Monthly Archives: March 2011

Edward? Iron!

Yup. Without help, Edward, this is what you are getting.

Just a small post this evening that will probably have you all barfing into that trashcan that I hope is conveniently located right beside you.

Edward and my (I’s? Our’s?) 6 year anniversary coming up in about 3 1/2 weeks.


Pretty cool.

In Latin? Sexennial.

Sounds sexy.

But the reality? As follows…

Candy, Iron and Modernly? Wood. And what on earth do I do with that? (I don’t need an answer on the wood portion)

Bah!! Throw some ideas at me ladies!!

xo a.m.

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Clan of the Cave Bears (and Urine)

Today was, well, full of urine. A lot more than I thought it was going to be.

There is a large amount of potty training going on over here, but it is A) Not easy, B) those things they say to throw in the potty for aiming purposes are USELESS and C) possibly easier with girls.

Not that I will admit it. Since I don’t have one. But. There are all those other factors of ‘aiming’, ‘standing’ and then an added genetic factor of ‘stubborn’.

Is it? Easier, I mean? I have heard too many conflicting stories about this type of garbage.

Today had a lot of incidences. Well, really it was this whole weekend. Vince was, apparently, feeling very non-cooperative.

Yesterday he told me while I was watering the plants:

“Mummy! I peepee’d!!!”

“Oh? Great.” (GREAT. That was a sarcastic ‘great’ by the way)

We were outside, on the front porch. Vince looked rather nonchalant. There was a slightly yellow puddle underneath him on our white-painted front porch, one that was encroaching on the shoes he’d dropped and heading slowly for the next step.

And honestly? All I could think of was “Well, that’s typical”.

Upstairs we went to clean up, he didn’t even care. And it was rather slapshot for the rest of the day.

And today was the same. Pee in your car, Mummy? Sure!! Why not!! Make you thank all that is Holy that you had enough Clan of the Cave Bear foresight to bring a spare set of pants?


Ayla-style, that is!

Oh Urine. I will not let you be my master. I will dominate you. Not in a gross kind of way, you sickos. SICKOS!

Just, you know, hoping for less pee in my life…


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Haircuts, Celsius and Inappropriate chatter

Vince's face was WAY more violent looking than this. Baby puhleeze!


This weekend? Too many things to talk about.

Haircuts, or almost haircuts. Why my fridge’s internal temperature ‘randomly’ changed to Celsius. And what I said to my new neighbour that was just the pinnacle of “Jaime, please filter your mouth”.

Fun stuff.

Shall we start with the haircut? Lets!

Vince has an almost-mullet-slash-pony tail. The front part of his hair is currently approaching Justin Bieber comb-over, which I discovered yesterday while I was attempting to control his hair. Edward took him to school and didn’t notice. Made me giggle.

So thought was put into what to do about it. Originally the plan was Disney’s Magic Kingdom Barber Shoppe. The other option was Uncle John’s ‘Liberty Barber Shop’. And Uncle John is an actual relative that Vince has hung out with. We love John. Vince loves John, but pretends to be shy with him… He is a bit funny around strangers, so based on this, I thought this might be the better option.

There was a special kiddo seat AND a cape with duckies on it! None of this was enticing at all. This is, for sure, the first of many many MANY visits while we establish that this is, in fact, an ok thing for people to do. And by people, I of course mean Vincent.

Daddy had to demonstrate how you sit in the chair and get your hair cut. Vince was not that impressed. He was offered a sticker. Not impressed. We left. “Mummy!!! We got da hair cut wit da sissors! Ya! I like dat!” And suddenly? Impressed. And full of lies.

RIGHT. Lying is clearly something he is perfecting. And if you too want a proper shave and a haircut, check Liberty Barber out.

And so, moving on to my fridge. Well, it was on Fahrenheit. I guess that’s just what it’s automatically set to in the States. You know, since that’s what is used down here in the ‘Sauth’. Or other parts of this great country. That aren’t Southern. But that’s not even an issue.

So last month, my parents came to visit. Our fridge was Fahrenheit. And, then, suddenly, Edward and I were home one early afternoon and we just happened to glance over at the fridges digital temperature display. And realized that it was something that we just couldn’t comprehend. What were these digits? Why were they so incomprehensible?

Ah. I see. Too low. I need more numerical highness. And I have no idea how to change it back. Not even going to try. Thanks Mum (or really, thanks George. Since I know it was you).

And now shall we move on to our final installment of my non-filtered mouth?

