Monthly Archives: October 2011

Why bingo should never be played by toddlers

A hectic Saturday is always a good thing. Especially following a giant poo of a Friday exhaustion-wise. We all slept like a bunch of bad ass mother-f’ers. That had done a bunch of bad ass mother-f’ing things. Or I did anyways.

Vince had his last soccer game this morning followed by an epicly chaotic soccer celebration. It misty-rained through-out the whole game and Vince was his bipolar-Gemini best/worst. Post-game, we gathered in the cafeteria @ the Y for treats and each little soccer player was paraded out on stage and given a trophy. It was a wonderful end to 10 weeks of what I was pretty sure was going to be hell.

Our second stop of the day was on the other side of town, near one of my girlfriends house. Last year, we took the kids to a fall festival in Oakland, which is a little town a few miles from Winter Garden. It’s kind of a Halloween-slash-Fall festival, with a little bit of town pride thrown in. Very kid oriented, with lots of activities for the little ones.

Vince dove right in. He made a trick-or-treat bag, he painted a pumpkin, he ran around and played a bunch of very silly games. He ran himself ragged on the playground. He ate popcorn and cotton candy. He got cranky and started to turn into a bit of a beast.

And as this beast was manifested itself, I decided to use our last game tickets (which were for bingo).

In retrospect, what on earth was I thinking. Seriously. Three year olds do not need to learn how to play bingo.

It was awful. He wanted to colour the whole card. He wanted to colour numbers that didn’t exist and then got mad at me when I couldn’t find them. He wanted to sit on my lap, he wanted to get off, he wanted to sit on my lap again, he wanted to sit in his own chair, he wanted to sit on just one of my knees, he wanted to sit on the other knee. I wanted to pull my hair out.

We were both covered in marker by the time someone else won. And thank god they won quickly, because I honestly wasn’t sure how much more I would be able to take. And looking over at my friend with her 3 year old perched on her knee, I could see she was in complete and total agreement.

We left. Quickly.

What on earth was I thinking! Bingo? Toddler? This is the worst equation ever. Even trying to describe it still doesn’t come close at all to what the reality of it. My mother sent me a message that said something along the lines of “I did the same thing with you, only it was checkers…”

Ugh! Mum! Checkers? If I had any doubts about us being the exact same person, they were immediately dispelled upon reading that note. Checkers might be the 1970’s equivalent of my bingo experience.

Anyways, I will never do it again. I swear.

V went to sleep so quickly this evening, how delightful! I do so enjoy a busy Saturday…

xoxo a.m.

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Sleep please.

This is what my brain looks like right now...

Let me tell you all about last night.

First though, let me just say I am in an exhaustion coma. M-f’er am I ever tired. So is Edward. Vince is totally passed out. Which is really not that surprising.

Late last night, we awoke to the sounds of terrified wailing. Which quickly turned into shrieking. And then turned into sobbing. By the time the sobbing was going on, both of us were sufficiently awake to actually move and respond.

I got up and opened his door.

“Muuuuummmmmmmmmmmyyyyyyy….. I wanna stay with you, in your bed. I wanna go Mummy, let’s go.”

We calmly and orderly proceeded to the big bed. Whereupon Vince closed the door himself and climbed up into the bed and settled down right into my spot. And refused to move. Even a little bit. And then he told me to go sleep in his bed.

Guess what? I did. I was so tired. And about 2 minutes into that, he started shrieking for me. Despite Daddy being right next to him. And so I was lured back to bed. I went as docile as a lamb. I think it was about 2:30 am at this time. I was slowly turning into a zombie.

Finally, with the addition of Vince’s own pillow and a sippy cup of water, he settled down.

“Mummy, Mummy, Mummy, Mum, Mum, Mummy.”


“When it rains we use an umbrella so we can get the rain off.”

“Yes baby, that’s right.”

(Oh please kill me now)

“Mum, Mummy, Mummy, Mummy, Mum, Mum, Mummy.”

“Yes love?”

“We do a poo and pee in the potty and not in out pants.”

“That’s right baby.”

“Mummy, Mummy, Mum, Mum, Mummy, Mummy, Mummy.”


“Halloween’s coming and I’m going to be a dragon.”


Edward did not respond to any of this, mostly likely because he was not being addressed. I heard him snoring at one point and thought “You lucky, lucky bastard”.


And then somehow we were sleeping. And when I woke up next, it was morning and Vince’s feet were in my face.

