Just a random post about hair

So for a couple of years, I really embraced my dark side. I think the last time I had dark hair it must have been high school when I dyed my hair black. I paired that with some lovely steel-toed boots, an army surplus jacket and some gauzy printed fabric dresses. And some fish nets. LORD. That was the 90’s. So really, I think there are no excuses.

So I had really dark auburn hair while pregnant with Vince. I loved it. Vince was born with not a lot of hair. But what there was, well it was dark. And Edward has dark hair. Logical, no?

(And as a secret aside, my roots are just a plain ol’ brown. In the Summer it bleaches easily in the sun, in the winter it darkens naturally. Apparently, my hair is easy)

ANYWAYS…

Vince’s hair, when he was little really looked like it was going to be dark like Daddy’s. He did get the dark eyes after all, he is a clone of his father so I honestly thought the hair would follow.

But, as he grew, it became apparent that his hair had a mind of it’s own. It, as I came to know, did not want to be like Daddy. In fact, it seems that it took pity on me and thought it would lean in my genetic direction and spiral the F out of the top of his head.

When he was one, it was rather short and easy to take care of. When he was two, oh gosh was it cute, curly, blonde, adorable. Recently people say weird things to me like “How’s you streak his hair like that?” and “Is that his natural colour?”.

Today someone said “Oh, he is too cute. So gorgeous. Those curls? Remind me of a little girl…. *sigh*…” Thank you Target employee for pointing out that ‘Yes’, it is, in fact, time for my son to get a haircut.

But every morning that I wake him up and see myself reflected in his clown hair, ugh. UGH. I just can’t. Can’t comb it, for one. Can’t stop laughing for two. Can’t cut it. Can’t seem to get it cut. Can’t put much effort into trying to cut it.

Which is not to say that I have tried. (Once) Which was just last week. Not sure if that counts as actively pursuing the hair-situation.

I think I just cannot help adoring the reflection of me in him. And probably, after he gets older, I will probably curse it and say things to his father and blame it all on him.

But oh the hair. Oh that darn hair…. I will bawl like a baby when those curls get cut. Maybe I just better have another baby and pray to God that its a girl so I can indulge in curlfest…

I am honestly making an effort to organize a haircut. I promise to take pictures. And souvenirs…

xoxo a.m. (clown car hair-style)

Conversations with my Husband

Gosh, do I ever have the silliest conversations with M. So ridiculous that I might need to make it a weekly topic.

M: “Just got home from work and V is tearing the house apart. He keeps bringing me things I haven’t seen before. Most of them are your shoes.”

J: “Ha! Wait. What? Where is he getting these shoes from? I don’t have that many shoes.”

M: “Sure you don’t. Ahem. Anyways, he just came out carrying a pink stocking…”

J: “….??? What? That must be yours.”

M: “What? That doesn’t make any sense.”

J: “Well, I know those aren’t my stockings as I don’t have any pink ones, so they must be yours…hahaha… you own pink stockings!”

M: “Your Christmas stocking? You know, the one that’s pink fake fur? That’s what I mean by ‘stocking’.”

J: “Oh. I totally didn’t visualize a Christmas stocking, I was thinking about stocking stockings. Like panty-hose. You know?”

M: “….Way to date your self. Hahahahahahahaha… what are you, 90? No-one calls them stockings anymore!”

J: “What? Ha! TONS of people call them that.”

M: “Sure Mildred.”

J: “Hahahaha… don’t call me that!”

M: “Whatever you say, Gertrude.”

J: “I liked Mildred better.”

And it went on from there. Am I really the only one that calls them stockings? Am I from 1912? Do I have too many shoes?

Tune in next week for more ridiculousness…

xoxo a.m.

Cocoa Beach

I was up nice and early with the V-Diddy Sunday morning. And to my surprise, so was Daddy! Usually I let him sleep as he works his second job over Friday and Saturday nights and I want him to get some actual rest on the weekends.

For some reason he was up. I was soon to find out why…. Apparently he had planned that we were hitting up the beach, which was the best plan ever. Haven’t been to the beach in forever and a day.

We live about 45 minutes or so from the East Coast of Florida, which puts us (I guess) in the neighbourhood of Cocoa Beach. We prefer to go elsewhere though. Cocoa is just to dang crowded. And touristy. Last year we found this amazing beach about 4 or 5 miles south of Cocoa, adjacent to the Army base there. Pretty empty, public washrooms, totally pristine. Perfect!

Unbeknownest to me, M had other plans. He had found a ‘historic beach’ near the Space Center and was heading there instead.

