Buying Some Sanity $25 at a Time.

A few weeks ago, on a peaceful quiet Saturday night I had some time to myself. My Mom (Danielle) had The Dictator for the night under the assumption that I was going to an adult birthday party, which I fully intended to go to until a massive freak spring snowstorm hit. No way was I driving to a different town on those roads so I ended up staying home in an empty house until midnight when Stewart came home from work.

What did I do with the 7 hours alone? Pedicure, bubble bath or do my hair? Watch a chick flick? Read? Nope. I caught up on all that stuff that never gets done all at once around the house. I cleaned bathrooms, washed floors, vacuumed (even though that is Stewart’s job), prepped a nice dinner for the night, emptied the dishwasher, ironed all the laundry, washed and put away 3 loads of clothing and bathed the dog. It was a productive night for me, and usually things never get done in bulk like that around the house. Like any mom I get what I can done during The Dictator’s nap and sneak 45 minutes to myself - but that means there is always a list to tackle and that I never feel finished.

The best part of getting all this stuff done is that for almost a full week I felt caught up. I lost that clusterfucked feeling that I tend to get when I see a full dishwasher and the dryer is buzzing at the end of the cycle. I had the mental capacity to prepare decent meals every night that week because I wasn’t running around during nap time trying to make the house presentable; naptime was a chance for me to prep a great dinner and start some of the cooking. I played with The Dictator more because I wasn’t trying to sneak 5 minutes to fold laundry and empty the dishwasher. These little things really changed how I felt about my day and how my day would inevitably go.

This last week the clusterfucked feeling has returned. I have no desire to cook and I feel like I am not caught up again. That brought me to thinking that if I had help one morning a week (not relying on the Grandparents for this one - they help me so I can work 2 days a week when Stewart can’t be at home) I would feel more in control and caught up around the house. I thought of hiring a maid service - but really that could run us $500 a month and to me I would rather put that money into our mortgage payments.
Enter Bonnie

Bonnie is a 14 year old darling girl who adores The Dictator and loves to babysit. She lives by us and has siblings that are much younger then her, so she is great with little kids. Bonnie even stops over some evenings to play with Emmett after dinner, and she wears him out chasing him around the yard. I watch her pick him up when he falls, hug him when he is upset and steer him away from danger (which is his middle name). I adore her and her family - they are really great.

I really have no need for a babysitter and quite honestly I don’t like leaving The Dictator with anyone other then the grandparents. BUT, I sure could use a Mother’s Helper one morning a week from 9am to 1pm while I get all that stuff done around the house and get a dinner started. So this week I am going to see if Bonnie is interested in helping out with The Dictator one morning a week (during the summer break -and maybe a weekend day in the winter) while I am at home getting caught up around the house.

This could be my sanity saver and make me a better mom too.

Hypocrisy and the Evil Trifecta

First is a confession. I am a hypocrite.

Now for an important announcement brought to you by The Dictator.

We will be welcoming The Deuce into our family around December 3, 2008. Feel free to show up a bit early Deuce, since your older brother was almost 2 weeks late.

I have spent the past four weeks battling at least one of the evil trifecta of pregnancy at any one time. Fatigue, nausea and irritability; I am your bitch. Smells and meat totally gross me out right now, yet for some reason I have a painful craving for Panago pizza. Chicken Club no tomatoes and Tropical Hawaiian to be precise. I went a full pregnancy with The Dictator without a single craving. The craving things that are not in your house thing just is not fun. Nope. Not at all.

Currently I have the fear of twins, that could be because my friend was just here with her twin boys or it could be because I have been feeling fetal movement already (at 10 weeks); which Dr. Google says can be a sign of a multiple pregnancy. Did I mention multiples run in both sides of my family? Twins and triplets. I doubt it is happening here though.

So in a nutshell I have been to lazy and pukey to post lately. But I promise I shall get better at this soon.