Sometimes I wonder why I even talk to anyone…

One of my newer neighbours stopped by our place, with 2 of her children, selling Boy Scouts things. Of course we bought one. We always support them. While we were purchasing, she mentions the following: “We just moved in. Thought we’d introduce ourselves”.

My response? Do you even want to know? It’s truly awful..

“Hi!! Nice to meet you!”

“Yes, we’ve been here for about 1 1/2 years”.

“Oh ya, the YMCA pool is amazing in the summer. No, not too crowded at all. You might even meet Edward over there. Vince loves it, so they hang out there all the time”

And then?

“Yes, we have one son, about 3. Trying for a second. Not that we are actively trying. I’m not pregnant or anything, but it’s in the works”.

And finally:

“Oh my god.! Why am I telling you this!! I am SO sorry! It’s been a really long week”.


“I know EXACTLY what you mean”.

Oh thank god. Because I might have just sounded a little bit psychotic there, just for a few minutes. Good job at meeting people, Jaime! No wonder you had to join a freaking online group! You are, in fact, verbally challenged. Nice.

Oh. My. Lord.

So, there we go.

Haircut (not quite). Fahrenheit or Celsius. And not talking about rubbish to perfect strangers. I learned so many important things this week.

xoxo a.m.


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As life centers around the bowl these days, it’s only fair to share with everyone. I am sure Vince will appreciate it when he is older. Or when he can read.

This week has been a week of underwear. As in, Vince is going to and from school in underwear! Wow! Huzzah! Someone can pee in the potty all by themselYes!

Not that this means there are no accidents. As there seem to be many and they are all gross and are all situated around me, post-work and usually when Edward is otherwise occupied. With his ipad. Bastard.

Last week, when we were doing a ‘dry-run’, success was in the works until we hit what I would call a road block, but perhaps other people would call ‘a shower of poo’.

As in, he told me he had to poo. He poo’d. We could ONLY go upstairs to sort out this mess, and with every step he took, there was a shower ‘nuggets. and this was something I didn’t notice right away.

Vince pointed it out for me. “Mummy. Ders poo. Right der.”

“There is?!?!”

“Yes. Der is.” “Where?” “Mummy!!!! Poo right der!” (The floors are dark wood)

“Where honey?” “MUMMY! Right der!!!!!”

And lo and behold, there was. All over my livingroom floor. On the landing. And up the stairs.

“EDWARD!!!!!!! I need you to clean up poo!!!!”


Ok, so anyways, that was awful. And then it didn’t happen again until Tuesday.

“Mummy! I poo!”

Oh god. And he did. In his underwear. And then was so frantic to have his pants changed of it, that the poo splatted on the floor of the bathroom and down his leg. Wonderful.

“Hun!! Is there a problem?”, Eddie shouted from the living room.

And then, I literally super ray-gun laser-visioned through the wall and burned his face off.

And then it happened again. But this time, since I had seen a pattern, I thought I had an answer. Get someone on the potty asap. Because apparently, they do not poop at school, they save it for home and then *attack* poop the house.

So I went in attack mode. I tried to be preventative. Instead, I just caused an international incident.

*A soft whisper from E later: “I think you might have been a bit over-reactive”*

*Whisper back:”Like a nuclear reactor”*

And now I feel awful, hoping that I did not scar him for life. I think we are having poop issues. Boo!


a.m. (please pray for me)

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Mama drama

I am a big brave girl. At just shy of 35 (why am I telling you that? Shhhh), I finally have struck up enough courage to try to make friends with complete strangers.

It actually was a New years resolution. I resolved to meet other Mum’s in the neighbourhood (even though I am crap at chatting people up), Mums that would ideally have kiddos Vince’s age thus creating a sort of impromptu playgroup.

But honestly, when does that happen in real life. I mean, clearly it happens in the movies enough for us regular Mum’s to think that it might happen to us? Of course it would! We are exactly like all those Mum’s, right? So why wouldn’t we?

But we don’t. For whatever million reasons there are.

And so, as Vince enters the age of 3, I am looking for lady friends. With benefits. Ie: you have children.

It is a whole tricky thing. It is like A) online dating, B) a blind date and C) perhaps total insanity.

So last weekend, as I was checking out a bunch of site:s I discovered, I learned, I gained knowledge. All of those groups are pretty darn private. You have to make a huge effort to show your interest in joining. You probably are going to have to answer a tons of questions about yourself.

