You can't fake it anymore. You can't continue on because you feel like you came off the assembly line in pieces and you just can't put yourself together properly. You shave a bit off of this piece, make it fit here, but in the end you are not whole, and you feel like you will never be happy, and you are just too tired to keep trying.
I am lucky to have people around me that understand me and support me no matter what kind of crazy comes out of my mouth! A lot of people don't have that and I think that the very first step in preventing suicide is to start a conversation about it.
If you know someone and you recognize the signs of a deep depression, you have to open up about it. They may not even know that they are depressed. They may not know that there are ways to treat all forms of depression and anxiety. They have options that they may not know they have. You, as family and as friends, have to reach out to people and say I know it doesn't feel okay now, but I promise, things will get better if you want them to. And it's true.
When I was finally diagnosed with Bipolar disorder, I went online and found forums and discussion boards, did some research and I felt so much less alone and I felt so much less despair. The world is a harder place for me to live in than it is for others, but I have love around me and people who support me no matter what.
I'm not crazy. I have an illness. And so does anyone else who resorts to suicide. We have to start the discussions. We have to bring this issue to the forefront because there are people who need us. There are people who can't afford psychiatric care and don't know that there are other resources available.
This is an epidemic killing people just like any other treatable disease and we, as a society, have to pay more attention to this issue because it is killing the people we love.
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