On the bright side, if the Canadian Food Inspection Agency needs someone to sniff out Mad Cows or rancid meat in filthy restraunts, I am your girl!

The fear

I have a fear. No it isn’t the pain childbirth (62 hours of labour and a shitty non working epidural with 4th degree tearing? been there done that) or untimely death or spiders. I have a constant fear of my teeth falling out.

I like to blame my parents and the fun they had with pulling their dentures in and out of their mouths when I was a kid. They thought it was so funny to see me try to take my teeth out too. It could also be because I knocked my front tooth out as a kid when I stole my neighbours roller skates and tripped over the laces onto hard cement and endure having a new filling popped in it every few years. That and I am prone to getting cavities, something about thin enamel and deep molar pits. I dunno.

Anywhoo, I have a recurring nightmare that my teeth are falling out, and although I know that your teeth falling out is supposed to “mean something” in dream speak I really think it is a black and white thing for me. I am seriously freaked that I could lose my teeth.

Because seriously? I think my teeth are one of my best features - at least they don’t gain weight.

These are my confessions…..

I love to blog, really I do. BUT, I find the Mommy bloggers out there are divided into two distinct groups:

• those who read the books (which I like to call the fear mongering books), know it all and are not afraid to tell you how to do it (this group can usually be found bitching at Linda and Kristin in the Parent Dish comment section)
• those who are getting by day by day and happily bend the rules in the books to their advantage and personal sanity

I confess I am definitely one of the latter group. Here are my confessions:

• My son had a bottle at every nap and bedtime until he was 18 moths old
• He also was on formula until 18 months old
• My son almost never slept through the night (and remember my medical specialty is Sleep!) until he was 18 months old - I got up nightly to feed him, sometimes several times (feel free to cry a little tear for Stewart and I)
• The Dictator still has a soother - though mostly at bedtime
• I let my child watch The Backyardigans so I can put away laundry
• The Dictator gets to play in the tub beside out shower while I am in the shower
• I give him chocolate sometimes to bribe him to be good
• Ditto with the gum
• And the mints
• I am excited my son likes Bologna - because he hates meat. I think deli meat is better then nothing at all….
• I have to hide vegi’s in his food to get him to eat enough
• I make many of his meals in advance and freeze them so I do not have to cook from scratch every day
• I am pleased he likes cucumbers because they are easy to make - some kids steal a banana at the grocery store to munch on. Me? I unwrap a cucumber and he goes hog wild.
• I let him have temper tantrums - because some days I have no idea what to do about them
• I threaten him with time outs when he is acting up - and usually follow through if the behavior continues
• I put tape over some of his toys speakers so I do not have to listen to the noise
• The Dictator gets to play on the deck while I stay in the house to wash dishes
• He eats ice cream most days after dinner
• I still rock him to sleep at nap time (because I like love to - not that I have to)
• He still eats baby cereal as a bedtime snack
• When we are out and about all of his snacks are usually the “pre-packaged” variety
• I add chocolate milk to regular milk on the days he refuses to drink just plain old milk
• At dinner, we have been known to give him apple juice or milk in a small wineglass so he won’t ask for our wineglasses

I am sure I could add way more to the list. For the Moms out there what are your parenting confessions?

And to round it all up - a personal confession of my own.

• Some days I drink wine at 9am after a long night shift at work before heading off to bed.

I am an awesome Mom, really. Just ask my adoring son

Painful Fashion Choices - #1

 

What is worse - the big glasses or the fact the dress was found on the clearance rack for $8.00 at K-Mart and I thought it was hot since it was the first “adult” clothing I ever wore?

Letters to my Son - 21 Months

Dearest Dictator,

You have been my pride and joy for 21 months now. Every morning is a new adventure with you and I never know if that day will be all about airplanes, the park, The Backyardigans, Bob (the Builder), or dogs and cats. You change it up each and every day. There is never a dull moment with you around.

