Please try to not pull all your hair out, ok?

Cheerfully polishing a fry-pan, I prepared to beat myself over the head with it...

Or at least that’s what I tried not to do yesterday with Vince.

Check out my sweet parenting logic:

In order to get ones child to eat more veggies, buy more veggies. With this in mind, yesterday Vince and I hit Pubes (aka Publix) for some healthy lunch things for me. As I picked out my veggies, Vince asked “What doing, Mummy?”

Mummy: “Buying some veggies, honey.”

Vince: *curiously* “Oh! I like veggies too!!”

Mummy: “You do? Do you like broccoli?”

Vince: “No, I no like broccoli. I like veggies.”

Mummy: “I like broccoli, it’s yummy. AND it makes you strong!”

Vince: “I’m stronger! I like broccoli! I want to eat it! In my mouth!”

Ok, I can handle this. I went and bought one of those Amy’s Organic kids meals (did I mention I was about falling over from exhaustion? And that is why I bought a microwave meal for my child. The End.) Anyways, it had broccoli in it and Vince promised to eat it and the macaroni that came with.

So home we went and I ‘cooked’ dinner for him. He sort of dragged his feet at eating and I sort of ended up ‘encouraging’ him to do it. Scooping up a little spoonful of noodles, I handed it to him. “No Mummy! NOOOOOOO! I can’t eat it! It’s too much!:

?? Too much? There were precisely 3 noodles on that spoon.

“No Mummy, like dis,” he proclaimed solemnly as he proceeded to flick off two of the noodles from the spoon. “And dats enough,” he said. And then he ate ONE noodle.

And then he ate ONE more noodle. And then he ate individual noodles for 5 minutes. I swear I was almost bald by the time dinner was over. It was the only way I could remain patient. And sane. I might have moaned out-loud repeatedly.

And then? He refused to eat broccoli.

“No Mummy, YOU like veggies. You eat it.”

Alright FINE.

I will baldly eat YOUR broccoli and enjoy it, dammit. DAMMIT!

xoxo a.m.

Crochet, Part One

Crochet, day one:   Crochet, unravel, crochet, unravel… repeat until eyes blur. Approximately 10 minutes. Starting colour of brown makes beginning of project look rather like a lumpy dog poo.

Hm. Doesn’t sound like the best of starts.

Day two: I ate a sub and watched Survivor instead. But I thought about crocheting a lot. So I made a blanket in my mind… So creative…

Day three: I finished the new Dan Brown book, drank a glass of red wine and looked at my bag of crocheting sitting on the table next to my wine. And then thought about my pizza cooling in the kitchen. 45 minutes later I picked that yarn up and commenced crocheting. And then I unraveled bits. And then I looked at it in a confused manner. And then I looked at the time (10:45 pm). And then I went to bed.

Total length completed on 3rd day? 4 inches. Good job A.M.

Day four: Who am I kidding. I am deliberately avoiding looking at that bag of yarn. It’s right next to me. On my right. About 1 1/2 feet away. Bastard. I can feel it sulking. Tomorrow darling, tomorrow….

 

Project

Who knew people crocheted skank clothes?

 

Last year I did a lot of crocheting… I made a wee baby blanket for my girlfriend, a wee one for myself (anticipating the arrival of the Little Man), a shawl to snuggle him in while I was breastfeeding. As winter approached, I decided that making a ‘big-boy’ was a wonderful idea too.

How nice for him to have something made by his Mummy to snug the face into at night and keep those toes warm during the harsh Floridian winters… I happily spent my lunch hours and evenings unraveling my many mistakes and raveling them back up…

Post-crochet explosion in our house (and post-pregnancy as well), that yarn that Little Man so helpfully chose for me (by putting it in his mouth) started to grow some bunnies. Dust bunnies, that is… I moved the project from its prominent position in the living-room and its travel bag for its work commute, to another bag in our bedroom. And then that bag was hung up in our closet. And then it started to get warm again and suddenly the whole purpose of the blanket was not so emergent anymore.

I had lots of time to work on it. And because I had lots of time to spend on it, I spent no time at all.

None.

That’s  the way it works, right?

And then we went to Canada.

And then we decided to buy a house.

And then we bought one.

And then we moved.

And now? We are settled. And to kick off this wonderful cool temperature that seems to be moving into the Central Florida area, I thought it would be nice for V to have a blanket to snug his face.

Apparently I only have so many ideas and they just rotate throughout the year… Sad.

Last night I couldn’t find my crochet bag. Slight panic. M managed to pull it out of somewhere. Hallelujah!

I pulled my little project out of its bag and was shocked.

SHOCKED!

It was teeny.

It might as well have been a place mat.

How was he ever that little?! Looking at it and then remembering him from this morning, imperiously shouting ‘Mumma!’ at me, while pointing at his bottle I had in my hands and then toddling off to watch Murray from Sesame Street talk about the ‘Word on the Street’.