I love driving near the Space Center. After years of seeing shuttle launches on the tv and internet, it is pretty amazing to live so near to where it’s all taking place. We drove past the Space Center with M saying “I’m pretty sure I get in there for free with my teacher discount”

Holla!! We are so going.

We were discussing this so animatedly that we (I guess) weren’t paying that much attention to where we were going.

All of a sudden there was a large gun in my line of sight. As I panned up, I encountered a huge name tag that said ‘Woody’.

Woody is the hardiest, oldest soldier with the most no-nonsense tone of voice, kind of like Al Pacino  in Scent of a Woman (except perhaps a little more sassy), that I have ever met. Outside of a film, that is…

So hey, guess what?

We were apparently trying to drive right onto Kennedy Space Center’s grounds. Did you know you can’t do that? Yup. You can’t.

What you can do, however, is get very detailed directions to the nearest beaches (clearly this is something that has happened before  ). And then you can learn that the ‘historic’ beach you are looking for is located behind Bunker 33 and hasn’t been open to the public in about 50 years.

Ha!!

Holy crap, did we ever laugh. Woody laughed briefly and roughly , as if it wasn’t something that he had done recently… if ever.

Thanks Woody for setting us straight. And thanks GPS for taking us to a ‘historic’ beach (what even is that?!). And thanks husband, for having the best idea ever on an early Sunday morning.

Here’s a few pictures of the Little Man at the beach. I wish I had been able to catch him saying the word ‘beach’. It does, as I am sure you parents can imagine, sound a little different coming from his mouth.

But it’s the cutest thing ever to hear the chant of “Cocoa Beach Cocoa Beach” coming from the back seat. “Cocoa Beach” interspersed with “Water? Beach! Water!”

xoxo j

X-Ray

V and I went to the Hospital yesterday.

As I learned, it is certainly a nice thing to know a little about where you are going. So, for example, you don’t park on the opposite side of the building and then have to trot in heels carrying a 32 pound child on your hip(s).

Unfortunately, I didn’t. And so I used “Hi!! I’m not sure if I need to be here or somewhere else! Can’t you help me?”repeatedly plus a cheerful tone of voice. This got me up to the 3rd floor and then down to the first and then, happily, to the exact opposite of where my car was (building-wise).

20 minutes late I arrived at admissions. As I plunked V down on the admissions counter, that plunk issued a rather strong odor that mushroom-clouded around my face and that of the girl inputting our info. I think she typed a little faster. The stink got stronger, the typing got faster.

Oh my little stinker… Although I was concerned about being late for the x-ray, I NEEDED to change that bum. And while we were getting changed, we met a crazy lady.

“Oh baby oh baby oh baby, good baby boy good. If you are good Mummy will give you candy! Yes, you will get candy! I will give you candy!!” she cried as she walked past us on her way to a bathroom stall. Who was she? Um, I didn’t know. But at the thought of her offering V candy, I did the quickest change ever, super washed my hands and did a runner.

Yikes.

Ok. X-ray. Here we come. And there we stayed. In the waiting room. Forever. The odor of poo followed us in there. And why did it follow us? Well, that’s because there was more poo. Of course there was. And of course it was the last diaper. (“The last diaper? How is that even possible?” M asked me later. He got a total huge side-eye for that one) And of course we went right from the bathroom directly to a small enclosed waiting room. And, well, you know… That is just my life.

One lead vest later, we attempted the test. V was not cooperative. I don’t blame him. I wouldn’t be either. The first shot was ok. A standing profile. There we were, facing each other, trying to let the tech get a side shot. I knelt down to a bit more to be on his level and well, darn it, he knelt down too. So cute!! It wasn’t quite what was needed to get the shot, but it sure made me laugh…

I didn’t know they needed to do 2 shots but apparently it’s a requirement. The second shot was a horizontal shot. I had to lower him onto a table, hold his head still and with the other arm, pin his arms down while the tech held his legs. He was so scared he couldn’t even move. He just cried and lay still while Mummy whispered ‘brave boy’ over and over again. Ick.

But before all of this?

While we were waiting, V got a little restless. And by little, I mean a lot. We took a walk and encountered the ‘Disney Pavilion’ at the hospital. It was a whole interactive jungle themed corner, with characters from The Jungle Book and Finding Nemo. Quite cute actually, but something about it hit V the wrong way. And then he saw a monkey and it terrified him.

“No monkey no monkey no monkey no monkey,” he whimpered. This was quickly followed by “No fish no fish no fish no fish” when we left the pavilion and walked past an aquarium. Huh.

No fish and no monkey followed us all the way through both waiting rooms, the scan room, the actual scan, back up to the 3rd floor, down to the 1st and through the parking garage, all the way home in the rain and into the house.