Recently you have become obsessed with gum and mints. You will do anything for a Tic Tac, including remaining quiet in the car and not crying when someone else is taking care of you. You can jump, walk up and down stairs, run backwards and sort shapes like a pro. In the last two months you have learned a few colors, and you really like the color blue. BLOOOOOO! You can also count to six; usually you forget 2, 3, 4 and 5; but you have 1 and 6 down like a pro!

Airplanes fly over our home regularly and each time you hear one you run to a window and get so excited while saying “Dah-dee, Dah-dee!” We recently figured out that Daddy has a picture of an airplane on his ID and you made the association that Daddy and airplanes belong together.

When asking you who does certain chores in the house you always respond with: vacuuming -Dah-dee, dishes - Mama, laundry -Mama. I am amazed that you already understand who does what. Like any typical male you like to do whatever your Dad does - which usually means vacuum, shave and play Guitar Hero. You love rocking out to Guitar Hero with your Dad. In fact if you had your own theme song I am sure it would be Rock You Like a Hurricane; and you do rock us like a teeny tiny little hurricane each and every day.

 

Recently you have shown signs of getting to that age where your Dad will become the coolest. person. in. your. life. Honestly, I really do not know how to handle this at all. Although I am happy to hand you off to your Dad I still want to be your coolest person ever.

You have such a sense of humor now and you like to play Bubba jokes on your Dad. When Dah-dee asks “whats my name”? you respond Bubba! until he tickles you so much you give in and say Dad-dee. Then you usually run away and once you are out of his reach you say Bubba! again and start laughing your little butt off. I never tire of watching this game; which is a good thing because seriously, it never ends. I also love watching you try to dance along with The Backyardigans videos and you almost have one little dance down pat.

Mama and Dah-dee are head over heels in love with you little dude. You rock our world.

Love you more than chocolate;

Mama

P.S.

Sitting in the car does not entitle you to mints or gum. OK?

Sex Sells.

American Apparel.

I applaud your company’s employment standards. Paying a living wage in L.A. (as well as having a meal subsidy program for your staff) and having Americans make your clothing and not farming the work out to China is awesome.

I love your sustainable edition (organic) line for my son. They are delicate and soft, yet stand up to multiple washings.

I enjoy going to your stores, which are well stocked. When I walk in I am awed by the array of colors and amazed by the brightness and cleanliness of the store. The staff is always fantastic. I find your retro-kitch aesthetic approach to clothing refreshing.

I do not however enjoy purchasing pants made of the cheapest feeling cotton available (yet I do because buying a North American made product makes me feel better about stuff) and promptly having the hems on them fall apart after 2 washings. Jersey - my ass. These lose their shape, twist, shrink, and fall apart much too quickly; even for $35.

I also do not enjoy visiting your website and the two times I refresh the main pages this is what I see:

Now I know I am getting a little older and more conservative but these also are not shorts:

I thought they were underwear until I read the description.

I know sex sells.

I would however like to go to a site to look for kids items and not be assaulted by photos of people who are barely clothed and appear filthy and stoned in most photos. Frankly it makes me feel like I should go take another bath.

Gross.

Stop talking to my tits. Mmmmkthanksbye!

After my interview from Sheila, I received a couple emails asking me about my breast reduction surgery which I touched on very very briefly in the interview. Two emails were from women who desired to have this same procedure done, one from a woman who wanted to know how I came to such a decision and two more (from a woman and a man) who basically pissed on me for having the nerve to cut off my boobs and called me vain and lazy. Trust me. If you saw the size of my ass you would not think I am vain. I figured now was as good of a time as any to address this issue and some common boob myths.

I have been large chested since I was 15 years old, maybe even younger. I swear one day in 9th grade I woke up and realized that doing laps in Gym class was going to be a real painful experience. And it was.  By the time I graduated High School I was 115 pounds and should have been wearing a DD bra (but I totally squished myself into C/D cups).

This leads me to Myth #1: Boobs are large because you are fat. Not so. 115bs and 5′4″ tall wearing a size 4 is not fat. My boobs though were really big.

