Yesterday

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…

Thanks

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?!

Toast

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….

Tabloids (and motherhood)

Sunday is my favorite day of the week. M is actually home all day (he works Friday and Saturday nights… as well as full-time Monday through Friday) and I am well rested and eager for errands etc.

This morning, V slept in until 7:30. Holy God, was I ever happy! I spent all day yesterday at Epcot and was totally exhausted last night. How people come to Florida and spend days at the parks, I will never know…

Good sleep, check! V sleeping in, check! And a planned trip to Whole Foods (which is pretty much my Mecca). How could it get any better! Not only that, but at Whole Foods, I found Gluten-free chicken nuggets by my favorite kids food brand Happy Baby. Totally organic, wheat-free and not only that, but it doesn’t taste like crap. Bliss. I practically skipped through the checkout and drove home on a cloud, sort of ala Chitty Chitty Bang Bang.

M was awake when I got home, happily taking V from my arms and leaving me free to go to the gym. My other favorite thing about Sundays. For some reason, Saturdays never work for that. Too many things going on, I guess.

Shorts and headband on, ipod clipped to tank-top and Melissa’s latest podcast uploaded, I happily tra-la-la’ed off to the gym to spend some quality time with my favorite treadmill.

About halfway through my treadmill routine, someone else entered the gym, asked me if it was OK if they put on the TV and hopped on the elliptical trainer. She skipped around until she found one of those ‘Forbes 15 Hottest Celebrity Moms’ and about 30 seconds into the program, I was seriously annoyed.

Let me see if I can explain why… or perhaps you already know?

I hate seeing motherhood displayed like this on national TV. I hate even more pairing it up with Forbes, as if to say “very clever people who are associated with Forbes clearly think hot celebrity mums are headline worthy’. And most importantly, I hate that they continuously ‘show’ regular mums how easy it is!

Parenthood is a piece of cake! No problem! You can easily have 3 kids, lose that post-preggo weight instantaneously. Head back to work 6 weeks postpartum… no problem! Because you love your job that much…

Puh-lease…

30 minutes of watching all about these hawt celebrity mums and I was ready to throw up. Personal chefs, 1-3 nannies a household, chauffeurs, personal trainers…. how on earth can us regular mums complete with that?

It is pretty much all that is in the tabloids, on the entertainment news shows and screaming out at you from every magazine cover.

“How Sarah-Jessica manages 3 kids”

“A peek inside Brangelina’s crazy household”

Ah! I can’t even continue to think of examples. So annoying.

If I could also have a personal chef, trainer, a few nannies, an extremely rewarding job that puts me pleasantly in the public eye (like, oh, famous museum curator, award winning blogger, novelist….) I am sure that I would not be that concerned about how much sleep I was getting.

Or about how to handle V’s wheat and peanut allergies by yourself without consulting with a nutritionist, allergist or personal chef. Or how to afford it as well.

And other exciting things like how to manage working full-time and still finding time to look for new daycare, since the in-home daycare that you used went into foreclosure and the owners are not returning your call (V was home with Daddy all summer, since M is a teacher and our attempts to return to the facility we were using before has been met with, well, with resistance, random hang-ups when calls are attempted and some gibberish from husband about how his wife will call us right back. Right)

I bet J.Lo isn’t worrying about that. And neither is Victoria Beckham. Bastards.

I am sure that these women work hard at whatever their jobs are. I don’t care. At all.

I am both fascinated and tired by seeing them in magazines. Mostly tired though. It makes it too easy for women to look at themselves while reading these ‘stories’, compare themselves and, well, maybe feel like they should be doing things different. Or losing more weight. Or having a fancier nursery. Or be happier about returning to work (and let me remind my fellow Canadians that we only get 12 weeks down here in the ‘Sauth’). It never is a happy thing to head back to work while your first born is 10 weeks old (like mine was). Especially when you hand him off to someone that now, a year later, turns out to be the worst choice ever. And maybe someone who is a lying, Jesus-obsessed psycho… This might be a bit of an exaggeration. But since I now hate the daycare lady….. don’t care…

Oh how marvelous it would be to pick and choose your work hours and schedule. Personal chef/trainer. Nanny. Ahhh.

Magazines, can you please give us regular women a break?! We frankly have neither the time, energy or fortune to compete with the women you feature. Or the inclination. We are too tired from lack of sleep and busy toddlers…

We have no time to read your magazines… we are too busy chasing our kids around, multitasking clever and healthy meals (without a personal chef) and trying to find time to fit in the gym.

Like we are apparently supposed to… Ah..bastards…

Backyard

As I try to think and write this evening, my mind is filled with  a million wandering thoughts. Most of which revolve around things like ‘What colour will I paint my bedroom/living room/other bedroom and that other other bedroom” and ‘painting’ in general. And moving.

