Monthly Archives: June 2010

The celebration of two

Vince’s birthday was yesterday. An event heralded with much excitement by me. And M. I might have been more excited than anyone though. It might as well have been a coronation or the swearing-in of a new president.

There was a wee party at his school and I organized treats and cake. I left work early, got him a cute balloon and headed to school to surprise him. And it was quite a surprise. He was so surprised, actually, that he got a little upset. I think he thought we were going to leave and leave him there. So he shyly hid his head during “Happy Birthday” and refused to eat any cupcake.

Finally, after much reassurance, he was convinced to nibble on some cupcake. Really, more licking the icing than anything. It was the nicest party, his teachers even bought him a gift. M and I split up, planning to meet at Publix to pick up some necessities.

And post-parking, as V and I were walking to the store, the vomiting commenced. Remarkably it was the same colour as the icing he ate earlier (a little detail I know you were just begging for). And it just didn’t stop. And sadly, the whole thing made me laugh. Because really, what on earth do you do in that sort of situation?




Or maybe laugh and cry?

Puke everywhere. Up my pants (splash back… nice). Down my shirt. All over him and in a puddle at my feet. Next to that car parked in the handicapped spot.

I just have to hand it to my Lake Nona Mammas. Two approached me in the throes of the hurl and offered both help and baby wipes. Thank you sisters. I wish I knew who you were, as I would probably make you my best friends. Those really are the kind of friends I want to have. The type that will go up to random woman with vomiting child and offer assistance.

Thank you ladies. Thank you.

30 minutes later, V was appearing fine. I mean, he was really fine. Super fine. Super fly! Fly!

Um, so then why did we have a repeat puke-a-thon 2 hours later? Lord only knows. But it seemed appropriate since it follows us everywhere. Usually in public.

We thought he was fine, but as we ordered it became apparent that he wasnt feeling well at all. There was the clinging. The hugging. The silence. The no smiling. The lethargy. And then finally? The vomit.

And that was followed by the total strip down in the ladies bathroom, a clothes rinse, a stroller rinse and the a surprise reappearance by the birthday boy himself naked, clad only in a diaper and in a damp stroller.

Daddy took him home. Mummy and Tita followed with M’s dinner. M broke his toe. We ate cake without Little Man. The presents languished on the table. We slept.

I woke up at 1:30 this morning to the sounds of “Mumma downstairs? Bottle? Milk? Waffles?” and so there we were. V was fine. He ate and then we went up to bed. My bed. Not his. And the wiggle-worm body wiggled all night long. I now understand that he takes after his Daddy. Restless. Geez.

And so that? That was the unofficial celebration of Two.

The official Celebration will take place tomorrow. Unofficially it is called ‘birthday do-over’. There will be Nemo. There will be family. There will be no stress like last year. There will be swimming and relaxing and sangria. Oh, and some cake and a few balloons.

There will be no puking? I happily accept your wishes winging my way…

xoxo a.m.

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Wee fish all in a row


It’s almost time. It’s in 2 days. I am freaking out. And not the same way as last year, because this year is something totally different. It’s called ‘friends’.

And I’m talking about V’s birthday, which is practically right now.

Not only is he going to be two, but he’s in ‘school’ and has ‘school friends’. And those friends equal about 18. And every single time that one of those little people have a birthday, V comes home with a bag of cute party favours.

I had been in the process of talking myself out of doing something like that… And then V came home Friday with a cute bag full of Pirate ‘booty’. Sigh. The pressure is on. I know you think I have a choice. And in some other dimension I do, but not in this particular one. And the other part is that I want to. I want to send home something adorable to the other children in V’s class so they (the parents) will (assumingly) think that Vincent’s Mum is super cool.

And while writing and reading what I just wrote, I realized I am back in high school. Preschool is like high school. In a manner of speaking.

Super popularity contest.

But, at the same time, since I have never really been able to do something like this for a class of children… I feel like I must. Like it’s just the biggest honour to plan things for my little man. Like I MUST show EVERYONE that I am so creative and awesome.

Probably I will get over this by next year. By then, he might be able to request things and not have them simply decided for him.

