Talia

Sweet wee Vincent....

This is just a self-indulgent post about Vincent. Mostly.

Post bath, V climbed up on his bed with his ‘Puppy book’ and said “Mama too? Mama too. Mummy too!” How on earth is one supposed to resist that. Really. Must have a total heart of stone.

Since I am a huge sucker, up I climbed and proceeded to marvel at all of those puppies. Puppies are right at the top of the ‘love’ list at the moment.

While he sat on his bed and turned those pages, my fingers toyed with the most adorable baby curls you have ever seen in your life. Slightly damp from the bath curls. Hair sticking up  all over the place. Sweet little tender neck, smelling like Dove bodywash. Fat little tummy peeking out between diaper and slightly too small pajama top.

While he counted those dogs and giggled and squirmed away from my kisses, I stroked those curls and tickled that fat belly.

And then?

I cried.

And why? Well, one of my favorite ladies in the whole world (and a genetic lady at that). Ok, my sweet cousin. Who might as well be my sister, we are that close (that’s what you do in Canada).

Well, that sweet lady is in labour with her first little boy right now. So while I was driving home this evening, talking to her quickly between contractions. And then while I held on when she told me “Here comes a big one” and it went silent for quite a while. And then, while I was holding, I got all teared up.

The first baby is a special thing for every single woman and man. And looking at my little man and thinking of Tal and Sean embarking on this awesome voyage that is parenthood…

Apparently all I can do is stroke some sweet baby curls, wish I was there to offer my arms to lean on and support and cry just a little bit.

It’s just a little bit, Tal, not a lot.

Love you.

xoxo a.m.

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?!

Normal life

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….

Jacket

With an Internet blackout, I am typing this away on my desktop…. The blog-gods will be appeased with this… right?

Anyways I was thinking tonight about the amount of jackets I used to own when I lived back in Canada.

Oh the times of Talia and Jaime, those 2 cousins that lived together and had a huge hall-closet and between them had many a jacket. It was packed full of jackets….

In particular, I believed that Talia had a very nice woolen Pea-Coat that I adored. I think it came from L.L. Bean. I might have worn it every chance I could.

For some reason tonight while I was watching Big Brother, one of the contestants was wearing a jacket that not only reminded me of Talia, but also of University in general.

The jacket that Brendan was wearing was exceptionally cheap looking. Total faux-leather with faux-sheepskin on the collars. Awful. Reminded me of a jacket I owned in the ’90’s.

Faux leather…. Naugahyde to be exact.. Like my Gramp’s couch.

I thought that jacket was awesome. It cost $20, that I clearly remember. It was total faux-everything, and buttoned up like a suit-jacket. I wore it everywhere. I thought it made me look professional. Or cool. Or a combination of both. And then a friend of mine bought the same one…. Unprompted and without knowing that I had it. That must have meant that I had good taste, right?

And in retrospect, it was the most awful jacket you have ever seen. But it was the nineties, so that…well, that was the way it went, eh?

Again, that jacket-cupboard was full of lovely jackety things. All sorts of grey, black and dark brown. Several types of navy coats. An old smoking jacket. One or two coats made of synthetic materials… it was a glorious array of coats…and scarves and gloves… good times….

And then on a completely different topic, I just found this lovely blog which is full of pretty things to look at. And interesting things to read…. probably you want to go and check it out. For reals.

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

Tattoo

Tattooed. Awesome.

Spending time in a tattoo studio is interesting. I’ve been in one several times before…. but this was the first time that I’ve been in one with someone that has been in one on a regular basis. She’s pretty colourful. And pretty. And pretty and colourful at the same time.

As was my experience….

Colourful.

And Pretty!!

But colourful.

I learned.

I learned things maybe I shouldn’t share with the public.

Things about going to Greece and France…. that aren’t really involved with travel. At all. Who knew. But in retrospect, it made lots of sense.

I also didn’t know that blow-jobs and chicken go hand-in-hand… Apparently they do. But that it also stops after marriage. So don’t get married or those two will no longer go hand in hand…. If they ever did. Except in the realm of imagination and tattoo parlours.

