Tabloids (and motherhood)

Sunday is my favorite day of the week. M is actually home all day (he works Friday and Saturday nights… as well as full-time Monday through Friday) and I am well rested and eager for errands etc.

This morning, V slept in until 7:30. Holy God, was I ever happy! I spent all day yesterday at Epcot and was totally exhausted last night. How people come to Florida and spend days at the parks, I will never know…

Good sleep, check! V sleeping in, check! And a planned trip to Whole Foods (which is pretty much my Mecca). How could it get any better! Not only that, but at Whole Foods, I found Gluten-free chicken nuggets by my favorite kids food brand Happy Baby. Totally organic, wheat-free and not only that, but it doesn’t taste like crap. Bliss. I practically skipped through the checkout and drove home on a cloud, sort of ala Chitty Chitty Bang Bang.

M was awake when I got home, happily taking V from my arms and leaving me free to go to the gym. My other favorite thing about Sundays. For some reason, Saturdays never work for that. Too many things going on, I guess.

Shorts and headband on, ipod clipped to tank-top and Melissa’s latest podcast uploaded, I happily tra-la-la’ed off to the gym to spend some quality time with my favorite treadmill.

About halfway through my treadmill routine, someone else entered the gym, asked me if it was OK if they put on the TV and hopped on the elliptical trainer. She skipped around until she found one of those ‘Forbes 15 Hottest Celebrity Moms’ and about 30 seconds into the program, I was seriously annoyed.

Let me see if I can explain why… or perhaps you already know?

I hate seeing motherhood displayed like this on national TV. I hate even more pairing it up with Forbes, as if to say “very clever people who are associated with Forbes clearly think hot celebrity mums are headline worthy’. And most importantly, I hate that they continuously ‘show’ regular mums how easy it is!

Parenthood is a piece of cake! No problem! You can easily have 3 kids, lose that post-preggo weight instantaneously. Head back to work 6 weeks postpartum… no problem! Because you love your job that much…

Puh-lease…

30 minutes of watching all about these hawt celebrity mums and I was ready to throw up. Personal chefs, 1-3 nannies a household, chauffeurs, personal trainers…. how on earth can us regular mums complete with that?

It is pretty much all that is in the tabloids, on the entertainment news shows and screaming out at you from every magazine cover.

“How Sarah-Jessica manages 3 kids”

“A peek inside Brangelina’s crazy household”

Ah! I can’t even continue to think of examples. So annoying.

If I could also have a personal chef, trainer, a few nannies, an extremely rewarding job that puts me pleasantly in the public eye (like, oh, famous museum curator, award winning blogger, novelist….) I am sure that I would not be that concerned about how much sleep I was getting.

Or about how to handle V’s wheat and peanut allergies by yourself without consulting with a nutritionist, allergist or personal chef. Or how to afford it as well.

And other exciting things like how to manage working full-time and still finding time to look for new daycare, since the in-home daycare that you used went into foreclosure and the owners are not returning your call (V was home with Daddy all summer, since M is a teacher and our attempts to return to the facility we were using before has been met with, well, with resistance, random hang-ups when calls are attempted and some gibberish from husband about how his wife will call us right back. Right)

I bet J.Lo isn’t worrying about that. And neither is Victoria Beckham. Bastards.

I am sure that these women work hard at whatever their jobs are. I don’t care. At all.

I am both fascinated and tired by seeing them in magazines. Mostly tired though. It makes it too easy for women to look at themselves while reading these ‘stories’, compare themselves and, well, maybe feel like they should be doing things different. Or losing more weight. Or having a fancier nursery. Or be happier about returning to work (and let me remind my fellow Canadians that we only get 12 weeks down here in the ‘Sauth’). It never is a happy thing to head back to work while your first born is 10 weeks old (like mine was). Especially when you hand him off to someone that now, a year later, turns out to be the worst choice ever. And maybe someone who is a lying, Jesus-obsessed psycho… This might be a bit of an exaggeration. But since I now hate the daycare lady….. don’t care…

Oh how marvelous it would be to pick and choose your work hours and schedule. Personal chef/trainer. Nanny. Ahhh.

