Category Archives: Mad skills

Nasal sprays and 3 year olds or My morning plans…

I got a little bit of extra Vince time today. Now while the reason wasn’t the best, the time was pretty darn great.

We hit up the allergist today and had a combo routine follow-up along with some skin testing for pollens and molds.  Vince has had chronic sinus issues ever since he was a wee guy. And in those early days, he was allergic to wheat and peanuts too. He is always somewhere in the ‘cycle of sick’. Good times. Lots of tissue.

Well, the skin testing didn’t really reveal anything. And he is WAY too young for intradermals. It seems as though his symptoms wax and wane with the pollen season and so we are throwing in a nasal spray to see how that works.

I am quite curious as to how a three year old and nasal spray are going to work together. Hopefully, the two will skip hand-in-hand merrily down the street instead going totally ‘fight-club’ on each others asses. Or bumbums.

I will find out tomorrow morning when we use it for the first time! Oh how fun!

I’ve got all sorts of fun things in the works for Vince and I in the upcoming weeks. Edward is working too much and we do our best to get out of his hair to give him some space to he can get stuff done.

Upcoming adventures are going to include Leu Gardens and OMA (Orlando Museum of Art). I have my eyes on a few other art museums in the vicinity as well.

For my locals, did you know that OMA has a preschool art program with monthly, interactive, awesome events to sign up for.

It desperately makes me wish I could call out sick so Vince and I could hit it up, but alas… I so very much want to attend next months ‘Fall Colours of Vincent Van Gogh’.

Gah. Jealous.

So if you have Fridays off, or don’t work and want something to do with the wee ones, please go. For my sake.

Check out OMA here. We will be heading there soon, it’s never too early to get your children involved in the Arts…

xoxo a.m.

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Sometimes we have the oddest battles…

Annoyed with Edward's shorts in the sink again, I got ready for a night out on the town...

And I am sure that’s true for everyone, actually. Not just parents of little ones, but parents of big ones, non-parents, married couples, non-married couples. Everyone.

Years ago I can remember getting just furious with Edward because he left his shorts in the bathroom sink. Why would you leave YOUR SHORTS in the sink?! I was so mad. Yesterday, I got back from the gym, stripped and plunked my sports bra in the sink. And in my self-defense it’s because it’s bright purple, has a tendency to run and I don’t trust Edward to do laundry properly.

About 2 years ago, I remember (yes, it’s all Edward’s fault) being SO MAD at him because he would use my facecloth to wipe off his freshly shorn head. And then, not only did he not rinse it off, but he hung it back. Leaving me, unsuspectingly , to encounter it early morning while washing my face, leaving me covered in dark hair. I looked like one of the wolf people.

Tonight with Vince, it was something just plain bizarre. He was terribly wound up when I picked him up at my in-laws. And had been stuffing himself with turkey pepperoni and provolone. He chattered away happily to himself in the backseat as we drove back to our house:

“My head went boop! And then my hair was all gone. Mummy! My hair! It’s not der! It’s aaallllll gone. Uh-oh, I found one! My hairs! Der back!” etc etc

Back at our sweet pad, he dashed around like a crazed monkey. I managed to squeeze some yogurt into him and half a (don’t judge) corn-dog. He announced “I no want to eat, I wanna do a puzzle”.

So we trotted upstairs with some milk, got our pj’s on, got all ready for a puzzle session. We read a bedtime book, put on Cat Stevens and flipped off the lights. And then V flipped out.

“I want my dinnnnnnnner! I want my macaroniiiiiiiiiii! I need my dinner!”

“I want my peas and corn. Mummy, I need my peas and corn Mummy! I NEED MY PEAS AND CORN!!!”

Holy moly, where did this come from? Why on earth are peas and corn the sudden subject of a torrential downpour? And then, just like the rain in Florida, it stopped.