For a couple of years I buggered around doing odd jobs trying to decide what I wanted from my life. At one company in particular I was repeatedly hassled by a white-trash poorly dressed head cashier and a dumb ass store manager about the size of my chest. Although I always dressed professionally (as in suits, dress pants or dresses) the fact is when you are in an E cup bra there is no hiding them puppies. The assholes thought that I should go to a men’s store and buy a sport jacket to wear over my suits and company supplied shirts so no one would see how large my breasts were.

I finally threatened them with harassment charges for hassling me about my breasts - and was promptly transferred to another store (where I started dating Stewart). The manager at the new store had heard of my problems with the previous store (the other manger who transferred me had implied I was a slut to the new boss - because you know girls with big boobs are easy right? ugh.) and dealt with it head on. He had no problem with my chest size and also stated I was more then appropriately dressed to work in his store and that the other guy was lucky I never pressed charges.

Here is Myth #2: Women with big breasts enjoy the attention. Most naturally large chested women I know go through great pains to minimize the appearance of their breasts and we all hate it when people stare at our chests while talking to us. It is embarrassing and awkward. 

My first year at post-secondary school should have been exciting and rewarding. I chose a field where women did not traditionally work (Electronic Engineering) because I loved that kind of stuff. A week into my program I was approached by one of my instructor’s and told that I was lucky I was cute and had a large chest because it would ensure I passed the program and find a job in the field. That just about sealed it for me. I spent a day in tears and then marched my ass to my family Doctor for a referral to a Plastic Surgeon. My Doctor said he had wondered for a few years why I hadn’t asked to have the surgery done.

Want Myth #3? Women with large chests are air-heads or dumb. I applied to post secondary school with a 98% in Physics, a 95% in Math and a 90% in English. When I graduated I was within 2% of the top of my class over all (technically in the top 3 people), was the ONLY person to get over an 80% in every class offered in our program and scored a perfect grade in 3rd year University calculus. I am not dumb. Neither are 99% of the people with large boobs. The sweet payback is that I ended up making $30,000 a year more then that instructor.

Finally Myth #4: Women who have breast reductions do it for vanity reasons. Ab-so-fucking-lutely that was 40% of the draw for me.

The other 60%? I had x-rays showing the bones in my shoulder compressing from the weight of my bras. Migraine headaches were a daily battle. The back pain was never ending. I was spending 200$ on a single bra because my personal boob alphabet was approaching J-K-L. Fun letters I tell you! I never owned a shirt with buttons and bought shirts at the plus size store (and had them altered smaller) because they covered my chest. Regular shirts were never long enough because the size of my boobs would totally alter the length of the shirt, leaving it creeping up my front. I could NOT find a bathing suit to properly fit them into unless I wanted to look like a porn star. Finally, I was sick of people not knowing my name and being referred to as “the one with the big tits”.

It is a decision I never regretted and I would do it again in a second. It improved my physical health, my confidence and probably improved the way that people (who do not know me) look at me. I no longer fall under the “big boobs = stupid” umbrella and can buy different clothing. Best 12 pounds I ever got rid of.

How my day has gone….

Sing the following song to the tune of She’ll be Coming Around the Mountain

If he hands you something brown

it might be poop (it might be poop!)

If he hands you something brown

it might be poop (it might be poop!)

If he hands you something brown

and it’s stinky and it’s round

If he hands you something brown

it’s likely poop (it’s likely poop!).

Seriously. I was happy to have not popped it in my mouth thinking it was chocolate. In fact when he first handed it to me, I wondered where he got the chocolate from, alas, it was warm and stinky.

Once upon a time ….

Back in the day when Stewart and I went on holidays, I used to be attached to the camera to take photos like these:

Which is why I am so damn pissed that this is likely the best photo I took in Victoria:

In our defense, he was the fattest seagull we ever seen. We named him Artie Lange*.

 

*I don't expect anyone to get the reference