Splendid

Gosh, tricky thing. Need tweezers...

For days here, I have been trying to catch a breath.

So, let’s start. Stomach flu ala Vince, starting Thursday and ending yesterday. Non-stop poo and vomit. And drugs. For him, I mean. I think I had a full weekend of ‘Man Sundays” which, as I am sure you know, means there is no showering going on and perhaps you stay in your pj’s. And maybe watch Chugginton and Thomas the Tank Engine all day long… Or non-stop Mickey Mouse.

The flu was followed by our 6 year anniversary. Which was yesterday. Edward had made reservations ages ago at Disney, we were geared up for it. And then the flu arrived and weplayed around with canceling our reservation. Vince’s health took a bit of an upturn and so we decided to proceed.

Dropping him off at daycare yesterday, well it kinda sucked. He wasn’t too crazy about school, I was feeling a bit rough about it too and so decided on the spot to pick him up early, just after lunch, hoping that a snooze and hangout sesh with Mummy would calm the wild beast stomach.

Well, it almost worked. And then he puked in a public parking lot. Just totally random. And randomly followed by some more diarrhea. And then, all of this followed by a rough nap, a quick hair-do, throwing a dress on and us all headin gover to Sassy and PopPop’s for some babysitting.

So I confess. I had to go and buy a bra. With Vince. And it was a bit of a slap-dash affair. I needed one of those clever bras, the kind that make you coffee etc. And if they can’t do that, at least they are capable of flexibility.

Like the one I chose to buy stated. It claimed it had ‘8 different positions’. I got to 3. The fourth one, the one I really wanted, gave me some trouble. It claimed it could morph into a halter bra and I believed it.

30 minutes later, perched on my bed with a set of tweezers, I tried to force the straps to do things they clearly did not want to. Like be a halter bra.

Edward called me 3 times and I didn’t even notice.

I was sweating.

Finally I called him back and proclaimed “My apologies, I was trying to fit my chest into this stupid bra”.

I think he drooled his response into the phone.

Stupid bra. It lied to me. And it made me sweat. Things a bra should not do to it’s devoted owner…

Well, regardless, they ended up looking splendid and the anniversary progressed as planned. I still ponder this bra-quation. I just don’t understand how the straps are incapable of performing. It was a total viagra/cialis promise.

Promising ‘much’, delivering ‘little’.

xoxo a.m.

Dirty pants

Girls? Lets clean these up all sparkling!!

My Mum has always been rather good about surprising me with knowledge, insight and random hands-on examples just when I didn’t think I needed it. One of the things that I love about her.

One that really sticks in my mind is the day after Vincent was born. There I was, extremely sore (don’t worry, I won’t get into any detail about that. You, for sure, don’t want to hear it and I don’t want to relive it) and just kind of… for lack of a better word…stumped.

The first time was about poop. Vincent was hanging out in my little private room, Mum was there and I think the last time I had changed a diaper might have been when my sister was little. And that’s a BIG ‘might’. I just honestly don’t remember.

And there he was, with a dirty bum and me kind of going “Um. So I guess I just… umm…take this off?” I had no idea what I was doing. AND it was meconium, which is the poop equivalent of tar. I dabbed at it gently, not wanting to hurt my 1 day old baby.

Mum practically pushed me out of the way and efficiently and properly cleaned that little bum until it looked like a freshly mopped floor. It sparkled.

Thanks Mummy.

So this past visit, while lovely, has a little star-mark next to Mum’s latest nugget of wisdom. Which just happens to be about poop too. Surprise!

V came home from school with a teeny bag containing on pair of dirty underwear. While practically potty-trained, he does tend to hold ‘it’ until he gets home. And surprises us with the gift of poo a short while after we get home.

Tonight, I even thought I would derail the poo-pants by giving him a stat-bath and then leaving him naked for the rest of the evening. And as a result? There was not only no poo, but he peed on the potty all night long and resisted all attempts to sit on it. Or discuss poo. Or poo.

*gah!*

Pretty much I am resigned to an awful awakening tomorrow.

Back to my Mum… She taught me this nice little trick.

Have pants with poop on them? No worries!! Just wash them out IN THE TOILET.

At first, I was just like ‘Huh. Right. I’ll just try that when you are not around.’

And then on of the days she was here, there was an incident and she just (pardon me Mummy and my language) balls-out swept those dirty pants out of my hands and proceeded to scrub them out in the potty. WITH HER BARE HANDS.

I watched on in awe…

What else could you really watch with??

And then I got a mini-lecture about how to clean dirty pants in the potty, how this is the best way, how it was done in the 70’s with cloth diapers and how it was a great way to deal with poop-underwear.