And it made me laugh. I waited, of course, until I’d left the room. I had to wait at least a day to laugh at Edward’s damn shorts in the sink. And maybe 20 minutes, post-wolf-face.

Sometimes the oddest battles are the best, partially because they make the greatest stories. And great stories are the cement of awesome relationships. We got some damn good cement over here….

xoxo a.m.

 

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Please stop asking for donuts (during the christening)

Getting all gussied up for church

Last night we landed in Orlando around 10:30. I was in bed by 11 pm. Such is the blessing of living near the airport. In bed, not unpacked, but in bed with a washed face and contact lenses out.

And up a few hours later for work which, in retrospect, possibly I should have just slept through, on my couch. I was mostly coherent. Another blessing.

And speaking of blessings, Vince was blessed by Father Stephen on Sunday with his cousin Chloe, truly a mostly well-behaved event.

It sounds like I said most well-behaved, right? It’s a lie.

Vince: “Mummy, I no like this place! I wanna go home. I no like it. I wanna go. I NO LIKE IT!! I WANNA GO!!”

…is what was chanted during the ceremony. And I would love for you to guess where we were sitting. Please do. Please. PLEASE.

Also: “Mummy, I WANNA DONUT!” and “Mummy! Where’s my firetruck!” and “Mummy, I dropped my firetruck!

And then, mostly just the following “Mummy! Mummy Mummy Mummy Mummy! MUMMY! Mummy Mummy!

It was a wee bit of a long ceremony, longer then I was anticipating. I can totally understand the whinging. Vince and Chloe were the oldest there, so it’s not that surprising that they were TOTALLY bored with everything.

Tricky thing, this christening. Tricky thing. The real tricky part is when the Priest asks you to lean them over the the font. But your child is, perhaps, three. So leaning is really out of the question.

It’s more like draping a stiff mannequin over a fountain… One that is silently screaming, that is. Who knew they could do that? While being politely draped over a baptismal font. Oh child of mine, you are so good at being dramatic..

It was a lovely, painful, extra dramatic, donut-wishing, fire-truck driving on bibles type of ceremony. A real special ceremony.

Special.

We survived. That is all.

xoxo a.m.

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Extended lifecycle

 

Somehow it ended up happening. Our son’s life cycle extended itself another year… Despite somehow running into every wall known to man, sliding along surfaces on his stomach that are not the least bit slidey and those periodic weeks where he ate nothing at all… He is still alive.

He (we) survived.

Today, Vince and I hit up the pediatrician for his 3 year check. Every year is something different. Year one and Year two were mainly about shots. That I remember, anyways.

This year I actually had to get him to pee in a cup. Oh all that is holy, why, why  is this even needed?! Five minutes in the potty with Vince was required. I had to count to ‘almost three’ several times, hold the cup inside the potty for potential aiming purposes and thI literally had to ‘place’ the cup in the area. There was ‘cupping’. And with cupping, suddenly came pee. So much, in fact, that I was afraid that the cup would not contain it all.

V: “DADDY!! I pee in a cup!!”

Daddy: “Good job Little Man!”

And that really was the highlight of the afternoon. Peeing into containers is an awesome symbol of mans achievement. And peeing.

Post-pee, Vince was surprisingly cool with everything his doctor could throw at him. Check my ears? Sure! Listen to my heart? Why not! (All I could think during this mostly was ‘who are you?!”) Look in my mouth? No. No, actually, you cannot do that. And don’t lie about counting my teeth like Mummy said you would. BULLSHIT.

But I have no issues with you checking out my scrotum. At all. Typical.

Anyways, the verdict is he is huge. 75th in height and 95th in weight. And, flatteringly enough, she said his developmental skills are genius as is his verbal communication. And then he was cheeky and said a couple smart comments to her which made her laugh.

Yay Mummy and Daddy. I guess that’s what you get when you have two English Majors that marry each other and then procreate. And, post-creation, epically push books slash reading at every possible moment.