“Daddy!! No fish!!!!!!! Noooooooo monkey,” he shouted on our arrival home.

And this morning when he woke up?

“Mummy!! Mummmmmmmmmy! No fish. No. No fish. No monkey. Monkey? NO monkey.”

Isn’t it funny how it is the little things that affect the most? It’s the fish and the monkeys and the butterflies (right Tara?). And so I wonder today as I listened to him talk about monkeys and fish, will these things be a permanent scar? Did I just accidently scar my child for life? Were those fish and that monkey so scary, plus the X-ray, that those three things are now permanently burned together and will always be associated?

Lord, I hope not! No more trips to the zoo for us.

On the plus side of things, the x-ray showed that his adenoids are not enlarged. They are normal. It did, however, show 4 molars. 4 new molars that haven’t shown up ye., 4 molars that are, apparently, about about to totally erupt through his jaw at any moment.

Sweet!!!!!!! Awesome!!!!!!! Dude!!! (3 words of V’s that seem appropriate)

For real, I know you are so jealous. Right?

xoxo a.m.

Night-night!

Dude. Have I ever had a crazy weekend.

It started innocently enough, the regular Friday night things. I always order pizza on Friday nights and the delivery driver always can’t find my house. Always. V went night-nights like a charm, I munched out and planned my Saturday (which was going to involve Ikea and possibly breakie with Darling Cousin)

Mission

accomplished and we headed home for a nap (and a run for me). I thought V would take a nice long nap and so you can imagine my surprise when Little Man was up with Daddy in the kitchen.

Sweating  and panting, I entered the kitchen to be welcomed by my Mother-In-Law on speakerphone. “Hi Jaime”. “Hi Fran”.

M announced, “So, during my shower, I was interrupted by a knock at the door. I thought it was you, Jame. Turns out it was V”.

Me: “What the hell?!?!”

M: “Mom, I’ve got to go. Jame doesn’t want you to hear the words she is about to use”.

I used some big, shocking words. Quietly, of course and also covering my son’s ears. I then followed M upstairs, while carrying V, and received a demonstration of V’s latest skill.

Holy shit was it ever the freakiest thing. Legs swinging like monkeys, twisting and manipulating that little body he squirmed his way up so his body was lying horizontal on the edge of the crib. Then, balancing on his ribcage, he slowly lowered himself. Jeeez-Us.

And so that was it. The death of the crib. Several calls to my handy Father-In-Law later plus one expensive trip to Target, we were set. Eclipse curtains, curtain rods, bed set. Check!

And then? Then Hell arrived at my house and settled down for the night.

That big bed was scary. And V didn’t want to try it out, not matter how fun and cosy it was. No matter that it still had all of his little night-time friends. And blankets. No matter, V was not interested in any of it.

He cried. Cried and cried and cried and cried. And cried. He cried so much that his hair was soaked. My shirt was soaked. Everything was soaked. And as the minutes passed, the sobs got more and more heartbreaking. By this time, we had moved on from the chair to the bed, where he sobbed and tossed back and forth on me. Because despite all of this crying, he was exhausted. And during all of this crying? His eyes were shut.

The sobs wound down and the gasping, sobbing breaths began. Gasping and sobbing right into Mumma’s chest. Finally, he settled down. I sneaked-crawled off the bed and called my Mum. And during the call, he started crying again. I snuck back in, comforted him and then snuck out when he settled in…

And then I called my Mum again.

Around 3:30 I was woken up by someone poking me in the face, saying “Naaaasss!!! (nose) Maaaasssssue! (mouth) Naaaaaase! Mumma! Mumma? Mumma!! Mumma naass! ” Lots of little fingers poked me all over the face and guess what? Suddenly I was awake. As I opened my eyes, my vision was obscured by a huge grin.

Little Man slept 8 hours in his bed like a big boy!!

And didn’t go back to bed for 2 1/2 more hours. And then only went back to sleep because I slept with him (around 5:30), and then woke up around 8 am. Thank you blackout curtains!!

So we managed. And even though I felt like I ripped my sons childhood out from under him and even though I made him cry until I thought my heart would wrench right out of my chest. And even though yesterday evening, I cried too because I felt like I hurt my boy. And I cried because childhood is a fast and fleeting thing, or so it seems last night to Mummy.

And then this morning? While V pointed out the parts of our face, name Daddy, Mummy, Chewie and then shyly added his name to the list of “Who’s that?”, childhood reappeared.

Oh my son, my little little man. Not my baby boo anymore, but my shy and charming toddler, I love you. And I am sorry.

