Category Archives: glorious

Mundane ass

ass-blog

As I attempt to make more of an effort with my blog posting, please do not be discouraged with the possible mundaneness of some of my posts.

I know you all want to know about V pooping, what I ate for dinner and how M annoyed me this week… Right? Right!!

Thank the Heavens Above (I am so thank that it is capitalized) that it is Thursday night. I swear the weeks are getting longer. And clearly also shorter AND faster since it is almost American Thanksgiving down here. Which means that it almost Christmas, which means that it is almost New Years, which means that V is almost 2, which means that I am almost thirty-****, which means that probably I need to have another baby, which means that I am pregnant.

See where I can go when I get going?

I am not pregnant.

In fact, I am hoping to look less pregnant as we joined the YMCA and I actually went twice this week. A beginners twice, which means it was 2 “I haven’t been to the gym in a coon’s age” workouts.

And holy mother do my legs hurt today from Tuesday’s workout. I ran for 30 minutes. Ignoring that fact that I haven’t been to the gym or ran since sometime in the beginning of September. I have faith in myself. I can run.

And so I did. And not only that, but I marveled at my speed and fluidity. I was flying man!! It felt awesome! I totally had a flash forward (see above ramble) and was instantly super fit and feeling awesome.

Tonight I went again, same thing. But with more pain, as my legs are stiff from all of the fluid running I did the other night. It still felt good. And then I went home and ate a sub. Nice. Clearly my diet of FOOD and excercise is really going to help me get in better shape. Oh, and carrying V up the stairs to bed. By the way my muscles are aching when I reach the top, I must be on the path to a rock hard ass.

Yup. That’s right. Rock hard ass. I am all over this gym thing, even if it kills small parts of me.

I’ll keep you posted…

xoxo a.m.

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Nugget

poop-blog

(of poop)

There they were, waiting for me on the changing table as I carried my squeaky clean V from the tub back to his bedroom…

*sigh*

Not only nuggets, but an open dirty diaper.

….flashback to a few hours earlier….

On my way home, I called M for a quick chat.

“How was your day?”, I asked as I gunned it down the expressway.

“Oh. It’s been better”, he replied in a wry tone.

“Oh?”

“I am in the middle of doing something horrible……”

Not picking up on the wry tone, my mind headed in the worst directions possible… mortgage payments, things to do with money, hot water tank leak, smoke detectors going off, awful things to do with the house…

“V gave me a present”.

This is parent code for ‘loaded up the pants’, ‘made a brownie’, ‘dropped the kids off at the pool’ or any number of other expressions (that I am sure your husband/brother/male member of the family will be happy to share with you, while they snicker that is…)

Oh men, so dramatic. You’d think it was the end of the world.

It must have been though, if I was to find remnants of it an hour later. Apparently it was epic. And there was screaming and thrashing involved during changing time. Good stuff.

….flash-forward to present….

I was sure. So sure. That life was not going to throw feces at me tonight. All signs pointed to a ‘dodge’, especially considering the previous conversation with M.

I picked that poop up, deposited it elsewhere and snuggled that Little Man within an inch of his poop-filled life….

Mumma loves the baby.

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Yesterday

autumn-blog

Yesterday I had a ‘1994’ experience.

Gluten-free blueberry pancakes and MacGyver (oh how I love you and your clever ways) were how V and I started the morning. I made itty-bitty  sized ones (mix by Pamela’s, best Gluten-free mix I have tried so far). Babies and pancakes are a good thing. Babies and blueberries are not. Did you know if Blueberry pancakes hit the (beige) carpet at a Toddler-throw velocity, there will be  a stain? Perfect illustration as to why one should get hard-wood flooring. (This has nothing to do with 1994)

Post-pancake and MacGyver-fest (I felt like V was significantly impressed with MacGyver), we were off to Grandma’s house.They were planning on hitting up SeaWorld with the Little Man, leaving me and the Big Man at loose ends.