M and I are now homeowners!

Holy freaking holy! Awesome! Exclamation point!!

About 10 days ago, I fell in-love with a townhouse.  It is just perfect. I then preceded to mentally move myself and family into it. Just in my head, mind you…. And before I had even told M anything about it.

I redecorated the upstairs rooms. I ripped up the laminate floor in the kitchen. I purchased furniture for the diningroom. I decorated the back patio with twinkle lights, cosy tables and one sweet barbeque. I made it ‘home’ in my head.

AND. Then  I got mad at M when he confronted me about being a little ‘over-the-top’ in-like with this place/neighbourhood/lifestyle etc.

Could I be any higher maintenance than I am already?!?! Ha! Seriously I am not.

But sometimes love just happens….. and love is what happened with me and this place when I opened that front door. Watched Little Man crawl up and down those few steps in the living room… and scootch across the living room floor at a neck-breaking speed. Leaving him for a few seconds, I wandered out into the back patio and mentally turned it into a gorgeous floral grotto, draped with heavily scented greenery (jasmine), the sound of falling water tinkling away in the background (kiddie pool) and a cool beverage in my hand under the umbrella (lemonade….ish…).

I then wandered back in, headed for the front porch and imagined our street at Christmas-time… Then I mentally painted the whole inside.

I might, just might, have gone a little over-board. Mentally, that is. In a non-mental way.

Which, of course, all makes sense once you think of it properly…. just like I suggest you should. Whole-heartedly. With all of your heart. With everything. All imagination. All mind. All everything in that scented, green bower that is my future back courtyard, filled with jasmine creeping all over the place….. with the sounds of V splashing away in his pool adding gorgeous watery sounds, filling the yard with the most delicious of all noises.

Family.

Secret club

I just started reading “The Happiest Toddler on the Block” in an effort to prepare myself for what will certainly happen and/or what is already happening.

The whole tag line of the book is “How to eliminate tantrums and raise a patient, respectful and cooperative child”. Now this sounds like a great plan to me! We’ve dabbled a bit in the tantrum pool… just a bit… However, if V is a combination of M and I, then for sure we will have some huge issues with stubbornness (me) and argumentativeness (M). Ok, both of those apply to both of us.

So far it is interesting. Basically it states that toddlers are like cavemen because their little brains are too immature (with patience, logic and language). It discusses key ways to communicate with children in order to decrease poor behavior. Some things I feel a little unsure about… it’s a tricky issue to tackle!

I mean, I see the point that Dr Karp is making, but at the same time I am unsure if I seriously am capable of doing the following:

Vincent says ” You want! You want! You want…. want…. WANT!! You want bottle now, right now!! But wait a minute honey, first we need to sit in our highchair before we have the bottle”.

Am I really capable of speaking like this? Without feeling like a total retard?! Not sure….

Toddler-ese is what this is called, and apparently (according to this book) it is quite effective. Is it?

I desperately hope so, especially as I am reading the ‘success’ stories and am imagining V and I as the end result of these stories. Minus the ‘ese’. Well, there might be a little bit of ‘ese in the house, but in public? That is where I feel a little bit iffy…

And lets ignore the fact that I already point and narrate everything when I am out in public with V. And sing songs. And blow raspberries. And really could care less who sees or hears me do all of these ridiculous things. Reading this book about advocating this sort of behavior times 50 makes me….well….laugh actually.

It makes me laugh as is is the greatest thing ever to glance across at another mum and realize that she is pretty much exactly on your path. As different as all of us mums look, we are all reading, doing and pretty much thinking the same thing. ALL THE TIME. How refreshing is it to know that you are not the only one reading and thinking these things.

It is a lovely secret membership and I welcome it. And am grateful for that unspoken support… xoxo to all my mums out there from 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.

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

Banana (genius!)

I thought a lot about flying with V before our actual trip. A lot.

I MIGHT have over-thought everything, just a bit. I was really trying to think about things to do with him on the plane, but with a one year old that is a little tricky. Things that would work on older and younger children I didn’t think would work with him.

He doesn’t sit still ever.

And hates being held quietly and rocked like a younger child possibly would. Oh, and screams when falls asleep.

So a lot of thought went into what to take in that diaper bag of mine.

Snacks, toys, bottles and juice. That is pretty much what I had. Oh, and a banana.

The Banana, or  the herbaceous plants of the genus Musa, is cultivated primarily for its fruit.

Bananas are grown in at least 107 countries. In  popular culture and commerce, “banana” usually refers to soft, sweet “dessert” bananas. The bananas from a group of cultivars with firmer, starchier fruit are called plantains. Bananas may also be cut and dried and eaten as a type of chip. Dried bananas are also ground into banana flour.