So it’s good. V is clever. V is amazing. V is Awesome. V: Genius.

Clearly I gave birth to the James Bond of pediatric yearly follow ups. Nice.

Nice work V!!!

xoxo a.m.

 

 

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Passive aggressive arguing via Pirate…

I have, from time to time, a few bones to pick with the husband. Excusing that he does work 2 jobs, rarely has a whole day off and get approx one morning a week to sleep in, he is a pain in my ass.

Like, I imagine, all of your husbands are. And if they are not, there seriously must be something wrong with your relationship. Even though I am sure they all do awesome stuff, just like mine, I seriously swear they also all have no clue at all.

Mine will literally leave pieces of actual garbage around the house and not notice them. He will walk over them. I have actually seen him walk through a pile of dirt I have just swept up, kicking it as he walks through it. Not noticing at all.

First time (yes, he’s don’t it more than once), I shouted “Oh COME ON!!” You’ve got to be kidding me!!” I mean, its not as if all paths lead right to the dirt. There were other routes he could have taken. He, honestly, just doesn’t notice.

But, I have solved the problem. And I am pretty sure you will be extremely impressed with how I handled it.

Yesterday, Vince and I got home from HomeDepot and Edward had left just a few minutes prior. The house was a disaster. One, I am sure, he hadn’t even noticed. And I had had enough.

After cleaning THE WHOLE ENTIRE HOUSE, while entertaining a 3 YEAR OLD CHILD and FEEDING HIM DINNER.

I very gracefully wrote a note in a sort of pseudo-pirate type language and propped in up in the fridge, next to ‘dinner’.

Late last night, E woke me up on his crawl into bed. He muttered something. I don’t remember what it was, but it wasn’t about pirates. This morning on my way to work, Edward called, asked after how the rest of my morning had gone, arrived at work and did not mention pirates.

Don’t worry, I brought it up.

“Hun, did a pirate leave you a message in the fridge last night?”

“Ummhmm, seemed to be making a good point too.”

“Are you planning on listening to him? He seemed rather forceful..”

“Clearly I do. It is obviously in my best interests.”

It obviously is. Jackpot!! All suggestions will now be delivered via pirate. I highly recommend.

xoxo a.m.

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Revenge pee

Things to Google:

Revenge Pee

And, of course, it is my son that leads me to Google things like this. The majority of knowledge I have gained from my son in the last 3 years is urine and feces related. Google is my best friend. It has helped me learn  lots of things, most of which are regarding how to remove odors and stains from various fabric-type materials.

For the last 3 weeks or so, a particular pattern has been developing. One which has, honestly, been rather hard to figure out. Periodically V will just pee. A sort of no-warning situation. Often times it’s as a result of a stressful situation, or a situation he just doesn’t approve of. Or, mostly, something he disapproves of.

Or we’d fight, he’d cry and then pee on the floor. Through his shorts. Or, I’d say no, he’d cry and then pee on the floor. Sometimes he’d just run off to a corner of the livingroom, pretend to play with his toys and then announce “Mummy. I peed. Right der.”

*sigh*

But finally I made the connection. Revenge pee. Dude.

Telling one of my friends about my theory, she thought “Did you see if there is anything online? Probably there is a Mum that has dealt with it already…”

Well, I did learn a whole bunch of interesting stuff about people who take revenge on other people by peeing on their stuff. Animals too. Not peeing on animals, I mean. Just animals that revenge pee. That’s what you get when you Google ‘revenge pee’.

When, however, you Google ‘Children pee’ you get all sorts of shizzle. Info that, frankly, I have no interest in really reading as I am living the dream and am pretty sure that all Mum’s are doing the same things that I am. There honestly is not that many actual options.

Comfort (if it was indeed an accident) or reassure.

Obviously clean up is a MAJOR part of the operation.