And so I put it all out there. All of it. In a very restrained sort of way. No way do they need to know I am a book spazz, addicted to Project Runway and Top Chef and steal dirt from my father-in-law. (Ok, he surreptitiously gives it to me. Regardless). They probably also don’t want to know that I am blogging about this.

But guess what? After the several group rejects I got, plus the “We meet on Tuesday mornings at 10 am” illuminatons, what I ended up getting acceptted into is pretty nice.

So this afternoon, I met them for the first time. A bit scary. A real huge scary. And innocently enough, it ended up being just one person that I met. And somehow that seemed to be perfect.

So despite my so-called stress over this days events, somehow it worked out just right for us.

We have been accepted. Gosh that sounds dramatic and it is! It is wonderfully dramatic. And I met a new friend.

Hurray!!’xoxo a.m.


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A wet, hot mess

Tonight’s discussion?

My last two interesting days filled with pee and poo. What do I mean? Oh, please let me share. I do so love to share with you.

Day One

Ok, so the last 2 days, Vince is a peepee machine. He is peeing on the potty all day long, with no accidents (but wearing a diaper at naptime). So awesome, we are so proud. So proud yesterday, in fact, I treated him to McDonalds (!!). On the way home, with that little red box riding shotgun, V announced to the backseat: “I peepee’d in my diaper”. (He wasn’t wearing one. Which I pointed out.”

“Oh”, he said. “Ok. Mummy I pee pee’d in my underwears”. Huh.

Well, I am glad that got cleared up. Vince waddled into the house with a HUGE wet mark on his bum and we went directly upstairs for a change. A change into another pair of underwears, since we were feeling positive!

About 25 minutes into the 2nd pair, V announced to the living: “I peepee’d ober dere”. Which he had in fact. And then walked through the pee, tracking pee-prints all across the downstairs. Which thankfully (Thankfully!!) is wood-laminate. Dude.

Up we went again. this time, I gave up. We went straight into the bath, then to nighttime diapers and then into pj’s and then right to bed. Ha!

Day Two

Another wondrous day of peeing in the potty! Oh how proud I was. Last night’s pee incidences brushed aside, I happily walked into his classroom to a happy Vincent wearing ‘underwears’. One who had just done a pee on the potty! Hurrah! Day two!

And so Little Man ventured home, in underwears, stat rushed to the potty when we got home to prevent accidents. I thought I was learning from yesterday.

Then. Oh my. And then…

Then” Vince announced “Mummy, ders a poo ober der”.

And there was, actually. A teeny nugget. On the floor. I instantly thought it was the dog and yelled at him over my shoulder automatically. And then he pointed out another nugget.

“Vince? Do you have a poo in your pants?”, I asked skeptically? Surely my child wouldn’t have donnnoooooohhh look, he had”.

And literally every step we walked, little poop shot out of his underwears. To the extent where Edward said to me “I’ll take of it down here” and I picked up V and held him gingerly by his hips as i carried him upstairs.

So  as we walked up the stairs, I encountered a ‘stealth poop’, which is what we call the dog pooping in the house. Which he does, in the most random and secretive of locations, so secretive that it ends up turning into a treasure hunt.

Gah! So annoyed!

And then gah!! Must deal with more poo! With great trepidation, I lowered his pants to the sound of poop musically raining down on the bathroom floor. And thudding. And then noticed a wet spot on my tank top, where I had been peed on while I was carrying him upstairs to deal with the poo….

See? See what I mean? Just showers (literally and figuratively) of pee and poo. Showering on me and other parts in my house.

Bah! Gah! Meh! Booooo!

Day three could be the charm… Right?

I am going to confidently assume that.

xoxo a.m.

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You are not stupid (despite what my child says)


Life is hard. It's harder when you're stupid.



Lots of interesting things to discuss this week…

First up? Vincent’s surprising vocabulary development. Last week, it gave me a bit of a shock and I really thought hard about where it could have originated from. I came to the conclusion that it must have been school. Lets be honest, that is where all of the negative things seem to come from.

And the phrase? Oh, it’s a good one. It sure it. It has shades of me picking up ‘shit’ in middle school and using it as often as possible. Remember Jodi? This might be the ‘shit’ equivalent of pre-school.

“You’re stupid”, Vince said, fake angrily to himself in the backseat.

We were driving home from work and daycare last week, when I hear this from the backseat. Now, I hear a lot of things from the back seat, but this was the first time I had heard a word like that.