Somehow the day progressed and is now over. Edward and I are on the couch watching ‘Attack the Block” and I’ve now been told to go to bed.

Mmmmmmmm, tired blog tonight….

xoxo a.m.

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The one where Vince forgets about the potty

Putting potty training on the back burner, Vince turns his energy to something more practical...

Some days I fear I will literally drown in urine and feces. And by some days I mean yesterday.

I haven’t talked about potty training in a while, mostly because things are going like clockwork. (Almost) everything is ending up in the potty where it should and not in anybody’s underwear.

From time to time, we get these minor incidents. Yesterday, we just had a series of major incidents. Just strung together, like pearls. I think if I imagine it to be a beautiful thing, it will be. Or, at least by imagining it as anything other than what it is, it softens the blow of awfulness.

“Mummy, I have to do a poo”, Vince announced rather loudly while I was in the middle of an empty post office, engaged in a transaction involving a parcel. All the staff politely ignored this statement, I paid and we went straight to a nearby gas station to use the potty.

It was here that I discovered the event that needed to take place in the potty had, in fact, already taken place. And so, in what apparently was the most revolting gas station bathroom ever, I cleaned poo out of underwear and slid a new pair on Vince’s little bottom. I don’t even know when I put a spare pair in my handbag, but thank god for them.

This event out of the way, we proceeded on to IKEA. Vince went potty 3 times in a time-span of about 15 minutes. I blame the Gatorade. I admit it is rather frustrating to start shopping 3 times and then have to quickly stop and rush to find a potty. And at IKEA there is one on each floor.And we were near neither. So each time, there was a wee bit of overflow. Nothing major, all part of the territory.

Since we weren’t planning on being there for long, I let it slide. I know, I know. Just don’t even say it. 10 minutes later, we were heading back to our side of town with a short trip to the grocery store planned. And after scoring a sweet parking spot, I swung around to unbuckle V and encountered the wettest wet pants ever. And then I swung back around into the drivers seat and headed home to sort that all out.

“Where do we go poo and pee?”, asked Mummy.

“In the POTTY!!!”, shouted Vince, in a jolly kind of manner.

“Do we go peepee in our underwear?”, asked Mummy.

“NOOOOO!! That’s for babies. I’m a big boy and I go pee and poo in the potty and get a lollipop”, Vince singsonged.

“Um, yes”, said Mummy, mentally planning to get more lollipops.

And so, after all of this peeing and pooing all over Orlando, finally it all came to an end. I feel like we have entered a period of regression this past week. Vince has been unusually whiny, there’s been extra fighting and crying. Tons of really, really fake crying actually. Way more than usual. And now all of this, and yesterday was not the first incidence this week.

It must mean something big is coming, some crazy big development Vince-wise. Perhaps he’s going to start doing fractions? Or suddenly draw perfect circles?

Can’t shake the feeling that I should be scared….

xoxo a.m.

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I’m tired. And hormonal. Party.

So today I had a bit of a meltdown, one I didn’t know I was having until I was smack in the middle of it happening. I think it started with Vince getting his head stuck in a tree yesterday.

And then there was all the dog puke and shit I cleaned up yesterday and today. As well as several other things that are too mundane to bore you with. I was, surprisingly, short-tempered with pretty much everything. And there was still laundry to do and things to clean, dinner to make and pumpkins to carve.

I had a great nights sleep and thought I was over my short-temperedness until I had been up for an hour or so. And then the dog pooped in the house again. And then Vince  was Vince. And Vince, being the Vince he is, is a smart-talking, subjective listening type of three-year old. This might be all three-year olds, I’m not really sure.

When his Pop-Pop arrived to take him to GatorLand for a few hours, I just about cried. I had so many things to do around the house, things that would go a lot quicker without my little shadow. And despite that, there was just no energy for any of it. Edward finally kicked me out of the house and sent me to the movies, alone.

Which was ok with me. I didn’t really feel like talking to people. Aren’t I a peach, eh?

Sitting in the dark, eating buttery popcorn and drinking Cherry Coke and watching Hugh Jackman and some robots fight was pretty much the cure. I mean, fighting robots! Come on! Immediate cure-all!

I think part of the problem is that it’s not a problem, it’s just life. And part of the situation is that pregnancy brings so many other interesting things to the party. And part of my personality is that despite being 5 months pregnant, I think I have the same level of energy that I did prior. Which isn’t really true.

The movie really helped. I think I’ll need to go to at least one a week in order to get through the next few months… and I’ll probably have a few more hormonal breakdowns. Stupid hormones.

xoxo a.m.