So, this past weekend, I thought I would deal with the problem as my mother did (does) etc. And so, Sunday, that is how Edward caught me. Sitting on a wee stool (ha!), in front of a potty, scrubbing 2 sets of pants (or underwear, whatever you want to call them) in the toilet bowl.

I think he was coming up to ask me a question. Upon seeing the ‘situation’, he back right out, picked up Vince and took him straight to the tent… The tent being located in one of our upstairs bedrooms, filled with V’s toys courtesy of V’s Grampa.

Meanwhile, I gagged away, as I scrubbed out the poop out of those little pants. Man, was I ever trying. I WILL not throw these pants out. I WILL keep them!! I WILL scrub them until you can see no streak marks!

And then 2 days later, my resolve failed me after a particularly messy, wet and just plain ol’ gross ‘deposit’.

I threw away 2 pairs of underwear because I could not deal with the ‘package’. I am a wimp. Just in the last 3 days. I lasted that long. But honestly, it was a wee bit of a fail. Vince announced the arrival and, once I pulled down his pants to deal with it, well, I just couldn’t.

No amount of swishing them around in the potty would be happening. None would be happening, actually. I looked at them, removed them and put them in the Diaper Genie. Kind of hoping, actually, that the throwing out of his most favorite underwears would be some sort of violation and he would suddenly feel compelled to go to the potty from now on…

And when that didn’t happen the second time, I felt a bit cheated. And sort of like I had had a fecal-chastisement. A kind of “Oh you thought so, did you? Well, think again!”

Lord is potty-training ever frustrating. Especially with all of these little curves that get tossed at you. It’s always one thing or another, both literally and figuratively speaking.

Please, lets all pray that its nearing it’s end… You know, ‘end’… Ha!!

xoxo a.m

Easter Eggs are the devil

Hug please... I'm tired and need a few

I am exhausted. Plus Easter Eggs are the devils work.

And back-tracking, I’ll tell you why.

Exhaustion really starts Friday, with one very long day of work. It was full of all sorts of ‘surprise’ things like, well, HIPPA prevents me from discussing it. But, I can confidently say it was a heck of a day.

After work Friday, I went to my in-laws for dinner with our family visiting from NYC, to indulge in a meal cooked by my Uncle?  (That’s what I call my husbands Aunt’s husband, right?)

And then we got home at 9pm. And then we got up at 7am. And then I went running. And then  we went to ‘Bunny in the Park’ in Hunters Creek. And then it got really hot. And then, well, Vince hit a wall. A wall I didn’t know he had hit until WAY after he’d hit it.

Ugh.

Last week we went to a local church Easter Egg hunt which was lovely. Granted, we only had time to stay for the ‘hunt’, but it was most civilized. Children were very behaved. There was no pushing, shoving or any sort of chaos at all. AND there were ponies!

Saturday? A totally different feel. It was a scary kind of chaos. Happily Vince and his littler cousin Chloe were in the 0 to 3 age group, where it was very organized and not scary at all. We waited in line, we got to pick 3 eggs and then we left the area. His big cousin Anna was not in for such a treat. She joined the millions of children that scrapped it out for plastic eggs. And was a wee bit traumatized by the whole thing. As was I. It was horrific.

I think this is the end of our Easter Egg hunts. Next year we are either doing a home hunt or finding a cute local scene.

We went home and had an impromptu nap. Well Vince did. I cleaned. And then we went back over to my in-laws house for some Easter egg colouring. Something Vince was surprisingly not interested in at all. We swam, the girls coloured eggs, Vince was extra rambunctious. We had dinner. V and the girls ran ragged. We left late and I was in bed, like Vince, at about 9 pm.

2 days in a row, which is rather exhausting. Of course I took it out on my husband. Isn’t that what he’s there for?!

Ha!!

I haven’t recovered yet, planning on heading to bed shortly myself… One early night is desperately needed over here.

xoxo a.m. (supratired)

Cousins

 

Yup. This is typical for a cousins get-together...

 

 

While I sit in my quiet and semi-lit living room, listening to James Bond and my dog snoring away, I am so content.

Despite the utter chaos that today brought, the stress my back is feeling and the side-eye that’s Vince’s Bullseye flashlight appears to be shooting me, I still feel content.

We have family visiting from New York this week. Family which includes 2 of Vince’s cousins that he was too young to really interact much with the last time the family visited. Since that last visit (which was 2 years ago) Vince has learned to walk and talk. And his cousin gained a sister from China.

This evening, we went over to my In-Law’s house for a barbeque, swimming and general chaos. Prior to that chaos, we invited them over for some chaos at our house. And chaos it was. Vincent’s Grandpa from Canada sent him a tent, which is current set up upstairs and full of every single toy he owns (on the second level of our townhouse, that is).

Tents and children basically equals a win. Add stickers? Colouring books? Super win.