I tried quite hard to ignore it. He kept saying it. A few days passed, I thought he’d forgotten it and then it made a reappearance. And there was an odd conversation. A conversation between Vince and his potty.

His turtle potty. The one that has a happy, smiley face on it.

He picked it up, right off of the potty where it usually sits. He looked at, eye to fake plastic eye and proceeded to say “Look at me. Look. At. Me. Don’t do that! Don’t. Do. That. You stay here. Right here”.

And then, there was some dramatic license.

“You stay here, in da dark. Ders monsters. See? I show you! It’s ok turtle! It’s ok!” It was a kind of good cop, bad cop thing. It made me giggle.

And then today… ‘you’re stupid’ made a reappearance. In the car on the way home, he whipped out the phrase.

I was SO mad. Plus, it’s stupid daylight savings time which always does an awful number on our family. Plus work sucked. So, I was not in the mood.

And so I tried various methods in the car on the way home, trying to reason with my 2 1/2 year old, something to get him to stop saying that phrase.

“Those are Mummy and Daddy words, Vince. Those are not words for Vincents to say” was the first attempt. Which resulted in more repetition of the phrase. Which resulted in the what I thought was the ultimate threat. A spank on the bottom.

Well, that threat had no impact at all. Guess what did?

“I’m going to tell Daddy what you said”.

Oh man!! I hit the big time! Best threat ever! In the whole world! I for sure deserve a parental high-five for that.

And that threat seemed to bring the rest of the threats in line. V repeated “Dees Mummy Daddy words. Not Vincent. I getta spank on da bottom. Dont’ tell Daddy!”

Nice. And all I ended up doing was looking stern and glancing in Daddy’s general direction. But I hate how this is happening so soon. Shouldn’t he at least be in some elementary school class before he learns something impolite? Or is it just inevitable?

Or maybe I am just too strict? Too strict  with language (as I am a huge pushover-slash-toughest other ever). Regardless, I disapprove of the language.

night night! xoxo a.m.

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So over the course of the last few weeks, whilst I have otherwise been occupied by visitors, potty training has advanced rapidly. Most interesting.

Most interesting indeed. We have developed a bit of a routine which seems to be working well. Currently, V has 4 books to read on the potty. Usually each potty event is a lengthy one, requiring anywhere between 2 to 4 books. Sometimes with repeat reads on a particular favorite.

You also have to be completely naked. Well, not ‘you’, more like ‘him’. I remain fully clothed. So does Edward. There is a potty chart on the wall, smiley stickers on the counter and a little container of m&m’s. It’s a 3 pronged approach. I WILL get pee in the potty, even if it kills me.

Which it hasn’t! Hurray!!

We are currently averaging at least one pee on the potty per day. Miracle. He’s even poo’d on the potty too. Double miracle. Which is like a double rainbow…. a rare and awesome event.

Anyways, about a week and a half a new development arose. My Mum picked him up one day last month and come home with the news that Vince had done a ‘standup peepee’. Well, we were all in shock at hearing this news. I mean, A) where did he learn this and B) who taught him and C) where did he learn this?!

Honestly? Where did it come from! I’ve been doing 99% of the potty training. Ok, I’ve been doing %100 of the training. Edward was been ‘back-up’ and ‘support staff’ and sometimes ‘human resources’.

I’ve been teaching him to sit. But he has seen Daddy peepee a few times. And one of his potty books does have a picture of a baseball player doing a ‘standup peepee’.

So he’s self taught. Clearly a genius.

So when this miraculous event transpires at home, he usually has to be completely naked. He takes his little step stool over to the potty and puts it in front. Up he steps and then proceeds to balance himself by leaning forward with his hands on either the top of the toilet or holding on to the raised lid.

And then he simply leans forward.

Urine practically leaps out of his bladder and into the potty. Miracle!

Way more peeing going on then when he sits. WAY. It’s like a proper adult pee.

Hurray!! Huzzah!

“Mummy!! I need a paper towel!” (toilet paper), he shouted proudly at me, even though I was about 8 inches away from him.

I promptly tore off a piece of toilet paper and solemnly handed it to him. What he did next was not what I was expecting. He proceeded to lean down and wipe off the porcelain of the potty stating “Dis is icky. I clean it”.

Once clean, he proceeded to do what I had showed him to do with the toilet paper. Wipe.