But honey? Your big bed and you snuggled up in it’s messy blankets is the sweetest thing ever.

Love you, Mummy…

(and love you too a.m.)

Snack

The Plague or, if you are on a first name basis like we are, the Black Lung, remains a constant presence in our lives. Despite my best intentions.

So annoying.

But since I constantly seem to be talking about awful things, sickness and all of the things that my husband does wrong, I thought I would try something (slightly) different.

We had a busy day today.

It started out with a lovely Canadian Tradition of ‘Waffles and Puppies’, which is where we make waffles on Sunday morning and eat puppies. Puppies are whatever your imagination would like them to be.

Actually, no. This is what my Mother-In-Law thought we were doing this morning. Fran, Canadians do not eat Puppies. Please disregard whatever rumours you have heard regarding your Northern neighbours.

We actually went to eat waffles and meet a puppy. My cousin-sister got a puppy yesterday and likes to feed people. And it was Easter.

Yay puppies and yay waffles!!

And then we went home, V took a nap, I cooked, M got V ready and we headed over to his parents house for Easter dinner.

V has been out of sorts. I am trying so hard not to write about the Black Lung, but I can’t help it. I’ll just write a little, ok?

Ok, so super sinus infection, antibiotics and diarrhea. Thanks antibiotics for bringing that to the party!! And so diarrhea makes diaper rash (blistering). Which makes small children say this when brought into the vicinity of a changing table.

“Nooooooooo!! Nononononononononooooooooo No! No! No! Nooo!!!!!” etc etc

Oh, and it makes them cranky.

*whew* Sorry. Anyways.

So on the way home, V is happily chatting to himself in the back. M and I are exhausted. The dog is sleeping in M’s dirty clothes in the back seat. And suddenly?Well, suddenly we hear crunching noises coming from the back seat. And this was funny because V only had a bottle back there. No snackies. But he was clearly eating something.

Where was he getting it? Good question. I thought it might be ‘car seat food’, which might actually be the grossest of the food categories.

After a minute or more of crunching, M finally noticed he was getting it from the door handle. I guess he had put some there during a previous snack perhaps for just such an occasion? Total illicit snack. Thankfully it was cereal and not something like a piece of banana or cheese.

M laughed when we figured it out. “That’s like something you’d do, Jame”. And I am not sure if he meant eat the car seat snacks or store them for later. Either of which is ridiculous. Clearly I would store snacks in a baggie. Or a labeled snack container. Yes. I am anal.

He happily munched away for another few minutes. We did nothing to stop him. There really was nothing to stop! It made us both laugh though.

And now? V is sleeping, M is ps3-ing, I am blogging and trying to hold off the sleepy-time dust that is being shaken on my head. Sick people equals exhaustion. Sick people plus holiday dinner? Totally screwed.

Night all!

xoxo a.m.

Two

Did you know that M and I will have been married for 5 years next month? And also that V will be 2 years old in June.

To me, both of these things are rather exciting but, mostly, I am in shock.

Not so much about number 1 (that man is locked in forever)but definitely number 2. Number 2 is going to be 2! Although really he’s number 1. So number one is going to be 2… (my mind is giggling right now, it’s usually in the gutter anyways…).

Anyways, things have been changing over here in the last week or so. A sign of things to come? Of schedules to be disrupted?

It started off Sunday. My fault. Back from Spin class and feeling full of energy, I showered, shaved and felt alive. It was 3 pm and he was still sleeping. As far as I was concerned, that was too late to be sleeping and if he slept longer we would totally be f’d in the A.

So I woke him up. Sweetly, of course, and with many a gentle whisper and caress. Would you like to guess how all of my sweet efforts were greeted? With huge gulping, sobbing, wet, gasping cries. With big head-shakes at the mention of ‘Daddy’. And ever further head-shakes and wailing ‘Noooooo’ ‘s at the mention of Chewie the dog.

And the crying didn’t stop there. It continued for a good 15 minutes. And the day didn’t get any better from there. M just looked at me, gave me a total side-eye.

The rest of the day was just a huge, whiny, temper-tantrumy mess. So was the evening. So was dinner. And so was bath-time.

Bath-time was actually so bad it was kind of funny. Lowered into the lovely tub, all he did was wail from the time his feet touched the water. And then he tried to climb out. And then, when he couldn’t, he proceeded to wail and wail and wail like he was being scalded (which he wasn’t, for the record).

And bedtime that followed wasn’t much better. In fact, bedtime took place at 6:45, 8 pm, 10 pm, 11 pm and 1 am.

And Monday night wasn’t much better.

Tuesday was a slight improvement.

Happily Wednesday night was fine and so was Thursday.