As of yet, there is no punishment. It is so a total ‘f-you Mummy, let me have my own way!!’ that I pretty much cannot have any real reaction. Maybe an eyebrow raise. Oh, and a Mummy-face. One that I am still perfecting as it has a 50-50 response rate.

Today was a good day though. No revenge peeing. Plus V actively asking to use the potty. AND he pooped. TWICE. ON the potty.

Despite my total exhaustion and low levels of everything (Family health issues that I will not be discussing, except to say that there are some. They make me sad. And I am trying very hard to be adult about them), V filled that potty the m-f-ing up.

Which, I admit, in hind-sight type-wise sounds a little gross, but for real. We were super high-fiving each other and I did not have to clean up any poo from any non-toilet surface today.

Now I have totally lost my train of thought. Pretty sure it’s about pee. Probably poo too. It is my life, after all.

Anyways, any tips on surviving revenge peeing?

xoxo a.m.

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Lies you tell your children (and other things I regret)

Lying to your kids.  For  ladies and gentlemen of my generation? Well, it’s a new thing.

For our parents? They are seriously thinking “Oh darn, they’ve finally figured it out.” And they mean us. If you just started lying to your own kids, this means you just figured out that your own parents lied to you.

Case in point: a few months ago, Vince and Edward were playing with the light switch in V’s bedroom. Flicking in on. And off. And on. And off. Andonandoffandonandoffandonandoffandonandoffandoff.

“Guys!! Don’t do that! You’ll start a fire!” I shouted dramatically. Which is, apparently, the only way I know how to shout. Unless it’s at work. Then I shout calmly. With dramatic license. Maybe that’s the same thing…

Edward looked at me. With humour. “It’ll start a what? What will it start Jame?”

“A fire. It’ll start a… hmmm… fire. Ya.”

“And who told you that?”

“My Mummy. My Mummy told me it would start a fire,” I said, petulantly, like a 3 year old. A three year old who knew they were wrong.

“Jame. Your Mum totally LIED to you,” Edward stated fake solemnly. Bastard. Seriously for years. YEARS. I thought that was the truth. It’s the little things, right? It was just a small lie, one that you’d forget about, one that would just become ingrained… (But regardless, I’ll still blame my husband)

And so, apparently, we all carry it on.

This past Christmas when we decided to take the tree down, we did it overnight. So when V woke up in the morning, it was gone. Coming downstairs, he was rather surprised.

“Mummy!! Where’d da tree go?!”

“Santa took it, back to the North Pole baby. Next year, he’ll bring it back.”

“Mummy? Where da weeth go?? And da lights?”

“Santa took the wreath and lights, baby. To the North Pole. But he’ll bring them back in December!”

“Oh, ok Mummy!”

And that has worked for several months….

This last week or so?

Whole buildings have disappeared. Random items from the house. Dirty underwear. Garbage. Chewies toys. Etc etc…

“Mummy!! Santa took it!! He took the building! And da fire truck! And da Christmas Dog movie!”

“No baby, no he didn’t” (Although, ‘Santa Paws’ can stay with Santa. I don’t want it back. Stupid movies about dogs with magical Christmas powers…)

Etc etc.

Santa apparently has taken everything or is about to take everything. Vince doesn’t say too much about him bringing those things back. I wasn’t trying to make him out to be a bad guy, just trying to find an explanation for why these things disappeared over night.

So it has now turned into a constant re-imagining of life. Because Santa can and, apparently, will, crop up and take things. He will TAKE IT ALL.

And NOT BRING IT BACK.

I can just see years worth of either therapy or lying ahead of me. Probably lying. Lots and lots of lying. Hopefully not therapy. Could be expensive…

xoxo a.m. (the big fat liar)

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How to lose your child in a department store (A Guide)

This is what not running looks like...

First of all, and this part is really important, try to make sure that you get infected with pinkeye 2 or 3 days prior to attempting to lose your child. This, I feel, really heightens the event by increasing not only your uncomfortableness but skewing your vision as well.

