What I Want My House To FEEL Like

Yes, I want it to feel like Brigitte Bardot.  It may not make any sense to you, but it is what it is.  Call it an inspiration board of sorts, if you will.

The House is a Mess.

Why is my blog losing followers?
I'm going to disable the following function, that way my feelings don't have to get hurt all the time by complete strangers.  I hope you're all happy.

So the dogs are driving me fucking nuts.  Well, actually the dogs are really just the beginning.  My parents have been gone for over 2 weeks now.  And the dogs go absolutely apeshit when my mom isn't home.  They don't know what to do with themselves.  They're like a couple of weirdos at a televangelist church.  You probably didn't understand that one, but in my mind it made perfect sense.  They are a couple of televangelists and they can't find Ted Haggard.  They're completely flipping out.  Babycakes, right now, is panting insanely, staring at me and whimpering for no reason I can figure.
They make themselves so sick with worry and stress that they shit and puke on the floor in the middle of the night.  And I have to clean it.
And then there's the brood of boys in the house who are all seemingly incapable of picking up after themselves.  I was resisting at first.  Let them live in their own filth, I said to myself.  But sure enough, things got so bad that I had no choice but to scrape the moldy dishes, wipe every surface with ammonia and wash barf out of carpets (baby and dog).  Plus, Carter began taking the wheels off of Ryan's tiny skateboard toys and crawling around with them hidden in his cheek.  So something had to be done.
The absolute lack of respect and gratitude from everybody in this family is staggering.  I am taking care of everything and at the end of the day, I usually have to deal with Mike trying to get in my pants.  Not cool.  Not cool at all.  He doesn't get it.  Anybody else would have stolen a credit card and gone to a hotel to save their sanity.
Being in this position has made me decide to get an IUD.  I think that's the one that they implant in your arm and you can't get knocked up for 5 years.  I want that one, whatever its name is.  If I had another boy and had to deal with another man's bullshit and disgusting habits, I would probably end up on a slab of some description.
Oh well.  That's what's going on the last little while.  I am also planning a small party for Mowgli's first birthday.  I can't believe how much fun some mothers have doing this sort of thing.  I think I'd rather just rent a big bouncy castle and call it a day.  Turns out, they're not cheap.

What came first, the drinking or the blogging?  I hardly recall.

New Home Style Inspiration

Trouble Sleeping

Can't sleep.

My mind is racing.  I keep thinking about our house hunt: what can we afford?  How long will we live there?  Will we get a dog?  What will we name the dog?  What's my decorating style?  Shelves or cupboards in the kitchen?  Shelves are cheaper and they're kind of trendy right now...
I'm also thinking about the house I fell in love with that we let slip through our fingers.  It was beautiful but it needed work that two broke, working parents of a baby just can't finish in a timely manner.  I hope that whoever buys the house keeps the claw-footed bathtub and doesn't change the hardword flooring.  It's old but that's part of its charm.
I'm also thinking a lot about my boss's boyfriend, for some reason.  My boss is married but her husband had a stroke 6 years ago and she still lives with him and takes care of him (and runs his business and broke him out of a nursing home because he wanted to go home..) but she has a boyfriend on the side.  Everyone at the bar hates him but I have decided to like him.  In the face of dozens of loyal bar-flies who would love nothing more than to bang his woman and shoot him in the head, he stays and takes care of the bar with her.  He keeps her company.  He looks after her and he loves her.  So I have decided that the situation isn't as gruesome and creepy as everyone else sees it.  It's kind of sweet.  I like the boyfriend.  So there.
And why have I been eating nothing but donuts and baba ghanouj?  For the last week, I've been eating a steady diet of boston cream donuts, tea, toasted pita dipped in babe ghanouj and the occasional plate of french fries covered with ketchup and a ton of salt at work.  Something's gotta change.  But I love the donuts.  My emotions have been in overdrive and I have been eating my feelings.  I'll admit that.  I am such a fat girl on the inside.
I have been growing increasingly obsessed with split ends.
I flip my hair and pick through it endlessly, searching for, and yanking out, strands of hair that are fraying at the ends.  I've been getting headaches as a result.  But I can't stop.  And I don't want to get a haircut because the last time I got worried about split ends I ended up with two inches left on my head and everyone thought I was a lesbian.  Yeesh.  What to do, what to do...
Well, that's an update for you.  Oh!  My family doctor is sending me to a psychiatrist to find out just what exactly is wrong with me (and has been for years now) so that's an exciting development!
And I haven't seen my brother in a week, because we got in a huge fight and now I don't know where he is.  I still don't like him very much, but I hope he's safe and showering regularly.