I had many conversations about drugs, chicken, foreign countries, sex, sex, sex, sex and sex. And penises. I didn’t even know how to pluralize that word. Thank god for spell-check.

Mostly I just listened and absorbed. Absorbed what? I couldn’t really say. It’s been absorbed already. It’s in there though, floating around. I am sure that it will all resurface at some point… Most likely on my next trip. Once C and I work out the kinks to my cap sleeve.

Did you know that she is my tattoo muse?

If you are looking for ideas, let me know…. she might consult, for a fee that is… I’ll make sure you get a family rate. No worries….

Teeny tiny

Well, already I have failed miserabley at my attempt to post every day.

I tried so hard last night, but ended up in a round-robin of phone calls with those crazy Beltgens girls.

T and I enjoy a regular “Friday night wine date” on the phone. Since she’s in Edmonton and I am in Orlando, it is rather hard to get together in person to chat and sip adult beverages. After about 30 minutes on the phone it does tend to get rather ridiculous. It’s always been like that though, ever since we were kids… and alcohol was not involved then for sure.

Add a glass of wine (or two), and an hour and a half later your sides and abs are killing you from all of the laughing.

My cousin-love date with C was then finalized to both of our excitement.

And then it was 10:30. And I wondered why I was still up? Since M has been on summer vacation, I find myself going to bet later and later. It is rare that we get that much time alone anymore and even if it is just sitting quitely sitting side-by-side… it is awesome.

He loves peas, and so do I. We also like talking…. and not talking…. and sitting. Both of us like sitting too. And walking. That’s a big hit in our household.

With this teeny tiny post I hope that I appease the blog-gods and will be forgiven for my utter lapse of posting yesterday. And then I’ll post later. I swear! And it will be more exciting! And clever, possibly even witty?!

Thank you

Shockingly I have made it to 100 posts.

11 months ago when I started this, it was a very tentative step in a direction that I have always wanted go. My first few posts were so studied and awkward. I was very unsure. And perhaps slightly uncomfortable at what I was doing. But determined to do it, regardless….

The months passed and I gradually felt comfortable and then suddenly I just didn’t care anymore.

These are just my thoughts, my life, my experiences in this world and suddenly I was totally at ease sharing them with… well…. everyone…

So I appreciate very much the people that take the time to stop by and read about the things that are going on in my house and my life.

And as a show of my appreciation, here are a few tidbits about me that you may or may not know….

I am perhaps the worst parker you have ever seen. I don’t pull my car completely into the stall, I am always on a really awful angle and, what is worse, I don’t care…

I can’t argue to save my life. I forget half way through and what’s worse is that I move passed it quickly. And then wonder why we are still arguing? Why are we again?

I have a deep love of all things action (movie-wise I mean). I cannot resist an awesome one. Or a bad one. Or any one at all.

I have become a slave to my best friends daughter. She has me twisted around her little finger, but I am ok with that and can’t stop spoiling her rotten. And will probably do that to her sister too.

I might not be good at diapering. But I won’t totally admit it either…. because I am not sure if I am or not, you know, because it’s my first time being a mum and stuff….

Motherhood is a mind boggling thing. So many things to do, remember, argue about, remember and try to do better. So fascinating.

I love red wine.

I am sarcastic. But maybe not as much as my cousin, for she is indeed the Queen of all things sarcasm. And I worship at her feet for that.

The fact that Liam Neeson’s wife died makes me sad.

I love my husband. More than everything. But I love V more than everything everything.

I breathe deeply sometimes to retain my calm. Sometimes it happens a little more frequently then I would like.

I once saw a squirrel eat a piece of pizza in my parking lot. Surreal.

I think, perhaps, I am a crappy communicator.

I love the smell of Earl Grey tea, but caffeinated only. Decaf Earl Grey is just not the same. At all.

I am glad to live in the land of the hurricanes instead of the land of the earthquakes. Earthquakes freak me right out, after experiencing them in Japan.

I love Japan.