We need a new coffee table. Our weenie wicker one just was not doing the job in our HUGE new house. We had things picked out to check out at American Signature furniture. We happened to drive past World Market. Well, it just happens that its one of my favorite shops. So we thought we’d stop in and check out their furniture.(Again, 1994 this is not)

Suddenly, mission accomplished. Coffee table spotted and purchased. With a discount as we purchased the floor model. Anyways, it is huge. HUGE. We borrowed the stores tape measure and went off to measure the trunk of my hatchback. Pretty much we had no idea what we were actually measuring. We were pressured by the sales staff to make sure it would fit as they said they would hate for us to buy it and then find out it didn’t fit. Like they really care. And like we care as well!

We were determined to make it fit.

It didn’t.

We tried harder.

It still didn’t.

Regardless, it was coming home with us. Precariously balanced in the back of my hatchback, I climbed in the back of the car, braced my legs and held onto that table with all of my strength. As I was getting situated in the back, a woman walking by said “Oh, I have so been there so many times!” and smiled.

I smiled back.

So have I.

And then I had a flashback to sometime in 1994 when an ungodly amount of girls climbed into my friend R’s little red car. I think it was a Hyundai. Or a Rabbit. Regardless, it fit 8 that day, several of us were in the trunk and that car was a low rider.

Not sure where we were going, but damn we had fun getting there.

Oh 1994, how I loved your fishnet stocking, plaid flannel shirt/jacket wearing, hand-painted combat boots stomping, always angry, black lipstick (1 week only) clad, Pearl Jam thrashing ways.

As I clung to that table, laughing and smiling while M drove down the expressway and that cool Autumn air blew in the back of my little red car, I was suddenly transported back to the Island. High School. My lady R. Oh friend, I miss those silly times.

Clutching that table, suddenly that simple little table shopping trip turned into so much more. A High School mini-flashback. A 10 year deduction from my birthday (leaving me in my 20’s). A big ol’ smile. Some slightly cold fingertips. A trunk filled with dried leaves. And one cheap blanket from Ross that only cost $5 was it was sold bundled up in packing tape that took me about 15 minutes to removed.

Trunk packing. Didn’t care.

Autumn and Fall,  you are the same but slightly different and I love you both…

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Thanks

thanks-blog

by Paige Pooler

Good lord, too many things are going on over here right now…

First things first, it is Canadian Thanksgiving this coming weekend and I am throwing dinner for 10 at my house a mere 2 weeks after we’ve moved in. The house is still in slight disarray. I hung up one picture last weekend (a very small one) and practically high-fived myself with excitement.

Americans are always baffled at the thought of Thanksgiving not being in November and are constantly asking me at  random moments what exactly we are celebrating.

“We are giving thanks” is generally my response.

Sounds goofy to say “I am celebrating the Harvest with my family”, which kind of sounds like, well, I am a giant hippie. Which is certainly possible, since I am West Coast to the bone.

Leading up to our fantastical Thanksgiving event, there have been some interesting things going on.

First week at proper day-care for Little Man. Which equals crying-jags times 5. Every morning. For me, I mean. Oh, and him. As in, he cries when I try to leave… and then while I am leaving (and he’s crying) I cry too. As I am driving to work, I mean. I am a highly emotional mess this week.

And every morning seems to start out the same way with me turning my back on Little Man for ONE MINUTE, when I turning back he was actually drinking from the dog’s water bowl. Before he drinks though, he first spills it all over his school uniform. After 3/4 of it is on the floor, then he lifts it to his mouth to drink.

Emotional mess.

Dog water.

Crying tears of sadness as Little Man is a big boy.

Crying tears of disgust as he and the dog slurp water together.

Apparently, mostly crying down here in the South.

Happy Thanksgiving?!

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Big time

walking-blog

We moved across town.