Last night I spent the evening unraveling that loving creation, feeling a little weepy while I was doing it. It took about 45 minutes, but there was just no saving it. It was too small and no amount of frilly fringe would make it big enough to cover the man-child. And frilly fringe would just be a bad call. Really bad call…

So here we go again… Starting tomorrow, I mean. And yes, it will be chronicled. Expect updates.

It will be made this winter, damn it!!

No

Last week I watched V stand in the living room, shake his hand at the dog and shout (actually shout!) “Da! Daaaaaa! DAAAAA!!!” at him. The first time it was funny, as was the second time actually. Quite funny too. The third time he did it, I realized it was a little familiar.

Familiar as in it was something I did all the time.

“Chewie. No. CHEWIE!. NO!” I shout. All the time. And then, when that doesn’t work, I say in my most calm of voices “Chewie. No, buddy. GET. DOWN” (Please visualize  him frantically barking and jumping back and forth on top of my arm-chair near the window, freaking out at everyone and their dog (literally) who walks by. Or walks near. Or near-ish.

Pain. In. My. Ass.

Apparently I shout at him a lot. AND shake my finger, just like V was showing me. I do it often enough that V is now an expert at it as well. And I am not sure that I like the image that is being displayed.

So that made me think about things. About how much we pick up from our parents, what kind of lessons we learn as children that shape our world today. It really made me examine my own actions… and then look at my personality and see if I could see my parents actions reflected in that.

It was very insightful. I saw interesting reflections of both parents in my temperament and actions. I’ll just keep those thoughts to myself for now.

How much of this is genetic and how much of it is learned actions? I swear I feel some of my beloved Gran in me, especially these last few weeks when I am rather a lot ‘flighty’. More so than usual. Yikes! There might be more Gran in me than I thought! Not that that is a bad thing. I just wish it was accompanied with a bigger chest and more glamour. Like Gran.

I digress…

Oh, how I am like my mother. Might as well just have cloned her. And then made me. But added more sarcasm, made her slightly more high-maintenance (here, M would chime in with ‘a lot’) and added about 40% of Father Gilbert. And then you have me.

Higher on the maintenance level than I would like to think I am (I think I am pretty low… M disagrees A LOT), cleanliness obsessed, no patience for crap, bullsh*t or any of that crap, hard to know. Mostly because am not interested in knowing you that much. Unless you show interest in knowing me. Then I am interested. And that is because of the shyness and poor self-confidence issues.

Oh internet, how you bear and handle my confidences…. You are like the ultimate secret diary.

V is on the path to becoming an interesting combination of M and I.

No Ghetto No More

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.

Memories…

I can’t remember a damn thing.

Now. Partially this is genetic. And partially it’s a ‘I’m getting older’ thing. Although, since I am in my early thirties, that excuse might not fly as high as I would like it too.

Lately (and by lately, I mean the last 4 or 5 months), I have been noticing my memory  is severely lacking. Not in the “I am living in this house with….. who?” kind of department, but more like a “Where did this pen that I am holding come from… I swear I wasn’t holding it 5 seconds ago..”.

Now I had been falling back on that old ‘I have mom-nesia’ thing. BUT. THEN. I read an article in a parenting mag that states that there was a ‘study’ done, indicating that parenthood/mothering is not related to memory loss… or something to that effect. I always believe what I read in magazines. Or, at least I do for about 30 minutes, then get annoyed…
And so I was like “WHAT?!?! It’s not?!?! Huh. Wonder why I can’t remember anything?…… wait a minute… Parenting magazine does not speak the truth all the time… Bastards. “(Bastards is my current favorite word)

Anyways, so for about 30 minutes there I wondered what really was wrong with me. Then at the 31 minute mark, I decided it really was just parenthood. Oh, and combined with first-time home-buying as well. The nastiest of all nasty concoctions. Yuck.

So it is ok that I am holding things in my hand and I am not sure where they came from.

Also it is ok if, at work, I pick up and put down things at a dizzying rate all over the office. And then suddenly run out of pens (that’s what I pick up and put down). Or buy fish and then forget it in the fridge at work. Or day after day walk out of the office, drive half way home and then realize that I forgot all of those boxes that my co-workers have been saving for me at the back door.

And there are a million things more. I just can’t seem to keep my head on straight. I drop things. I knock things over. I enter rooms. Stop. Wonder what I am doing, walk out of them and then 1 minute later walk back in and grab my cell phone.

It is a truly sad state of affairs right now. Punctuated by a continued lack of caffeine (for health purposes).

Japan

I had the oddest dream last night.