I love sushi. Salmon skin. Raw scallops. Raw tuna. Umeboshi (pickled plums). Japanese beer in little glasses. Edamame with coarse salt. Japanese festivals, heat, summers, beer, cherry blossoms, mochi and beardpapa and I am sure there are a billion things I forgot about.

I love sleep more than I ever knew. And miss it more than I ever knew too.

Continental breakfast is my ideal breakfast.

British comedies are the best. And sadly here in the South no-one know what I am talking about.

I love a rainy day.  I love a new bra. I love tea and scones. I love cold days that need warm blankets. I love snuggling and hope to teach that love to V.

I am touchy. AND emotional. AND moody. And unapologetic about all. And am pretty sure that my husband is used to everything by now….

A few personal things about me…. and of course, any questions, feel free to ask away.

And thank you again for reading. Your comments mean more than you will ever know….

Yoga-a-go-go

Post-class I am whipped. Beat into a pulp. A big ol’ mess, to get all ‘Southern’ on you and stuff.

Tonight we tried a new place (mainly because they have a coupon, and coupons are good). It was in an old building near downtown, bit of a different vibe. Ramshackle building, loads of little skinny people (which I am blaming on its position to the downtown core) and a door on the women’s toilet that I swear was made completely out of Styrofoam painted brown. For reals.

Holy did we ever sweat. It was brutal.

The room was so crowded I couldn’t even see myself in the mirror. I also couldn’t see myself because there was a very tall man in front of me. And funny as we were asked repeatedly to focus on ourselves in-front of the mirror, and I couldn’t as, well, he was RIGHT THERE.

I focused a lot on his sweaty back though….. he has a mole just below his left shoulder-blade. And nice shoulders.

Anyways, bikram was hard-core and I was beaten down man. Beaten down.

Dizzy and exhausted I left the studio, chatting with J and C about how darn hot it was (at least 10 degrees hotter than our other place. Swear.). I threw my damp yoga gear into the back seat, balanced my water bottle on the roof and loaded everything else into the front. I climbed in and took off.

I drove about 50 feet and heard an awful clanking noise. Totally thought it was my car, as we have innumerable issues with it. I kept going and the noise stopped. Glancing in my rear-view mirror I saw something blue on the wet road.

Oh crap! It’s my water bottle!! My $25 water bottle that I got a huge lecture about buying! The water bottle that C teases me about every time I see her. You know, THAT water bottle.

I quickly called her, thankfully she was just behind me (and South St is a one-way street AND wasn’t that busy). She swooped in behind my car and practically leaned out of hers and one-armed it out of the street and into her sporty little SmartCar.

Oh, and then she laughed at me. A lot.

And, I imagine, will never let me forget it. Sigh.

West Coast love

I feel like I have been slightly neglectful of writing this week.

Now that I have a few moments to myself, my thoughts feel a little overwhelmed. So many things fighting to get out, I just know nothing is going to be coherent at all. But perhaps that is just all the time anyways…. My brain tends to run ahead of my mouth, and I assume that everyone is on the same wavelength as me and is following along.

My new interest in Bikram yoga is straightening my spine and filling my mind with healthy thoughts. My muscles ache, but I feel tall. And strong. And clean.

It’s a West Coast sort of feeling. A nice granola-y, wheat grass drinking, portabello mushroom burger-eating, organic cotton-wearing, Patchouli smelling, soy bean, miso soup, vegan soap-using feeling.

I think part of it has to do with my cousin moving to Central Florida. Funnily enough, who would have thought out of the 4 cousins the 2 of us would end up living in Florida when we were adults. I think it’s the most bizarre of coincidences. But then, since considering our family, I wonder why I am surprised. But I think it is a fantastic thing.

Cousin dear and I are at opposite sides of the cousin age group. I am the oldest and she is the youngest. Somehow though, we have a ridiculous amount in common. Of course it’s family bond and all that, but more as well. And I am so happy that she moved from the East coast.

And so happy that she let me drag her to Bikram. Where she sweated, cursed me and denounced our bloodline. I know she still loves me. And I hope she knows how much I love her and am glad that she is here and part of my life. Love you Cuz. Not like this…. I just love you…