It was a typical move. The movers were late… although when I called them to ask when they were arriving, apparently it was in ‘the window’, which meant that, in fact, they were not late. Rather, they were on time. That’s OK. I had only been awake since 5 am, so anyone would have been late compared to me.

The moving part went smoothly.

The cable guy was 3 1/2 hours late. He arrived (after numerous phone calls on my part as to his arrival time) just after we sat down for Chinese food around 8 pm. His ‘window’ was 2pm to 4pm. Bastard.

He ruined these satisfying thoughts of BrightHouse being bastards by being the nicest man ever. And funniest. And most efficient. And then made random slightly off-colour jokes about himself being a nice bit of ‘chocolate’ that our dog wanted to nibble on…. I know, right? I was thinking ‘What the hell” too…. But it made me laugh.

And amidst all of this chaos, V decided that it was the perfect time to pick walking as a full-time career choice.

Way to make a great decision! His timing clearly comes from me.

So now Little Man is completely mobile.

Completely.

And man, is it the funniest thing ever. He walks all around with his hands up in the air like he is about to start ‘the wave’ or something. Most of this happens with a very serious face as well.

Very serious. Mostly sans shoes, mostly with Chewie following closely behind (dog-toy firmly clamped in mouth to prevent V from grabbing). I think he noticed that he was taller while walking. Now, he likes to walk over to tables and reach for what is on top, drag it off and then walk all over it. He sure can show that mail-keys-handbag-etc who’s boss!

This evening V and I took the dog for a walk.

We both put on our shoes. Some with a little more help than others.

Off we went, poop-bag in hand(s).

We went down the front steps, then up them, down, up, down, up, down, up and finally down. Then V was picked up and forcibly removed from the vicinity of the stairs.

We walked together (v in his little Transformer shoes, me in my flip-flops) down to the corner and across the street. And then about half-way down that street. This journey took about 20 minutes. I laughed a lot.

On the way back we stopped more times then we did on the way there. Stopped to check out the cement on the road. Stopped to see the plants on everyone’s front porch. Stopped to hit some plants with our hands. Stopped to hit some flowers with our hands. Giggled while hitting them. Hit them with such enthusiasm and giggled so much that people turned and looked at us. I affected an air of nonchalance. This is the best ‘air’ ever to effect when one is walking around with a child and talking out loud.

Usually I throw my ‘nonchalance’ cloak on every time I step out in public with V. It is quite an effective coverage…

Anyways, we went 1 block (and back). We investigated a lot. We waved our hands up in the air. A few little yellow petals bit the dust with our overenthusiastic over-handling. Shrieks of happiness echoed up and down our new street.

Walking, apparently, has hit the big time over here.

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Toast

toast-blog

Today I bought a sandwich for a homeless kid.

I wasn’t going to. To be honest, I usually avoid anything to do with people asking for money. It’s pretty much inherent. Part of living on the West Coast I think. I am immune to begging…

On the West Coast, homeless people have cats and dogs that they guilt you into feeling sorry for. Who, seriously, can resist giving money to help someone feed their dog. That is the hardest thing in the world for me. Poor animals.

West Coast homeless people also try to ‘jolly’ you out of spare change. Or insult you…. one or the other…

Case in point:

Once, my mother and I were ‘accosted’ by a young man who swore we were so beautiful that he had immediately, on the spot, made up a poem, just for us. He was so charming, that of course we said yes. And then he charged us a dollar. And my Mum, being the lovely person she was, gave it to him.

And then we watched him do the same thing to someone else.

It was funny though. $1 equals funny experience that I remember 10 years later. I guess it was worth the price…

There is a well known man who sits outside a church in downtown Victoria that chimes “Spaaaaaare a little chaaaaange…” He is elderly, white-bearded. Practically has become part of the landscape. I hardly notice him when I am back home.

One day, walking past the Eaton’s Center (that would be ‘The Bay Center’ to all of you young ones in Victoria), I was yelled at for ignoring a request for change. I am sorry. But, to be honest, I can only handle that request so many times… Once I hit 4 or 5, I have reached my limit. It is hard for me to avoid the pleading eyes, but after years of experience I have become a skilled professional.