Goodnight, all.

Domestic Bliss

Mike and I have a great relationship.  It's boring.  Good relationships are always boring.  The exciting ones are always bad.  I've had lots of exciting relationships, so I am so happy to be in a boring one.  I'm good here.
That being said, he and I don't quite agree on everything.
One thing in particular that stands out is our differences in housekeeping.
Clutter and I have split for good.  Some clutter is fine (books stacked to the ceiling is good.  Dusty porcelain trinkets, screwdrivers strewn about and 80 coffee mugs spilling out of cupboards is not).
One thing we disagree on is saving plastic bags.  Before I cleaned the shit out of the kitchen, there were hundreds stuffed under the counter.  They just kept collecting and we always forgot to bring our reusable bags to the grocery store so they pile up and go nowhere.  BAH!  I hate plastic bags.  They have no place in my home.  I fucking hate the things.
Mike, of course, loves to hoard the plastic bags with the belief in mind that they are actually good for something.
He also refuses to throw out old ratty clothing.  I wish I could show you a picture of these disgusting flannel pajama pants that I finally snuck into the trash after Christmas.  They had such a big hole in the crotch that he couldn't wear them around anybody.  But he refused to get rid of them.  For so long.  Even after I bought him nice, new, cotton ones.  Right now we are disagreeing over old karate pants from GOD KNOWS WHEN and these bulky, ugly, stupid brown sweat pants that make up half a load of laundry in themselves.  They're from old navy and I've been dying to burn them for months now.
In addition to keeping this crap around to wear, he even wants to keep the genuinely-no-good-anymore-should-be-thrown-out-immediately work t-shirts that he destroys.
He wants to use them as RAGS, he says.  Rags.
I take issue with this for several reasons.  1 - the word 'rags' reminds me of dirty-faced red headed orphans, who I imagine would be just as likely as I am to throw the fucking things out.  2 - we have puh-lenty of cloths that I keep nice and clean and stacked in the bottom drawer in the kitchen, right beside the stove.  I don't even think Mike has ever even opened this drawer.  3 - Paper towels have eliminated any need to stuff ripped up old filthy t-shirts in the pantry...
Oh, and PS - At least once a week I come across a stash of "Rags" he has decided to hide somewhere, and a big clump of plastic bags keeps finding its way under the counter, shoved behind the cereal.

I feel so much better just getting this all out, honestly.

ANOTHER THING!  His socks.  He leaves them on the floor in the living room all the time.  He has slowly been getting better, I admit, but as I speak there are two bunched up black socks sitting in front of the couch.  But when I confront him about all of these issues he calls me Queen of the Harpies.  

I know what you're thinking.  And my response is: if he hit me back it would really hurt.

Oh, you weren't suggesting that I beat him?

Well neither was I.  Shut up.

the fly.

I live in my little basement with my little baby and as you all know - we don't have much to do down here. We watch a lot of movies.  In fact, we are watching Elizabethtown right now (I've seen it so many times) and the best scene just ended.  The scene with Susan Sarandon saying her speech at the memorial of her husband.  I tried to get it off youtube but apparently I'm the only one who loves it that much.  If you haven't seen it, the entire movie is worth watching just for that scene, if you ask me.
Anyway!  I was going somewhere with that.  We have recently been bombarded with flies.  It's been going on for weeks.  I always have the fly swatter at hand.  This week I've killed 8 of the bastards.  I've killed them all!
Except for one.
This little shit licker taunts me.  The fly swatter was on the table and he was perched on it for, like, 5 minutes.  I just stared at him and focused all of the energy in my body on hating him as hard as I could.  But it did no good.  Off he flew.
But it doesn't matter, as soon as you spot a fly it's like they vanish.  You try to track them with your eyes but you can't.  They must disappear, because I can't for the life of me follow this little asshole around with the fly swatter.  I just end up standing in the middle of the livingroom completely still, waiting for my chance to strike.  And then I look at Carter and he's looking at me like I'm crazy.
So I sit down.
Sure enough, whenever the fly swatter is just out of reach, this fly lands right beside me.  Aaaaand by the time I get the swatter he disappears again.
This is probably a boring post, but MY GOD!  It is the cruelest torture being in here with this fly.

a funny feeling

So.
Have you ever felt like you're a thorn in someone's side?
Have you ever been somewhere - while knowing the entire time - that your presence is nothing but a nuisance?
I have only felt that way a couple of times, but I knew that it meant something.  I went to stay with my grandfather for a couple of weeks once (I invited myself) and I felt so incredibly uncomfortable that I still haven't gone back.  Nobody was trying to make me feel uncomfortable, they didn't have to.  A person knows when they are not wanted.

aaaaaand we've been cuddling ever since

So.  The last couple of days have been fabulous!