Although the wild species have fruits with numerous large, hard seeds, virtually all culinary bananas have seedless. Bananas are classified either as dessert bananas (meaning they are yellow and fully ripe when eaten) or as green cooking bananas.

V loves them, which was why I brought one. And spur of the moment, I decided to give the whole thing to him, skin and all to eat.

Holy burst of motherhood genius!!

That banana kept him occupied for about 25 minutes. I peeled the the skin back and let him hold the whole fruit, the skin draping down over those plump little fingers.

He was enchanted.

That little mouth didn’t know exactly what to do with it though. He tried to bite it with those 8 little teeth, but didn’t have much of an effect on the banana. He tried again, and managed to get some of the fruit in his mouth. With each bite he grew braver and braver, finally managing to take a whole mouthful of the fruit in one bite.

Banana was everywhere. How nice that I decided to save this moment for his first airplane ride, eh? It was on the airplane phone, the window, me, the seat in front of us, me again, him, all over him and his seatbelt and also my hands. I actually had a collection of banana pieces in my hand, the ones he didn’t feel like keeping in his mouth and spat out. Now normally I would just drop them on the floor and shout “Chewie!!! What’s this!!!” and our dog would come running and eat it.

That doesn’t quite fly on an airplane (harhar). So I just collected those little soggy bits in the palm of my hand and waited patiently for M to finish his diet soda so I could deposit them.

So word to the mothers out there. Bananas are genius for domestic flights!

Don’t, however, try and take one through customs entering the USA without declaring it, or you will be subjected to the excitement that we were (bag searches, flagged for the ‘short’ customs lineup (aka longest line ever with super strict scanning people) and having your bag swabbed for bomb residue). If you do bring any fruit through from Canada to the USA, make sure that it has the sticker on it. Apparently Canada imports from some countries that the USA doesn’t, and this is a huge issue.

Apart from that whole kerfuffle, I am a wellspring of motherhood genius! Banana! Genius!

Pox

M is allergic to cats.

When he first told me this years ago, I thought he was lying. I really thought that he didn’t want to get a kitten/cat, anything of the feline persuasion as a pet. His family is more of a ‘dog’ family. And so years ago when he visited me in Canada and stayed at my parent’s house and started sneezing and rubbing his eyes repeatedly, I finally got the point. He was, in fact, not lying. Surprise!

My dear kitty that I had during University moved in with my parents when I moved to Japan. And when I moved back she continued to stay with them. They love her (as do I, she really is so sweet). On our recent trip to Canada, we slept in their bedroom with V, while my parents stayed in the guest house. There was much talk about making sure to keep the bedroom door closed as Molly-cat loves to sneak in there. Not only is M allergic, but my Step-dad is too so this was doubly important.

Despite all of these precautions (and leaving the bedroom window open all day and night), M still had bouts of sneezing and watery eyes…. it just couldn’t be helped.

One night we were all out on the patio. We had just finished a lovely visit with some family and friends, and were finishing off a quickly put-together smorgasbord of savory treats. There was a nice chill in the air, wine on the table and my sister and I got up to get hoodies and slippers so we could stay cozy while we all chatted on the deck.

I guess M and C must have looked a little cold, as my mum dashed back in and came out carrying 2 woolen blankets which she proceeded to toss on both of them. Satisfied that everyone was cosy and warm, we all continued laughing and joking for another hour or so before heading off to bed.

…….hours later…….. early morning…….

M woke up with his eyes practically stuck shut, sneezing like a mother-f’er, tears running down his face from how itchy his eyes are and totally congested.

“Don’t tell your mother, but I think that blanket has the pox,” he said, “It is my Kryptonite.” Apparently it was covered in cat hair.

I started laughing and thinking of course that I will have to write about this in my blog. M looked at me and I knew he was reading my mind. As soon as he started to say “Jame…..” I said “I will really try to not mention this….really. For real.” I am pretty sure he didn’t believe me. It might have been a little lie on my part…

Downstairs we trudged with V (M trying to hide his sneezes and red eyes). The pox blankets lay on an end table and V was reaching for them. “No honey,” I said, “Don’t touch the cat blankets.” (M evil eyed me in the background for uttering this outloud).

“Cat blanket?” someone piped up…

And then the story unfolded from my Stepdad.

“Ah, yes,” he said, “The cat used to sleep on it. I think we’ve had them for about 30 years and they’ve never been washed. Missy used to sleep on them too.” (Missy was a cat we had when I was in middle/high school)

This history of the pox blanket is revealed! I struggled to not look at M, for fear that the giggle in me would erupt and run totally out-of-control.

I just saved it all up for here instead….