Living in the South is a little bit different.

There is no real downtown core, so you are not slammed with the exposure that you would be in my hometown of Victoria, or even Vancouver.

M and I were checking out Orlando’s ‘downtown’ area one day, back when I had first moved here when we were approached by the skinniest, dirtiest black man you have ever seen.

He proclaimed “You are in LOVE. I can feel it”.

“I can feel you love, it’s so strong. I know you love this gorgeous woman. You love her. I can feel it…. let me dedicate a song to her beauty…”

And then he proceeded to sing, with a glorious smokey voice, an amazing, jazzy, 1920’s made-up song about my beauty and how it had M wrapped around my finger. For surely no man had ever resisted a woman such as I…

Oh god, how I was both embarrassed and flattered. We gave him $5 and he went on his way, down the deserted street that he had crossed to reach us.

This young man that I saw today was the skinniest boy you have ever seen. Clad in dirty jeans and a black tank top… those shoulders of his popped right out of his torso, they were so sharp and narrow. He asked me very politely “Ma’am, spare any change?” And unfortunately I had none….

So I bought him a turkey sandwich and a bottle of water instead. And apologized to him on my way out of the restaurant for not having any money to give him. I hoped he would like this sandwich instead. He thanked me, and gave me a shy happy smile.

Just look what motherhood has done to me….

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Tell me

Why-blog

Friday saw Little Man and I at the Doctor’s office for his 15 month check. 28 1/4 lbs. 31 1/2 inches….Big boy.

And fungal rash on the ‘extremities’. And we officially need an epi-pen for his peanut allergy. And have been instructed to carry Benadryl as a ‘just in case’ measure.

So just another day over here….

Of course we had our regular round of shots as well. I am a pro-shot mama. Unlike my lovely Canadian sisters, I have never had the luxury of 1 year of maternity leave and have needed full-time daycare since he was 10 weeks old. Hence the pro-shot life-style… Low grade fever last night and a full on crank-funk since Friday. Comes with the territory 🙂 Yay!

And that has been combined with a lovely new experience. An experience that I am hoping that is a new faze?! And I am hoping that mums out there will share and shed some light on this.

V is currently embroiled in this faze of “Mummy, I don’t like this food… I think I will shake my head ‘no’ and then spit it out”.

And that is all he has been doing since Friday. Putting things in his mouth, shaking his head no and either spitting it out or removing it with his hands. And then giving it to the dog. The dog has been so well fed for the last few days. Lucky dog!

The first day that this happened, I attributed it to the shots. Immunizations always come with a wee side-effect…low grade fever, irritableness , cranky pants, fuss faces….etc…

But this is the first time that super non-eating has been involved. Which makes me wonder if it is just age related instead.

In spite of all of the yummy things I have made him:

*Gluten-free turkey and cheese melty sandwiches

*Wheat-free raspberry pancakes

*Veggie patties with sauteed zucchini, mushrooms and fresh cherry tomatoes

*Fresh mozzarella cheese, cucumber and a assortment of fresh veggies

Everything enters the mouth and then exits it at a fast pace. Mostly on the floor, mostly eaten by the dog and mostly accompanied by head shaking…

The last 3 days have been mostly ‘sippy cup’ days. This is frustrating. Please God, let this be a ‘stage.’

Is it a stage at 15 months? The ‘non-eating’, I hate everything, back-bending screaming if you try to feed me anything stage?

Really? Please? Tell me….

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No Ghetto No More

ghetto-blog

Can I just say that I am a home-owner?

I figure if I write it here, that will help make it a little bit more of a reality. Right?

M and I like to play that game where you think back to when you met that person you married… and then you mentally trace all of the steps that you took to reach the place where you are now.

It never gets old, all of that retracing. I know you play the game too.