I dreamt M and I were back in Japan, teaching at the new NEW school our boss had opened up…. and let me explain why this was strange…

When I moved to Japan in 2001, the school that I taught at for 2 months was the smallest building you have ever seen. Approximately 2 one-car garages stacked on top of each other, with an exterior stair-case to reach the second level. The walls of the building were so thin they bent when you pressed them. It might have been a temporary structure, I can’t remember all of the details…

The new structure was about 100 feet away, a gorgeous 2 story building that was officially to open in January of 2002. Think 2 2-car garages stacked upon each other. With running water, flush toilets and proper airconditoning. So what was weird about my dream was that the new NEW school was 3 stories high, huge and was well, a school. And not a garage.

When I came back from winter holiday in Canada, entering that new building was structural bliss from my teaching point of view. Especially compared to what I had experienced the 2 months before. That same day, I met my future husband.

The morning after I flew back in from Christmas holiday in Canada, I banged on my only neighbour’s (on the 2nd floor… the 2nd floor of our apartment that was basically 2 2-car garages stacked on top… wonder where they got the inspiration for the school!) door… M answered looking rather disheveled…. Untucked plaid shirt (that he might still have somewhere), wife-beater, glasses….I invited him out for coffee. I like to be friendly and am hard pressed to take no for an answer. Unless it’s my answer, then I say it all the time.

Anyways, the door was slammed in my face.

And there might have been some mumbling. ‘Wait…’ might have been one of the words I could have made out. I waited. The door opened again, M looked less-disheveled and off we went. We rode our awesome bicycles with baskets to the only Starbucks in town. We met up with some other Gaijins, drank some coffee, smoked our faces off and then rode our awesome bikes back to teach some English.

Who would know that approximately 6 months later we would be attached at the hip….but not ‘dating’. Just ‘good friends’. ‘Good friends’ whose other good friends wondered what on earth was going on between us. Nothing was. Nothing at all.

Not until M’s Dad visited, and that visit seemed to cement things. I was the only person that he introduced him to. And invited to join the 2 of them. And once his Dad headed back to the USA (plus one steamy night on that awful twin-bed…. steamy in an innocent way. Really!) that was it.

So sometimes when I think about the path my life has taken, wonder if I have made the best decisions, did I take the best direction I could have… I look at what I have right now:

Gorgeous son.

Handsome and utterly adoring husband that worships me.

Lovely new home we are about to move into.

Comfortable and happy life full of love, laughter, laughter and the best of memories that we have made together.

So even though I sometimes wish I had chosen a different direction education-wise, I am so glad that I went in the direction that I did. Everything I have done in my past…. especially including the unpleasant things, has led to where I am now.

Thank you fate. And destiny.

Thank you both.

xoxo a.m.

Update

I had been considering a name change for AGES…. but was having a hard time coming up with something that I thought would be right and fitting.

And I am pretty sure that I have found it….

Since this took weeks for me mull over and basically praying for some miracle ideas to fall from heaven  (and literally I just came up with it like 30 minutes ago),  I am feeling the creative juices flowing. And I will now disappoint you with a short post. But I am sure that I will thrill you tomorrow. With a longer one I mean!

I am quite interested in feedback in regards to the new name for the blog and the format. The name will definitely stay as I am in love with it. Can’t promise much with the format though… I’ve got to hit up my mastermind for some design details. So expect some changes in the months to come re: layout.

Feedback please!! xoxo a.m.

Post-birthday

Dudes…. I got nothing for you tonight…

Post birthday feast @ Flying Fish at DisneyWorld.

Currently on the floor of my livingroom watching tivo’d Big Brother….

See ya’lls tomorrow! xoxo

Badassicalness

A new feature I am thinking about adding to my blog as either a weekly or bi-monthly event. By event, I really mean ‘post’.

I am looking to feature interesting people and/or interesting blogs/websites. If this works the way I hope it will, I eventually want to add a give-away element to it too.

But for now, it will just be a feature….

Tonight’s Sunday Night Featurette will be….

~Celine B.~

Queen of cakes and sarcasm.

And a family member, so you know this is going to be flattering….. (she’s so purdy)

Brief history:

Celine hails from the West Coast of Canada. Or Wet Coast. Or however you like to call it. She migrated South, as all people tend to do, a few years ago and settled on the West Coast of Florida for a few years. She joined Publix and immediately began her meteoric rise. Quickly moving her way from associate (clerk) to Assistant Bakery Manager, mostly by sheer skill. And charm. She quickly moved inland to the Orlando area, where she is currently residing and plotting her take-over of all things bakery…

That Canadian work ethic is no match at all for… well…. anything. For real.

Especially considering the pure lack of ethic that appears to be so common these days…..

Skills:

That girl can bake a mean cake/pie/muffin/cupcake

That woman can tease a mean rock-a-billy poof (pending pictures).

That sister from another mister can decorate like you wouldn’t believe. And even if you do believe, if you saw it you still wouldn’t believe it could be that amazing.

She is amazingly creative, something which she has always had a flare for…. She shows it so clearly in her creations, especially the way her fingers delicately tease that fondant into the most interesting shapes.

Illustrated here:

For her cake-skillz in the Orlando area… please email me @ atlanticmama@gmail.com