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Is that my childs head stuck in a tree? Of course it is…

You know when you wake-up, after a good nights sleep, thinking that it’s going to be a great day? And that possibly your child’s sports practice is going to go great?

And then it all goes to hell in a handbasket?


I did actually have a good sleep. Apart for that time at 2:30 am where I woke up with a burning desire for Diet Coke and I HAD to go downstairs and slug it straight from the bottle. This was followed by baby kicking me for about 25 minutes. In punishment, I imagined.

And Vince woke up in a good mood. And so did I. And so did Edward. And we ate breakfast, I made a cup of tea and off we headed to soccer.

We split up when we reached the soccer field. Edward and Vince veered off somewhere and I headed over to where the parents were to say ‘hi’.

Out of the corner of my eye I could see Vince headed in my direction carrying a stick, Daddy close behind him. I kept chatting. Daddy took the stick away, Vince started to make a bit of a fuss. Daddy put the stick up in one of the trees on the edge of the field, so Vince wouldn’t drag it out with him. I joked that V apparently takes after me in ‘dramatics’ according to his father.

One of the other Mum’s said something like “Ya, they do one thing wrong and suddenly he ‘takes after you’. Really.”

And the next thing I knew, Edward is yelling at me and Vince looks wrong. Wrong in the tree. As if maybe he’s stuck? Oh. My. God.

He’s stuck. His head is stuck in the tree.

“Jame, geez. I’ve been calling you FOR AGES!” E yelled at me.

“Is he stuck?”


And suddenly there was a flurry of activity, men just came streaming in from all directions and all of them pried his head out of the tree. Tears were streaming down his face. One of the YMCA staff members told me that apparently kids get their heads stuck in these trees all the time.


I feel so much better now, thanks.

Vince didn’t really feel like playing soccer after that. At least, not when we were watching. But once out on the field, he laughed and had tons of fun. And off the field, he cried. And then, back on the field again he ran and played. Ugh. Total bipolar soccer.

And the rest of the day took its tone from Vince. It was up and down, very rapidly. With appalling behavior. And then angelic sweetness.

Oh my lord, I am exhausted from this day.

Night night xoxo a.m.


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News Flash! Or how I suck at Mommy-blogging

Not quite the same pink and perky, but they'll do...

I feel slightly horrified, nauseous and a bit like I might need a shower to get clean. And no, it’s not because I am watching The A-Team movie again. Although I totally understand if you thought that. That movie is completely nausea-inducing.

I was just cruising the intranet, googling pregnant things. And parenting things. Just clicking from link to link. It’s always a fun was to encounter the new and interesting…

Somehow I ended up on an extremely pink and cheerful ‘mommy-blog’. I scrolled for curiosities sake. And ended up reading a bunch of posts. And then clicked some links on the blog and ended up on some acquaintance’s blog. Also pink and cutesy. And clicked and scrolled there, same thing.

I did it a few more times before this horrified feeling came over me and I started to feel a little sick. Or maybe it was me just being a big bitch. But I found it all revolting.

It literally was endless posts about redesigning ones house, party planning for the under 5 set and a seemingly endless series of chirpy, cheerful vomit.

I don’t get it.

And on every single blog menu when I clicked on ‘blogs I like’, every single blog was a copy of the other. Possibly more chirpy, cheerful, pink, perky and revolting than the last.

I apparently am a huge bitch. OR I just don’t get it. Is this what ‘mommy-bloggers’ blog about? Why? Wheres the poop and vomit posts? Did I miss a memo?  Should I start signing my name with a heart? Perhaps a giveaway of some sort? Sponsors?

Or did I sidestep into an alternate reality of some sort?

To be honest, I find it disappointing. And I am not really sure what else or how else to describe it. And it’s not like I am a hot commodity out there on the net. Mostly because I call it things like ‘the net’. But at least I am real. And as real as I can be about all of the wonderful/horrible things that motherhood/parenthood has rained down on our family.

I certainly don’t mean this as an anti-mommyblog rant, but gah. GAH. I just… I guess I am at a loss as to what to say.

Please, if I ever become pink and perky, please slap me.


xoxo a.m.  (with a pink and sparkly heart)




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Pregnant, need more pants

Probably I need these...

When Vince was born, I very carefully packed up my maternity clothes, knowing that we were eventually planning on having another child at some point. Smart, no? And something I am sure every lady planning on having another baby does. Maternity clothes are expensive and since you wear them for such a short point of time, it just is totally logical.