We wad a great time at the wedding (it was lovely, I'm so glad we went), we came home and the baby wasn't even excited to see us.  He'd had a fabulous time without us.  At first that made me jealous and a little sad, but then I remembered they don't spend nearly as much time with him as I do, and maybe he needed some time away from me, too.  He's allowed to need a break.  I guess.

No no, but in all seriousness, it was nice to come home to a happy boy; not having to worry about him the entire time we were away.  We knew he was in good hands at home with people who love him.  

After days of eating nothing but nutella and banana slices on toast, last night we finally bought groceries!  We had nothing.  After having nothing in the fridge for so long, it is now my favourite thing to just look in the fridge and smile.  Very nice.

The next awesome thing is that tomorrow is my birthday.

Birthdays are so special.  It's like you wake up and feel great automatically because it's just a special day!  Even if nothing special happens, it's still a special day!  And I love a special day!  

And of course, Mike has a way of making me feel like a princess on my birthday.  

And on top of all of this, I get to pick a birthday dinner.  

Mom and I are going to One Duke for lunch tomorrow.  It's one of my favourite restaurants.  I will be having the ravioli.

I may stop titling posts all together. I'm not good at it. Some people are. Not I.

Oh, the incredible pain of having to take your little baby in to get a shot.

They go into the doctor's office, happy as a clam, totally unsuspecting. They are so trusting of you that they don't question for a second that you will protect them from anything. They don't even really know what pain is!

And then in a flash, the needle juts into his chubby little thigh and the screaming just slices your heart in half.

And then they get him in the other leg!!!

And the little baby is probably thinking why didn't you get me out of here after the first hurt? Why did there have to be a second hurt? I thought you loved me. Who are you?

I always end up tearing up a little bit.

He always ends up tearing up a lot.

Poor little guy.

But of course, we're home now and he is just dandy. Refusing to go to sleep as usual.

So regarding all of my recent dramas:

I have decided that people are going to do things that disappoint you all the fucking time and there really is no preventing that. Getting angry at them is only going to hurt you. It makes you look like an asshole and it makes you feel, well, angry. And angry isn't a very good feeling. I prefer ambivalence.

I have shut people out of my life for little reasons, and for big reasons. And I will probably always shut people out for the big reasons. But if it's only going to hurt me, then why should I bother?

A heartfelt conversation expressing your needs to someone is always a better way to go. And if they don't care then you are well within your rights to poison their puppy and TP their house.

I would say that I have grown up a little bit. Don't you think? No? Okay, fine. Maybe not. But I am learning.

This morning Mike woke me up and when I woke up I thought I was still dreaming. In my dream, he was taking me to the mall. So when he woke me up this morning, after a few seconds, I was just really disappointed to see that it was 7:30 in the morning and we were just going to the stupid Doctor's office to stick sharp things in our perfect little noodle child.

In other news, it looks like our boy will have 2 testicles, after all! For those who don't know, he had hernia surgery when he was 2 months old and he was at risk of losing his left testicle forever. But, so far so good.

For the rest of the day I believe I will watch everything I have on DVR (umm, 4 episodes of So You Think You Can Dance yes yes yes!!!) and make up for lost time on the computer. I still haven't found my USB cable for my camera, so I still can't put up pictures of my amazing de-cluttering job, not that that's of interest to anybody but myself. And maybe people who read this and wonder what the place I sleep in looks like... Those people should know I drool and snore and scratch Mike with my toenails all the time.

INSPIRING INTERIORS!

I don't know what it is, but I am really attracted to all-white environments lately. Maybe it gives me a sense of calm that I don't have in my baby-filled chaotic life!

Speaking of baby, Carter has been an absolute delight today. I know I'm supposed to think that every single day, but be realistic.

Anyway, he's been on the floor playing for, like, an hour! That never happens!