Magazines, can you please give us regular women a break?! We frankly have neither the time, energy or fortune to compete with the women you feature. Or the inclination. We are too tired from lack of sleep and busy toddlers…

We have no time to read your magazines… we are too busy chasing our kids around, multitasking clever and healthy meals (without a personal chef) and trying to find time to fit in the gym.

Like we are apparently supposed to… Ah..bastards…

Wheat

Now that we have moved completely away from formula in the last few months and well into the land of Dairy, we are going further than that.

As you may or may not know, V is allergic to Wheat and Peanuts. I capitalize them because it is necessary. I need to take notice of all things Wheat and Peanuts in his (and our) world. They are Important. Especially the Peanuts. Peanuts are a super huge issue. A ‘turn his face red and hot to the touch’ issue. Wheat is an issue, not as severe, but one that still necessitates careful monitoring.

So we have embraced a Gluten-free lifestyle for Little Man. I know we will eventually for us as well, but haven’t yet. Wheat=Bad

We decided to try and integrate it into his diet to see how his more mature system reacts to it. Perhaps, since it’s been almost a year since we discovered the issue, his little body would have developed a tolerance to it? That’s what we were hoping anyways. And our Pediatrician agreed that it was a good idea, done in moderation that is.

So we started introducing Wheat Chexs as we felt that it would be the safest . A few during breakfast and dinner…carefully monitoring his reaction day by day.

It took about 12 days before a reaction showed up. Itchy red cheeks and dry skin patches on upper back. Total wheat reaction. However, he went almost 2 weeks before anything really showed up. This is a bonus!! Before it used to be instantaneously!

So based on this, I feel confident that gentle steps towards increasing the amount of Wheat will gradually improve his tolerance. And as he gets older, just imagine, he might even be able to eat a piece of toast. Or a piece of pizza. Or cake. The types of ‘pieces’ he could eat… oh my brain goes wild at the thought…

And then I grow sad at the thought that my bi-monthly trips to Whole Foods would be eliminated…

It’s a double-edged sword.

Stink

I am thinking that I might rename my blog “Things my husband and child do to me”. I know that is all I blather on about. Is it entertaining for you? Yikes! I hope so! It is for me…

Since we are currently pending finalization on our new house, I don’t have much to say. I am not going to yoga. We are trying to not eat out. I am not shopping for everything. Unless it’s V-related and then it’s no holds barred. I can shop forever for him but can I buy myself a shirt? No.

I literally feel the need to shower him with everything (kisses, hugs, new clothes, books, hugs, more kisses, snuggles [even though he does not snuggle, never has unless he’s sick and sometimes pushes me away when I try] tasty healthy treats, rattly things and on and on). I sometimes feel guilty about spending money on myself.

So really nothing is going on over here. No exciting things, just regular life things. Just a lot of waiting. And the waiting is hard. Especially for me, as waiting and I are not the best of friends.

Things my child did to me today:

It is so cute, I don’t even mind that much. I am teaching him to brush his teeth. He get very excited about this nightly event and I let him hold the toothbrush all by himself. We’ve been working on ‘brushing’ motions for a while and have managed a regular, somewhat jerky motion. If I try and help him (oh, he has to hold the brush by himself), he yanks the brush out of my hand and grunts in an annoyed manner. So, unassisted brushing it is with a light dash of arm-waving.

The fun part comes about 15 seconds into the brushing. V has not learned the exciting technique of swallowing while brushing. Of course he hasn’t! He’s 14 1/2 months!! So it all just drips right out…. Elmo baby toothpaste and spit dripping onto my arm. I am so into the whole night-time brushing thing that I don’t even notice until we are rinsing his little hands. I. Am. Covered. In.  Drool. Oh, and baby toothpaste… It just rubs right in though… no worries. Can’t even notice it was there…

As for that husband of mine?! I swear to god if I find another dirty stray sock lying around the house, I will remove all socks from this premises… No joke.