So in-between having Vince and now, we bought a townhouse and moved to the other side of town. My father-in-law built a rather complex series of shelves for our garage and we loaded them up with stuff. Where this stuff came from, I have no idea. 5 years ago when I moved to the States, Edward and I literally had nothing. In a way it’s kind of impressive that 2 people (and one small person) could accumulate so much ‘stuff’.

What I am trying to say is that I currently have one pair of maternity pants that I pretty much am wearing every day. And somewhere in my garage is a huge plastic tub full of maternity cloths. And where is the question. And I am pretty sure the answer is ‘that tub over there in the farthest, trickiest, most difficult area of the garage to get into’. Ya, I am pretty sure that’s where they are.

So since I have one pair of pants, the last 2 weeks I’ve pulled a new trick out of the bag. Dresses.

This trick comes with a partner called ‘pantyhose’ that literally can go ‘f’ itself. No bare legs rule at work made me do it.

It has maybe been 20 years since I’ve worn a pair of full length hose. And I accidentally bought control top. And I fell off the bed while trying to put them on.


Anyways, Vince was rather shocked. “Mummy!! You’re a girl!” It’s not like he hasn’t seen me wear one before. I often wear them on the weekends, it’s a lot more comfortable than pants or capris. You know, since I live in Florida.

Today I did it again. This time Vince didn’t even spare me a glance. Edward told me I looked nice. And everyone at work said “Oh! You have legs!!”

And my panty hose rolled down every five minutes to rest under my belly and I left it there. And then at about 3:30, while on one of my many trips to the bathroom, I ripped them yanking them up. And did it so well that they were completely unwearable and had to be (yay!) removed and thrown out.

Are there maternity pantyhose? I don’t even know. Probably I should though… And where the hell is that box of maternity clothes? I’m going to force Edward to sort that out this weekend. I need more pants. Need pants.

Gah. And now I have no pantyhose, since I ripped my one pair. How I am even a grownup, I am not sure. Shouldn’t I at least have a few pairs on stand-by?Or something else womanly and grownup-like??

Right…. Sure I should. Let me get right on it…

xoxo a.m.

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Keeping secrets (not very well)

Viking bite their own toenails? Surely not!

Did you know that three-year-olds keep secrets?

I did not. They are three, after all. What could possibly be going on in their life that they wouldn’t tell you about? Or that you wouldn’t know? I’m not sure about you, but Vince tells me EVERYTHING, even things I maybe didn’t want to hear…

When he has to pee, how big his poop is, whom he played with both in and outside preschool. Did you know that Vince has inside and outside friends? Or so he told me… “Abby’s my inside friend, but I play with Gabriel outside”. Who the hell is Gabriel is what I want to know?? He’s been a hot topic of conversation for the last week and a half, only as an ‘outside friend’ though.

Anyways, my point is that every second of his life is an open book that he is reading out-loud non-stop.

So how did I miss that he bites his toenails?

His TOENAILS. He bites them. With his teeth.

And the reason I know this is last weekend, Vince came whining out of his room complaining of an owie on his toe. Since he had only been up for a short time, I asked him what happened thinking he had maybe stubbed his toe of something like that.

“I just was biting my toenails and then I got an owie”.


I couldn’t think of anything else to say. Because, frankly, that was not really the answer I was expecting. And I might have made a shocked face. Ok, I DID make a shocked face. And then a gross kind of face.

“Honey, did you bite your toes?”

“Mummy, I just bite them a little.”

“Don’t bite your toenails, its yucky.”

I don’t even know when this started. I mean, I do cut his nails. Honestly!

I guess he took matters into his own hands. It makes me wonder what other things are going on behind my back. And then it makes me worry just a little at where this could be leading…

What could be next? Nail biting? Late night 2% milk sessions in the kitchen? Unhitching the safety gate at the top of the stairs and sneaking down for some elicit Mickey Mouse marathons? Ack!

And this is just the pre-school bad behavior. Once he hits elementary, I bet he’ll go big time. Collecting bellybutton lint in little jars, hoarding his fingernail clippings, shaving all his body hair and bagging it up… (this is what I equate toenail biting with).

Ugh. Am I blowing this out of proportion? Naw… I can tell you this though, I will be monitoring those nails like they’re a juvenile delinquent posse. For Reals. (And I will also stop saying ‘for reals’ right now. For reals reals.)

xoxo and sweet toenail biting dreams…



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