As for tidy-fest, I finished the whole place! It's practically gleaming! Even the bedroom is nice and clean! Even my 5 year old nephew commented! YAY ME!

i struggle with blog titles. how about "Organiz-a-thon 2010"

So we went to Chapters today. Chapters is even better for me, emotionally, than the mall. I have no problem admitting that spending money is extremely therapeutic for me. This is after seeing psychiatrists and being on meds. We bought a couple of things. I got a few books. And Mike bought me some Harney & Sons tea (so luxurious - tea bags made of SILK!) because he loves me, and because I love tea.

So one of the books I bought is about organizing the home. It employs the feng shui philosophy. A large part of me wants to scoff and be all like, "pfft, right. feng shui. put turkeys by the front door to bring luck. Pffffffffffffffffffft!!!" but I have to admit; When I walk into the kitchen and see an overflowing trash can, my heart does sink. When I wake up next to a teetering pile of crap I never want to get out of bed. There is a reason hotel rooms are so wonderful. No teetering stack of junk on the nightstand.

When I lived in my very own place, all by myself, my bedroom window faced east, and I only had a very sheer curtain. So when the sun rose the light always flooded into my bedroom and I always woke up feeling energized and happy. Now that we live in a feckin basement, and there isn't a single window in the bedroom, I haven't exactly been bright-eyed and bushy tailed, to say the least. Why not give the feng shui book a chance?

Anyway, it has a big section with steps on organizing and purging for each room. The idea is to get rid of a lot of stuff. I'm down with that because a) I do have a tendency to collect useless things just because they're nice to look at and b) we live in a basement at the moment. Some stuff has got to go. Today I stumbled into the dungeon and almost barfed when I saw a shriveled up dead mouse on the floor...

I'm going to start in the kitchen. I'm going to collect all of the useless canned goods that have been there all year, and whatever else we don't need and donate it all to the Welsley centre, I guess. Get rid of the star trek dishes. Reward my hard work by purchasing some nice new dishes. The end goal is to always have a 98% clear counter space. I may start tomorrow. But keep in mind: finding time to do these things isn't easy for me. I'm a very busy mommy for 21-22 hours every day. Mike always gives me a short break but I usually spend that time on the ol' macbook instead of doing anything useful.

So! Starting tomorrow (yes, I suppose I will commit to starting tomorrow) I will take you all on the journey of organizing with me. Because if I have to do it, I'm dragging all of you down with me. I will post photos and tell you how to do it yourselves, in your own homes. But like I said, that'll be tomorrow.

Right now, I am going to flip through FACEHUNTER and drink my awesome tea. Tea from a silk bag does taste better.

mum jams: Transatlanticism - Deathcab for Cutie

the dungeon further lives up to its nickname...

There is a mouse problem in the basement. Especially in the dungeon.

I was going to put a picture up of all the mouse turds on my dresser, but thought better of it. There is a lot of it. Trust.

Before we gave up our ferret (I knew it was a huge mistake) there were no sign of the fuckers. But now I hear them all the time.

This morning I went into the dungeon to get an outfit (that's the only place all my clothes will fit) and I could hear one dying. DYING! It was squealing and screaming in its little mouse voice, and you could tell he was just suffering. That is Mike's fault. He decided a few days ago to wage war on them and, since I am the only one home all day every day, I get to be the one who hears traps snap and mice scream in agony. It's heartbreaking. Mike seems to think the mice are going to crawl into our son's crib and eat him alive. I don't buy it but traps and poison are better than the peanut-butter-around-the-edge-of-a-big-bucket-of-water idea he had before.

But what's worse is that there is mouse shit all over my dresser. I think there might be nests in and amongst my clothes so I'm terrified to sift through the drawers. You can smell the poop as soon as you open the dungeon door and I hear them rustling around, going about their day. It gives me the heebie jeebies. I think there are too many. I think there are hundreds.

All night long we can hear them running back and forth across the ceiling (it's a drop ceiling so we can hear it really well) and it goes on all night.

I don't think the problem is this prominent throughout the rest of the house. If it were, my father would have probably bought a new house at this point. So I'm not going to say anything. My mother will read this anyway.

The traps and the poison don't seem to be doing the trick just yet.

Somebody help!!!

as far as ugly couches go...

Maybe when Mike reads this he will see how serious I am about burning this couch and dancing around it wearing a coconut bra. Then I will sacrifice a bunny rabbit.

Just look at the hideous velvet pattern. Look at the RIP! F this stupid couch...