Where ever it is he leaves them, our Chihuahua finds them, drags them out and romps joyously around the house with them. Chews them with such ardor that he might as well marry that sock. And if he married all of the socks that he loves on, M would be sock-less. Forever.

He often brings them over to my lap to share them with me. Ick. ICK! M! I hate your socks!!

But I still love you…

For things that stink (like M’s socks), click here

5 percent

V is a crack destructo-child.

Yesterday, as I was driving around with him, he reached up to his backseat window and methodically ripped the sunshade to shreds. By the time that I was able to pull over and attempt to rescue it, it was too late. Poor thing… It literally was in about 5 pieces, the shade was in tatters and covered in drool. Apparently most of it had also taken a trip to his mouth.

And currently it is residing in the dumpster. It was completely beyond saving. And this afternoon, while I was driving M’s car, V did the same this to his. It’s like he’s the Hulk or something…. he doesn’t know his own strength. He throws things around in a matter of fact manner. He is so casual about how he does it. I have gotten in the way of a few of those things he’s flung around…. man, cardboard books sure can sting when whipped at your feet.

Approximately half of his toys are missing pieces that have been forcefully removed, flung at the dog and then forgotten about. Forgotten about, that is, until I go and put them back in their correct spot. And then I get chased and the toy gets destroyed again. Really it is very funny. And reminds me of my husband….

M also leaves a trail of destruction throughout our house. However he is an adult (even though I am writing about him like he is on the same level as V…..and sometimes that’s true) and is able to pick up after himself. To an extent. There is always a little path of this and that, that follows him. A dirty sock, some crumpled pieces of paper, pens from Disney, partially opened pieces of mail, clothing draped and then ignored over my kitchen table chairs, wet towels on floor and bed… I could go on and on…

I would imagine that about 20% of my life involves picking up after my husband and 75% of my life involves picking up after my child. Which leaves 5% for me. 5% for little ol’ me…

Doesn’t sound like much but it’s just enough…

Toilet

Pretty much what my afternoon looked like, just with pants on instead...

Things I did this afternoon:

Wrestled my 14 month old son away from the toilet.

Really.

He just ‘discovered’ it this afternoon and learned how to lift the lid. This was cute the first time. Then, as he lifted and dropped it repeatedly, it suddenly was not entertaining.

And then, as I looked over at him and saw that he had a whole arm down the toilet (I swear I looked away for about 1/2 a second), it was at the lowest level on non-entertaining. Right at the very bottom level.

So as I rush over to the toilet and drag that little arm out of it (and then soap that arm up, scrub it to an inch of it’s life and dry it on a super clean towel), I thought things like “M! Where are you!!” and “Must shut all bathroom doors from now on”.

As I dragged him (metaphorically speaking) out of the bathroom, he threw a full-on fit.

Kicking, screaming, wailing, back-arching etc. I could hardly believe that this huge of a fuss was being throw over the toilet. The toilet!! I mean really!!

But regardless, it was a huge fit.

As I was carrying him away from the toilet (laughing), I wondered what would be the next step in this little impish boy’s life. Approximately 3 hours later I learned that it would be actual steps…

V took his first unsupported steps this evening. At first from the middle of our walk-in closet to Daddy (as that was where they were playing). He did that a couple of times while M and I stared in disbelief.

Then, once I got in the closet with him, M encouraged him to walk towards me. He took 4 steps to me, before falling into my arms… Did I win the lottery? I just might have….

The lottery of love, that is…. it was all rather overwhelming…

M and I just looked at each other… our days are numbered…

Shower

Me, earlier during my epic Monday shower....

Its been a while since I posted about poop.