And ideally this will all take place on a Sunday. And if all of the stars are aligned properly, it will also be Mother’s Day.

We very politely crossed the parking lot, holding hands, and entered the building. We went and collected a shopping cart, V scooted in and off we went. Just browsing, I picked up a cute work shirt, grabbed some Mickey Mouse pj’s for Little Man and was perusing some trinkets WHEN. WHEN

He picked up 2 watches from a display table and did a runner.

And while running away from me? He kicked off his sandals, gained momentum and disappeared between the brassieres…

Oh my god. There were way to many brassieres. It was like finding a needle in a jungle. And V is like a huge chubby needle, with no shoes, but I still couldn’t find him.

Not in the men’s long sleeve shirt section. Not amongst the kitchen goods.

Where was he? I had no idea. Edward called me while I was looking… Transcript to follow:

E: “Happy Mother’s Day sweetie!!”

J: “I lost our child.”

E: “What. What!”

J: “Ya. I’ll call you back.”

*Click*

5 or possibly 10 minutes later, a giggly, blonde, curly mess with no shoes tore around the corner of a display, watches in hand. And perhaps the cheekiest grin you have ever seen in your whole entire life. Unless you are me. Then, you see a new one ever single day.

So to recap trying to capture this delicious moment…

Plan on pinkeye. Aim for little to no sleep for at least 2 days prior to the event. Also, having your husband sleeping downstairs on a futon because he doesn’t want to catch your disease. Very important. If you also have a fever and  sinus congestion while this is all going on, even better. I feel it really heightens the emotional reward.

xoxo a.m.

(My Mother’s Day sucked. Except for that part when my child was sleeping)

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Some more about poop

Look Mum! No Poop!!

As if I don’t write enough about it. Geez. I am annoyed with myself. But, you know, you draw what you can from your own experiences and this is apparently what my life is consisting of lately.

Today was a particularly special day.

It started off with poo and ended with it as well. How blessed am I! I guess I am blessed with an almost 3 year old that can pee in the potty, but hasn’t quite mastered the poo. But has mastered the ‘holding it’ part of the movement and is rather good at it.

Blah. Anyways, thats how it started today. A nonchalant statement ‘Mummy? I poo in my underwears.” It was just a flat out statement. No emotion at all. It has become de rigeur. Routine. Normal.

And then this afternoon? We got home, walked the dog and then headed out into the courtyard to pull some weeds. We have had a serious weed eruption in the last 5 days. It’s insane. V and I pulled about 3 pounds of weeds this afternoon and in the middle of all of this vigrous pulling, V announced:

“Mummy! Dere’s poo! Right der!”

“Oh?” Uninterestedly… “There is?”

“Mummy!! Right der. Da poo. It’s icky. It’s on my sock”.

Ok, now that got my attention. What? And then? There it was. In the middle of the courtyard.

A turd. Just one. But don’t worry, there was a shower of them to follow.

I had to pick them all up individually. With my bare hands.

Ha! I kid. I keed. I used a papertowel.

And just when I thought I’d got them all, we started heading upstairs and then one more appeared. Renegade poop.

Vince shouted: “It’s a stinky icky poo!! Ewwwwwwww!” Which made me laugh as it rolled out of his pant-leg and on to the floor. He created and disowned in a microsecond.

Having nothing near by to pick it up with, I used V’s dirty sock to pick up the turd, carry it upstairs and deposit it in the toilet.

And that, probably, is the perfect example of the regular life of a normal Mummy. Sock poo pick-up. Vomit slasher-film type experience. Random wet pants.

Edward got home 15 minutes later to a clean Vince, pj-clad and pleasant. Neither of us mentioned anything about poo. To Daddy or each other. Not that, I think, its something we’d have a conversation about. But it was just not mentioned.

And then, I watched Beauty and the Beast and went to bed. Clearly a win of a day…

xoxo a.m.

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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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