Wipe! WIPE! Ack! As that little wad of tissue neared his ‘bits’ and I realized his intentions, I totally did a slow-mo leap towards his crotch (even though I was a foot away) and shouted “Nooooooooo…..!!!!!” in slow-mo as well.

I was too late. That paper dabbed at the bits and then was properly discarded in the potty. A sweet-faced smile proudly turned to me “Mummy! I did it!!!”

Ok, you sure did baby. You sure did.

I shudder thinking about the paper part, but thrill at the thought of him peeing on the potty. Who would have thought I would love urine so much?! Who would have thought toilets and I would be intimately involved?

Oh potty training, how I both love and loath you.

xoxo a.m.


Potty training? This site seems to have some tips and tricks for Mummies…


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Somehow, last night, I managed to talk Edward into not doing any work today.

Clearly I have miraculous skills, right? Despite having just finished a bunch of time off while my family was in town, a day with my big man and little man is high on my list of things to do.

So we went to the Sanford Zoo. Last time we went there was about a year ago. I think V was walking when we went. Mostly I remember eating really awful french fries and laughing over the term ‘Herpetologist’. I do understand that this is a real word. Honestly. But, as per usual, I am 5 years old.

Anyways, we had a lovely time. V enjoyed himself immensely.

After V went to bed this evening, I went and got a box out of my closet. This was something that my mother had brought with her from Canada and gave to me the night that they arrived. It was something that, once opened, we moved to a safe Vincent-free storage area as I didn’t want him touching and/or potentially breaking it.

Bare minimum back story is my Grandmother has been in assisted living for about a year right now. She has dementia, which seems to be getting progressively worse. When my Mum helped move her into where she currently is, this was something that she came across during the post-move clean up that was crumpled up and stuffed somewhere like a piece of garbage.

She saved it and surprised me with it as a gift after they landed last month.

So cool. So amazingly cool.

So what it is, is my Great Grandfather’s hand woven and embroidered baby bib.

His name was Theodore Moilliett, which was cross-stitched along the bottom of the bib. The material itself looks like it was hand-woven. It doesn’t look like a machine-made fabric. It has a very delicate and partially disintegrating fringe along the bottom. It is delicate. It is stained. It has creases.

I love every little part of it. It’s pretty damn cool to have a piece of family heritage hanging up in my dining room. Especially since a few months ago I was bemoaning the lack of hand-me-down family furniture and treasures in our American house.

If we were in Canada, I can guarantee that we would have someones old table and chairs, plus whatever other old lovely things that needed a home. As it were, Edwards parents gave us a gorgeous old curio cabinet of theirs a few months ago and that has really made me feel a lot better.

Anyways, just a neat side note amongst the millions of stories and observations post-holiday…

xoxo a.m.


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Mary, Mother of God(‘s ring that I bought in Georgia)

So yesterday morning, my parents snuck out of the house so as to not say goodbye to me or Vince or Edward.


Although, when I got all confrontational via text later that morning, it would appear that the Melvins simply had not gotten up in time. Oh man. I thought 5:45 would be early enough. It was apparently not.

But, I have to admit, this was a blessing. I think, if I had to physically hug my Mum goodbye on Friday morning, I would  probably have been a big meltly mess the rest of the day. And since Friday was extremely busy, that would have not flown well.

This way I just felt a bit cheated that I hadn’t hugged longer the night before. And kind of sad that V hadn’t gotten in one last hug. And now, on Saturday night, Chewie and I are hanging out alone after fighting with V at bedtime. And then making dinner and eating at about 8:45. Ugh. Mum, this is part of why I miss you. You encourage early eating. Also you would be encouraging not watching ANTM. I appreciate that encouragement.

I have so many stories to tell, I am afraid that you might hate me. Let me just finish with one.

Somewhere in Georgia, we (V, E and Sissy) pulled over for lunch at a BBQ place. I think it might have been a southern bbq first for my sis. But it also was a much need lunch for the 4 of us. V was cranking it OUT. He needed food.

We ordered. V and I went to the bathroom every 30 seconds to wash his hands. I gulped bbq. Sis ate hush-puppies. Edward oversaw it all. We survived the meal. My hands were particularly clean. So were V’s.

On the way out, as I chased V through the restaurant, we passed the toy machines . You know, those little machines with the tattoos, rings, stickers. All that sort of stuff?

Religious Icons. Thats what they have in Georgia.

Mary, Mother of ‘rings’, Jesus, Son of ‘rings’. Guess what we won.


xoxo a.m.

(and xoxo to Georgia and bbq too)



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