At the end of that chaos, we all hopped in our cars and drove to the other side of town for pool and bbq-related chaos.

Since no naps were taken on our side of the family, by the time we got done with crazy pool rough-housing, Vince was a wreck.

He started chanting “I wanna go home. I wanna go home. I wanna go home”. And so we did. He immediately fell asleep. And I’ll just gloss over the next few hours…. he woke up, we ate pancakes, he went back to sleep.

And I LOVE this. I grew up really close to my cousins and still am. So much that I consider them my sisters. And it’s a cool kinda thing to have 2 more sisters than you thought you had.

Oh man, how I love the idea of Vince and his cousins being super tight. And since all he did was talk about them after we left, I am thinking its highly likely that it will happen.

I am happy to encourage more cousin~ness. Makes me feel a bit like an Island girl all over again. It is kind of like looking in from the adult perspective, perhaps like my Mum and Auntie did when I was a child. And probably delighting the same way they did. It really is a special thing to see your own children interacting with your siblings children. Or your Aunt’s kids. Or whatever.

xoxo a.m. (and xoxo to my cousins too)

Wallet and watch

I am sure this is EXACTLY what V's baptism will look like... Right?

Thursday night this past week was a big, exciting evening for us. Not only was it almost the end of a rather exhausting week, but Edward and I attended baptism class at a local church.

By local church, what I really mean is splendid cathedral in the heart of downtown Orlando. We went to St James Cathedral, thinking (correctly as it turned out) that this would be the best place in the city to take a class like this.

Let me just say that I haven’t been to church in years. And the last time I did might have been a Christmas mass with my Mum and Granny. Edward hasn’t been in years either. But Vince attends a Christian based daycare and we feel it’s an important thing to do. Also, I am not Catholic. Edward is. As is his whole family.

So, this whole Catholic baptism? Well I was a little… nervous. I guess that is the best way to describe it. The Cathedral was enormous. We had no idea what we were doing. We parked somewhere that we were not sure if we should be parking. It was on church grounds, it looked like you could park there. Well, it didn’t specifically say ‘don’t park here’. So we parked. Hoping maybe that that homeless guy would guard our car…

We wandered in through the main entrance. There was nobody there. Peering in through the glass that separated us from the main church, someone gestured at us wildly. After a lot of “Who me? Or him? Us? You mean us?” gesturing, we walked down the aisle towards the front of the church and encountered a rather cheerful person, who asked us if we were here for the ‘adoration’.

“No, we are looking for the baptism class…”

“OH!! OK!! Just go…..” and she gave us very explicit directions which I believe we both promptly forgot after following just one part.

Because, as we followed her pointing finger through a door and into a courtyard, we encountered about 150 people. They looked tremendously cheerful too. One of them asked us if we were here for the ‘adoration’ too.

“Um, no. The baptism class.”

We were directed to a little old lady in a very secure room on the other side of the courtyard. She buzzed us through to a secure area and instructed us to take the elevator to the basement.

The basement was pitch black.

For about 10 seconds I serious thought I was in a horror movie. And then? I turned my head to the right and saw a room with some people and then thought “Great. We’re late.”

But, great! We weren’t!

In fact, it all went smoothly and the Deacon promised we would be done an hour earlier than the class was scheduled for. That was Deacon David. The nicest person ever. I honestly wanted him to be my neighbour/best friend/family member. He was one heck of a guy.

And so we learned. And prayed. And talked awkwardly about ourselves. And smelled Holy oils. And I learned a very interesting thing.

Even though Edward hasn’t been to church in five million years, he can still spot on cross himself at the beginning of a prayer just like he never stopped attending. I wish he’d warned me. I just felt confused while that was going on… and then kind of embarrassed.

And as we were leaving he yelled at me for stepping on the grass. And then apologized, stating it was just reflex. Made me laugh.

Made me love him more. Even though he is the hugest pain in my ass. I just might love him a bit more now….

xoxoxo a.m. (spectacles, testicles, wallet and watch)

*wank*

 

Alright, this title is deceptive. This post is not at all about wanking and also not even a little bit about penises.

In fact, it’s about my mother. Mostly.

Last month, the Canadian half of the family came down to visit for 3 weeks and man was I ever glad to see Mummy. It had been a year and I was really feeling it. We Skype and chat every week, but seeing her in the flesh, especially getting to see her hang out with the V-man, it is just awesome.

So during our 3 weeks together, at some point I guess the whole “I’ve got your nose’ routine came up. And oh man, did I ever have some crazy flash backs to childhood. Back to when I learned that same skill. I think it’s one of those things that just clings to the back of your mind, one of those always there type of memories. Like making s’mores, bonfires, beach adventures… just that kind of thing that you take for granted as a memory.

Damn you Mother!!