Happily , our household has been free of poop-related incidences. For a while there they were happening a little too frequently for my taste.

Don’t fret my dears…. I am here with a brand-new one for your reading pleasure!!

Mondays can be long days. This Monday felt extra long. Hectic work, plus M’s teacher ‘back-to-school’ week, plus a sudden disappearance of our regular daycare resulting in Pop-Pop and V spending a lot of time together. PLUS an earlier rising time, minus my glorious 8 weeks of sleeping in until 6:30 (practically unheard of!). Plus the fact that it is Monday.

This resulted in me feeling like I forgot to have a shower by the end of the day. Isn’t that just the worst feeling ever? The humidity doesn’t help either. So as I am driving the Expressway home I am contemplating a dilemma…shower or Gym, shower or Gym, steamy long hot shower with coconut body wash and clean hair or Gym.

The shower won. It was delicious…. out I came, clean hair, body delicately scented like coconut and so so so very clean.

That shower put me in the best mood. M and V came home from picking up dinner stuff and Little Man was scooped up into my arms, snuggled within an inch of his life and then fed some yummy dinner. Tonight’s meal: Oven Gold Boars Head turkey, Organic cheddar cheese, sauteed zucchini and mushrooms and sweet potato french fries. Fresh watermelon for dessert.

Post dinner, off we headed to the bedroom for a strip-down and a plunk in the tub. Who knew that my leisurely evening was about to come to an end!

I played games with V as I stripped him down to his diaper on the changing table. An aroma arose from the groinal region that immediately exited the room and headed for the kitchen to assault M’s nostrils. “Jame!! What’s that smell?!?! It’s awful!!” he shouted from the other room.

“M! V’s got a present for you!! But you have to come in here to get it!” I shouted back…. he did not fall for that old trick… neither would I.

I opened that diaper and encountered the foulest thing ever seen in a  diaper in the history of Mankind. Also the foulest smelling thing. Foul.

Not to V though!! He shrieked with delight and happily stuffed both hands down that diaper and went straight for the bits. Which were covered. That’s how awful this diaper was. It was a full-on “Strap your child to the changing table and use both hands” kind of clean up.

Oh. My. God. His hands were covered in poo and he was laughing hysterically. He was having the best time ever!! I, on the other hand, was freaking out. And screaming things like “NANANANANANANA! V!!!!!! Nonononono! Oh my god, oh god…. oh holy god….etc etc”.

M, was happily (pretend) oblivious in the kitchen. He states he heard nothing. Bastard.

Anyways, off we went at arms length to the tub. The one time I didn’t want to cradle that little bum while I walk him naked as a jaybird (him, not me) over to the tub and dunk him in. I did not want to touch that part of his body.

What follows was fastest bath in the history of the human race. It might have even been faster than the previous fastest bath (that one that followed the infamous ‘poop in tub’ incident).

Bedtime followed at an even faster pace!

xoxo a.m.

Applebee’s

M and I were brave this evening and decided to take wee V out for dinner with us. We didn’t want to hit up anything fancy so we ended up at Applebee’s across the street. For my lovely Canadians, Applebee’s is like going to Earl’s. But with Rock n’ Roll paraphernalia instead of parrots.

It’s cheap. Crowded. Full of families.

In short, the perfect place to practise on. After we’ve master this place, we can move on to fancier places… Like, um, Chili’s…

So this was this evenings conversation…

“What would you like this evening?”

“I’ll have the Shrimp Fiesta sala–nanananananananana….Vincent. Nananana. No. Salad, please… And a glass of wine.”

“I’ll have the Roasted Red Pepper Chicken Penn-nanananananana. Vincent. Nananana. Put that down. Penne pasta. And a Caesar salad on the side. And some french fries. And a beer.”

“I’ll be right back with your drinks”

*please hurry*

5 minutes of thumping, clapping and hitting ourselves on the head commenced (V’s new favorite motion of choice).