So he might not have a “No Monkey No Fish” birthday party like his mother has decided for him, because she thinks it’s the funniest thing ever. This party might not be filled with monkeys and fish. Because everyone loves them. I think I am confusing my self with negatives and double negatives.

So last night I painstakingly put together 20 little paper treasure chests filled with goodies for his birthday party on Friday. The Nemo cake has been ordered, party favours complete. Mummy is taking short lunch breaks this week in order to pick that Little man up  early and celebrate proper Italian style.

Which really means just celebrating with some more Italians. At an Italian restaurant. (Which should include red wine, which I will  probably need by the end of the week).

He is 2. Honest to god. Can you believe it? I can’t. Couldn’t you just die?

I have been so giddy this week, like I am going on holiday or something. I have this unreal sense of anticipation. And part of that could be related to M finally being done work for the year and Summer of Dad starting momentarily.Or not.  I have had super energy all week. It’s almost kind of psychotic. I am going to crash so bad one of these nights.

I am trying really hard to not work myself up into a total state like last year. My goal is to not need to go and lie down somewhere quiet during his birthday party like last year.

Hence the super-super low key teeny tiny party we are having this year. TEENY. And TINY. And CALM. I mean ‘calm’. Ah! I mean calm… Ya, that’s much better…

Send me some smooth, cool, sleek vibes for this upcoming weekend. Some calm, all bass with a little bit of sax silk…


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Emotions (and farm animals)

Can I indulge in a little emotion for just about a paragraph or so?

Tonight Vince said to me “Night-night Mama. Bye-bye!” and then he closed his bedroom door in my face and I heard him clumsily climb up onto his little bed to the applause of Daddy.

Yes, that’s right. He only wanted Daddy. Only wanted to hold Daddy’s hand when we were walking. Only wanted Daddy Daddy Daddy. And in fact, when he didn’t get Daddy, he had a complete melt-down.

And then you could hear my heart breaking. Because he used to want me and now he doesn’t. I had to hold back the tears and stuff my obvious hurt feelings in my back pocket.

I mean, how much of an Emotional Cancer am I that I get my feelings hurt by a two year old?

About 15 minutes later, M emerged from V’s bedroom, doing a slow-mo victory dance. It was the first time since the big boy bed that he has successfully put V to bed. We totally high, low and too slow fived each other.

I missed him saying ‘Mummy too’ tonight and his little warm body snuggles. I missed reading him a book. I missed everything. I only got the lame things like changing a poop diaper, washing his face and brushing his teeth. Then in swept Daddy, like a superhero, with books about Nemo and baby farm animals.

Geez, Jame, wallow enough? Ok, really, I think its amazing that Vince and Daddy and a team. It is the Summer of Dad, after all.

Deep cleansing breath in and out and here’s hoping for some balance. And some emotional control.

PS: I hope I get some Mummy time this summer too…


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Conversations with my Husband

Gosh, do I ever have the silliest conversations with M. So ridiculous that I might need to make it a weekly topic.

M: “Just got home from work and V is tearing the house apart. He keeps bringing me things I haven’t seen before. Most of them are your shoes.”

J: “Ha! Wait. What? Where is he getting these shoes from? I don’t have that many shoes.”

M: “Sure you don’t. Ahem. Anyways, he just came out carrying a pink stocking…”

J: “….??? What? That must be yours.”

M: “What? That doesn’t make any sense.”

J: “Well, I know those aren’t my stockings as I don’t have any pink ones, so they must be yours…hahaha… you own pink stockings!”

M: “Your Christmas stocking? You know, the one that’s pink fake fur? That’s what I mean by ‘stocking’.”

J: “Oh. I totally didn’t visualize a Christmas stocking, I was thinking about stocking stockings. Like panty-hose. You know?”

M: “….Way to date your self. Hahahahahahahaha… what are you, 90? No-one calls them stockings anymore!”

J: “What? Ha! TONS of people call them that.”

M: “Sure Mildred.”

J: “Hahahaha… don’t call me that!”

M: “Whatever you say, Gertrude.”

J: “I liked Mildred better.”

And it went on from there. Am I really the only one that calls them stockings? Am I from 1912? Do I have too many shoes?

Tune in next week for more ridiculousness…

xoxo a.m.


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