So we start back in Japan circa 2002 when we were both young and supple. All fresh-faced and wide-eyed at living abroad.

Flash-forward to 2005, M and I getting married in Florida lake-side (possible gator-sighting in back-drop).

Skip one more year (that year where we were apart as I couldn’t legally reside in the States as I didn’t have my citizenship sorted out) until we hit 2006.

Now that’s where things start to happen.

The first year I moved to Florida, we lived in a teeny one-bedroom apartment in MetroWest. At that time, it was still a nice neighbourhood. And just what out-of-staters think Florida should look like. Right on a golf course, palm trees everywhere, a pool. Ideal.

So small. Although, compared to what we had lived in in Japan, it was a palace. A PALACE. That same year we got Chewie, the needy, love-driven, attention seeking, ‘I hate everyone but you’, angry, super-licky, pain in the ass Chihuahua. That we love.

I still remember the first night we took him for a walk. He was extra little then. We walked him around the complex and just happened to walk near a storm grate.

M said to me, “Do you think he knows not to walk over that?? He won’t fall in, right?”

Me: “Of course he knows and he totally won’t”.

And then he totally fell through the grate. Those little chihuahua legs are not meant to be walking over things like that.

Suddenly that area of town became a hot-bed of crime. Drugs and prostitutes, man… and Jimmy Dime-Bags, our neighbour, smoking pot on the stairs every morning.

And I wanted a baby, an apartment with a hallway (or at least one other room) and somewhere that wasn’t full of prostitutes. And on we moved to Hunters Creek.

Such a good move. Much closer to the parents. And clearly my biological clock liked it too, as I instantly became pregnant the moment we moved in.

And we have been in this apartment for 2 years. And now have a one year old son plus our dog-child as well…

Now is the time for first time homeowners to make a move. And so we did. And are heading over to Lake Nona…

So as we drove to our new townhouse after closing this morning, these are things that ran through my head. We pulled up in front of our building, the birds of paradise were beautiful at our front steps and it was raining lightly.

M and I stepped out of his car, got out our new key on its orange puffer-fish key chain and opened that door. We stepped in to glorious uncirculated air and flesh coloured walls. A few carpet stains, a lack of blinds, some ceiling fans from 1987 and a few other little things to fix. It was gorgeous.

From a one-room Japanese flat, to ghetto prostitute-filled neighbourhood to country bliss in Lake Nona…

How amazing our travels through life have been.

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Normal life

ikea-blog

A wee excerpt from my normal life…

Taking the elevator from the top floor in Ikea, down to the bottom with my cousin. Oh, how do we love Ikea. So many things to think and plan about, meatballs to eat, lighting fixtures to drool over. It is a beautiful place for the female members of my family.

Let’s backtrack a little…. rewind back to the food court on the top floor, about 10 minutes earlier… focus in on our lovely Ikea meal we were having. Well, that C and I were having, as V was clearly not interested in having any part of it. This was  illustrated by the carrots and cheese that he spat out. Spat out with force, I might add. He got some serious distance. Where did this random ‘skill’ come from? No idea…(signs are pointing towards his father though…)

So, as we fought with the meal tray, dropped carrots all over the place, spat out some meatball, smeared things all over our very small 18 month-sized shirt….all of this heavy action was followed by a stealth-poop.

And by stealth-poop, I mean that there were none of the usual warning signs. No grunting, no red face, no nuttin’……

Just an unfortunate smell…. one that crept up on me. It took C a while to notice… and that is because she does not have a poop-machine at home and so doesn’t recognize the early aromas-slash-signs….

But when it hit her…. oh man. It really hit her.

By then we were already on our way to the ‘family’ change-room.

But. It was locked. Damn it!! My son’s poop-bottom is more important than yours!

So I headed into the main washroom which thankfully had a changing-station.