Drinks arrived. It was 2 for 1 night (and apparently is every night of the week. I slurped back a glass of wine. M slurped back a beer) Clapping resumed.

Food arrived…(in between the clapping and food, there was little to no conversation). Conversation started but was cut short like this: ‘How was your da-dadadadadada day? Wheres Dada?! There he is!!! Yayayayayayayay!!!” *clap clap clap* etc

French fries arrived on a plate that was delivered directly to V. How thoughtful of the young waitress to deliver a plate of piping hot fries fresh out of the oil to a 1 year old. Thank you. Lets now listen to him scream while I remove them from his reach and cool them down. M, please distract him with a rattly Zebra or something….

Fries cooled down, eating began. And M and I ate quickly.

V ate so many french fries that I thought I would seriously regret this meal tomorrow. I still do. I am so going to rock-paper-scissors M tomorrow morning for the diaper change *Junken!!*

The rest of the meal consisted of clapping. Cheering. Hitting ourselves on our heads. Saying “What’s that?!” a million times. Really it sounds like ‘Izzat!” but that is what it means. Picking up toys. Picking up more toys. Apologizing to that couple that got a toy thrown at them (sort of). More hitting. Some random Pterodactyl noises (think  loud shrieks). French fries gently sprinkled on the floor like someone planting grass…. etc etc.

And then we went home. It was 7:30. V went right to bed. All of that restaurant excitement clearly tired him out…. he went right to sleep.

I love my child. Sometimes I really love it when he sleeps. Tonight is one of those nights…

xoxo a.m.

Glorious

The crazy Summer of 2002 and its Brazilian beach parties gradually ushered in one heck of a cold fall. Hamamatsu gets pretty windy.

Housing insulation…well…lets just say that it is not a priority. Thin walls, lack of central heat equals a very cold apartment.

With the cold fall, M’s Dad arrived and his visit was a highly anticipated one, both by M and by the school that we worked for. There were no end of eager students practically lining up to entertain him when he arrived. B, on the other hand, had his own ideas about what he would be doing… One day, I believe M woke up to find a note informing him that he (Dad) was heading to the train station (possibly on foot) to take the train up to Tokyo. And that he would call him later…

I peppered M with questions “Where’s he going? What’s he doing?” etc etc…. M replied “…not sure…” and that was the end of that conversation. A few days later he was back, it was the weekend and we all took a drive to see Momiji (or Japanese Maple trees in their gorgeous autumn splendor).

In case you haven’t ever witnessed their absolute glory, here is a picture from that afternoon hike that illustrates it…

Momiji 2002

It was pretty amazing. Can you see me on the side there? So we hiked all around this little mountain, up spider infested slopes and down them… under those fiery leaves and through their lightly less colourful brethren that were scattered on the ground…. We wound around and around the mini-mountainside until we came to the most interesting of bridges. Some type of suspension bridge, one of those that sways when you walk on them. I think they are awesome. M….. not so much. And B well, not at all. In fact he posed all cool and debonair and firmly on the ground, while I confidently strode out there and M followed behind… just slightly less excited than I was…

Jaime on the bridge, 2002

M on the bridge 2002... slightly less excited...

B not on the bridge and pretty happy about that....

It was a pretty full afternoon. Momiji. Glorious. Spider infested temple. Not so much. But that was evened out by amazing bridge experience (for me anyways).

That evening M joined me in my apartment (next to his) for an epic evening of boot-leg Simpsons episodes. We stayed up far too late. There might have been longing glances cast (in a behind the back sort of way…..we weren’t dating yet).

Glorious.

Bonding

I washed my hands at this temple…..

I think it was in Kakegawa (correct me if I am wrong, please…it was 7 years ago)

I took this trip in January of 2002. M and I had known each other…. perhaps about 3 days? In the 8 weeks that I had taught at Alpha Language School, I bonded with one particular class. They turned into my parents…. and I think of them so fondly even now.