At first, Vince was rather astounded by this whole ‘got your nose’ type of thing. Like he wasn’t sure it really was ‘his’ nose. And then, somehow, he seemed certain.

It WAS his nose. And Nanna had it. And then, suddenly, I did. And then? DADDY HAD IT! Oh my god. That nose was getting passed around, and Vince couldn’t figure it out.

It was hysterical.

And then we sorta gave it a break for a few days. Which I guess must have been enough time for him to figure out how to ‘get’ someone’s nose. Because he proceeded to ‘get’ all of our noses.

However, interestingly enough, it was something that just kept developing.

First came the noises. A noise to remove the nose and one to put it back on.

Removal is “Wank”.

Replacement is “Sssssssss”.

All developed by Vince himself. And it makes me giggle every single time I hear it.

Today, while chatting with Mum on Skype, it took a whole new direction. One I was not expecting at all, but one that Vince reveled in.

He ‘wanked’ my nose (teehee), then said “I’ve got your nose Mummy!!!!”

And then?

Then, he ate it.

And told me “Mmmmm, Mummy it’s all gone! I ate it!!” And when I asked for it back? He licked his fingers and smeared them on my nose and then collapsed with giggles.

Nice. I just about peed my pants. So did Mum, who was watching on Skype. Where on earth did this come from?

I asked him where my nose was and he told me “It’s all gone, Mummy. It’s in der.” And pointed at his tummy.

I asked for my nose back again, this time receiving a bunch of wet fingers in my face and a “Sssssssssssss”. Brat.

This all degenerated into just pure chaos, while my mother looked on via Skype and laughed and laughed and laughed.

“I bet you are thinking this is some sort of divine retribution, right Mum? I am sure that I was nothing like this when I was young. Right? RIGHT?!”

“I know I was never a handful like this, right?”, I said while I wrestled with a pajama’d Vince, one who had just eaten my nose, one who had decided to ‘pinch’ me with his fingers and then pretend eat whatever it was he had pinched. One who had, without my knowledge, licked my whole entire shoulder so much that my bra strap was soaking wet and saliva was dripping down my arm.

Oh, and it was bed-time.

Nice. 1 minute after hanging up with Mum, Vince was passed out in bed, snoring away. Probably dreaming of noses.

Oh god, is he ever funny.

xoxo a.m. (who might also have your nose)

Ha!!

1 minute after hanging up on Skype with Mum, Vince was passed out. Such is the result of playing in a paddle pool for 2 hours.

Just a random post about hair

So for a couple of years, I really embraced my dark side. I think the last time I had dark hair it must have been high school when I dyed my hair black. I paired that with some lovely steel-toed boots, an army surplus jacket and some gauzy printed fabric dresses. And some fish nets. LORD. That was the 90’s. So really, I think there are no excuses.

So I had really dark auburn hair while pregnant with Vince. I loved it. Vince was born with not a lot of hair. But what there was, well it was dark. And Edward has dark hair. Logical, no?

(And as a secret aside, my roots are just a plain ol’ brown. In the Summer it bleaches easily in the sun, in the winter it darkens naturally. Apparently, my hair is easy)

ANYWAYS…

Vince’s hair, when he was little really looked like it was going to be dark like Daddy’s. He did get the dark eyes after all, he is a clone of his father so I honestly thought the hair would follow.

But, as he grew, it became apparent that his hair had a mind of it’s own. It, as I came to know, did not want to be like Daddy. In fact, it seems that it took pity on me and thought it would lean in my genetic direction and spiral the F out of the top of his head.

When he was one, it was rather short and easy to take care of. When he was two, oh gosh was it cute, curly, blonde, adorable. Recently people say weird things to me like “How’s you streak his hair like that?” and “Is that his natural colour?”.

Today someone said “Oh, he is too cute. So gorgeous. Those curls? Remind me of a little girl…. *sigh*…” Thank you Target employee for pointing out that ‘Yes’, it is, in fact, time for my son to get a haircut.

But every morning that I wake him up and see myself reflected in his clown hair, ugh. UGH. I just can’t. Can’t comb it, for one. Can’t stop laughing for two. Can’t cut it. Can’t seem to get it cut. Can’t put much effort into trying to cut it.

Which is not to say that I have tried. (Once) Which was just last week. Not sure if that counts as actively pursuing the hair-situation.

I think I just cannot help adoring the reflection of me in him. And probably, after he gets older, I will probably curse it and say things to his father and blame it all on him.

But oh the hair. Oh that darn hair…. I will bawl like a baby when those curls get cut. Maybe I just better have another baby and pray to God that its a girl so I can indulge in curlfest…

I am honestly making an effort to organize a haircut. I promise to take pictures. And souvenirs…

xoxo a.m. (clown car hair-style)