Oh, that poor ladies-room. It was quickly defiled the instant that my son’s pants came off. That movement was punctuated by C’s exclamation of  ‘Motherf’er! Jame. That. Is. Awful.”

It might have been, but honestly, my nostrils are immune to stank like that. And my eyeballs don’t even notice anymore.

The other ladies that exited stalls and washed their hands smiled at my commentary regarding Little Man’s stinky pants. His very stinky pants. And how nice that the changing table was situated so that his dirty little bottom faced the mirrors and was reflected down the washroom.

As I wiped, cleaned, wiped and wiped some more, ladies filed in and out. There were giggles. Some of them might have come from my cousin.

As I reached into my diaper bag and pulled out a stank-diaper bag (you know, one of those ‘green’ bags that you stuff your stink into when you are out in public so the trash doesn’t stink awfully?) and got ready to deposit the ‘deposit’ into it, my cousin exclaimed at its cleverness. Really, it is very clever.

Such a nice way to tidy up after a stinky bum.

The lady washing her hands at the sink chimed in “I use plastic bags to clean up my cat’s litter box. They are so handy.”

C: “But I bet yours aren’t Arm and Hammer”.

Bathroom Lady: “No. You are right. I just use regular plastic bags”. *laugh*

Jaime: “My bags come with a handy container to hook on your hand-bag”.

C: “Quite handy when you are at Ikea”

BL: “I don’t bring my cats with me to Ikea”.

*Silence*

And then we left the bathroom and headed down to the ground floor…

Just another normal day….

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Walk Hard

first steps-blog

Today was a good day.

Not only did I not forget my child anywhere, I also squeaked in a 5k (on the treadmill… don’t get too excited), went to Ikea, ate Swedish meatballs and liked them, drank Sangria, went swimming, met my sister-in-law’s new boyfriend, ate a yummy burger and painlessly put V to bed with a minimum of fuss.

It was a full and beautiful day.

V took a few unassisted steps. We pretended to not look. If we look and acknowledge those little triumphs, he stops doing it immediately and starts crawling. For real.

It is rather funny actually.

He crawls like a mother f’er. Super fast. This is probably why he isn’t walking. He thinks (probably) that he can’t go as fast and that might be true. He is one fast baby.

He travels along furniture and transfers from one thing to another with such finesse that you wonder why he isn’t walking yet. He pushes his little walker around, bangs it into walls, picks it up and moves it until he has a clear path and then off he goes again. How is he not walking again? ‘Cause he looks like he can. And people are quick to ask me this repeatedly. And then look amazed when I say no.

Well, he is, but only when holding onto one or more of your fingers or hands. He just won’t otherwise.

He will stand occasionally, usually when he is occupied by something else. Potato chip. Milk. Chewie. Sesame Street. Food. Food. Food. Random Tupperware. Dog treats. Remote controls to anything. Etc etc.

I feel like I look ridiculous when I am carrying him. He looks like a 3 year old. Or a young adult. He is a big boy. And its not that I don’t love carrying him everywhere (my incredibly huge muscles on my right arm [the arm I favor when I carry him]will attest to that), but sometimes I would love to put him down and not have his legs collapse immediately upon touching the ground.

I know noodle-legs are part of the whole territory of childhood. Believe me, I know. I have first hand experience at noodle-legs. As well, I am an experienced handler of the dreaded back-arch, that arch that appears as it is time to be seated anywhere… including, but not limited to car-seats, high chairs, Mummy’s lap, Daddy’s arms, the crib…

I digress…

It sure would be nice to put those chubby little feet on the floor and have those legs stay  firm and locked. That little hand clasped in mine as we toddle along. I have one of those images in my mind of  V and I, on a beach, walking hand in hand with the sunset in the background. Wait… maybe I mean me and M. ‘Cause that kind of sounds like a date…

Anyways, I am idealizing those independent steps that he is on the verge of taking…

Are we prepared for what will happen once he does? Probably not. But I bet it will be interesting…

xoxo a.m.

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