They invited me (us) on a bus trip to a castle and a temple. Since I had done nothing in Japan at that point (except drink), this was pretty exciting. We were picked up at about 7 am. Shoved into a teeny car. Driven to some random parking lot, we exited and then lined up for a bus. And met the rest of the class who were coming with us.

It was a pretty luxurious bus. And to my surprise, all of the old ladies on it (pretty much it was M and 50 older women) simutaneously cracked open a beer. I kid you not. We were then offered one…. too early for us both.

So while the bus drank its face off, M and I giggled away and cemented our friendship in the ridiculousness of this journey. The only other man on the bus adventure cast glances back at him longingly… he was trapped in beer and morning pastry hell. Poor guy…

The day was spent on and off that bus.

Interlude: The most ridiculously gourmet meal I had ever had in my life (at that point) as just a random lunch time thing for the whole bus. On a private golf course that was used primarily by sumo wrestlers for a vacation hot spot or something like that. It was fancy. Maybe it was soccer pros that vacationed there…. regardless, it was fancy, delicious and well, super fancy. Oh, and awkward. Really really awkward.

Please, try to imagine 2 fluent english speakers plus 7 non-english speakers. PLUS alcohol. Plus overwhelming Japanese culture. Plus hand gestures.

I was 25. M was 26. They were the same age as our parents. And had been drinking. Awkward!

Regardless of the whole awkwardness thing, it still was the most amazing thing I had ever done.  We were all so unsure of each other it made it ok. I remember walking onto the grounds of the temple and just being astounded. I literally didn’t know how to react to what I was seeing. It was the complete opposite of the Canadian West Coast. Or of any coast at all.

It was the best weekend of my early twenties….

Change(ing)

I did not look like this (and neither did V) as we wrestled..... tres misleading...

Oh tonight you are in for a treat! It’s a double feature!

Part one to commence momentarily and part two to follow later…

The scene opens at Barnes and Noble with wee V scooting all over the children’s book section like some kind of speed racer and M and I frantically trying to keep him from destroying the room like he does his bedroom. One corner of the section had a raised platform, which I am assuming is for story time. V found it incredibly amusing to climb up the steps and then climb down them face-first.

In the middle of all of this action, there was a pause for some serious grunting. You know what that entails…. and if M and I had any doubts, those were quickly chased away on his next lap passed us.

Foul ball in play!

I grabbed the diaper bag and Little Man and headed off to the washroom, hoping that they had a baby changing station.

And oh thank god they did. One of those Koala ones which, I think, are considered the norm in terms of changing stations. What followed was not. Or not at least any norm that I have encountered. Which might mean that it has now become the norm. Which scared me. And still does.

That strap that you tie your child down with was broken. And I say ‘tie down’ as that is what I wished I could do.

Or maybe super glue him to the table. My changing pad and the changing table combined together created the slipperiest surface man has ever known. It was like I had oiled the whole thing (and him) down. I couldn’t keep him on his back. Or in one fixed place. He moved, the pad moved with him and he almost slid off the table about a dozen times and almost landed in the garbage can a few times too.

I. Could. Not. Keep. Him. Still.

And then he started screaming. It was one of those long tiled bathrooms, changing table at the end in the handicapped stall. It echoed.

M swore he didn’t hear a thing outside, but I caught a few looks on my way out. I saw you looking at me. Go ahead! You try it! See if you do a better job than I did!!

Approximately 15 minutes later I emerged sweating like a mother (oh, how this expression makes sense), with angelic-like V in my arms, poop-free and content now that he wasn’t on that awful table. I needed a shower. And a drink. It was 11 am.

Koala changing tables, I curse thee!! Please provide multiple straps so all of us mothers with our practical changing pads that your surface repels can strap our children down so they don’t end up in the garbage can with the dirty diapers (holy run-on sentence).

How I long for the practicality of the Vancouver Airport marble slab changing counter outside of customs, with that deep indentation, your child ain’t going anywhere……