So what the hell was all of that? In 3 months, he’ll be 2. Is it that? He’s getting quite opinionated. He will no longer ‘Moo’ on command. This disappoints me.

On the other had, he is developing a delicious sense of humour that is so infectious I just want to nibble on him. The giggles, the cheeky smiles, the mischievous looks and the endless “tic-el-tic-el-tic-el-tic-el” noises that he makes…

So if this is the terrible twos, I’ll take it.  Those grins make those weary nights worthwhile…

Twin Bed

A short guide to not only buying a mattress, but also to surviving the post-sale salesman small talk.

After much back and forth it was decided that the addition of a twin bed would be a good idea to the household.  We currently have a full size (or standard or what every you call it) futon convertible. But the addition of another sleeping surface is necessary. Especially considering our upcoming company. We also were considering it V’s future ‘Big Boy’ bed.

We did some price checking.  The whole usual sort of thing.

Blah blah blah… let me just skip to us pulling up to the store and add that we were actually the only car in the lot. Where the salesman parked, no idea. There was only one of him and literally no other cars in a quarter mile radius.

It took a while for us to decide.

We had to decide between the cheapest mattress they had and then the one slightly more expensive.

Let me illustrate how hard this decision was:

“Could you show me your least expensive mattress?”

“Yes… it’s right over here “, he said, slightly out of breath from the thought of a potential sale and also from running from his desk to a dark corner where he frantically tossed garbage off of a thin crappy looking mattress stuffed behind some sales props.

“Go ahead, lie down and see how it feels…. it’s, ummm, not the best”, he added, “It’s not what I’d like to sleep on. But go ahead. Lie down.”

I didn’t need to do that to know that it felt like a prison cot.

We opted for something else. I know my Mum appreciates the thought that went into making that tricky decision.

So M and V went outside to make a call and I went to pay.

With my Visa card and id on the far side of his desk and the sales screen open, Kevin proceeded to make the most painful small talk I have ever been a party to.

Here are a few topics he covered:

Farmers Markets and how they just ‘need a chance’, Puerto Ricans, his nagging dry cough, the drive he took with his wife last weekend, how he works Saturdays, why he likes fresh vegetables…

This whole conversation was actually directed at the front of the store and not at me. He just stared blankly ahead while he rambled and made no eye contact at all.

Tips:

Wait until the sales forms are completed before handing over id/credit card.

Do not let your husband abandon you while you pay.

Make sure you bring your child who will serve as a handy distraction and allow you a quick and easy exit. And also prevent ‘chatting’.

xoxo a.m.

Shave

Man, if I keep it up, just imagine what I could become!

It’s Wednesday and I can feel the sickness creeping up on me. As you know, our household is currently on a 4 month long course on illness. We are all trading off. There is always at least one of us not feeling our best. It was The Daddy’s turn a few weeks ago (tonsilitis), V’s turn last week (fever, vomiting and full-on body rash).  And now Mumma… 100 degree fever, cough, sore throat, all in its infancy.

That combined with the stress of my Mother’s upcoming visit (11 days and counting, must paint more rooms), the increasing busyness of my job, my determination  to fit either Spin class or weight-lifting in 3 times a week. Plus, full-time mother and wife-hood… ahh!

So today, on my way home from work I confided in M on the phone…

“Honey, I think I am getting sick… I’m not going to the gym tonight”.

“Well, I think you need to relax tonight. I’ll make dinner and I WANT you to take a bath…”

“Well, I don’t know… I’ll think about it”.

And I did. 40 minutes in the tub is a huge chunk of my evening. Can I justify it? Well, the more I thought about it, the more I did. I put V to bed, filled the tub and indulged myself.

It was extremely peaceful.

Just when you thought it couldn’t get any better, it did.

I shaved my legs.

Now this is a monumental event. Especially since I haven’t in so long that M has started to make daily jokes about the razor blade slashes on his legs every morning.

Heres my thinking:

My shower is not conducive to shaving. It’s Winter (ish). I wear a lot of pants. I’m too busy. I hit the alarm too many times in the morning. And thats how 3 months pass.

20 minutes later, they were mostly shaven. You really know it’s been too long when you have to use 2 blades. And that 2nd blade was the last one left. And so I couldn’t really finish. If you don’t look too closely (M, don’t look!), doesn’t look that bad!!

Next week? A reshave and possibly even painting my toes too.

I hope you all enjoyed the awesome highlight of my week…

xoxo a.m.

Days like these…

5:00 am, alarm goes off.

5:30 the alarm goes off again.

And then, then no alarms. No alarms at all.

Yawning, I rummage under my duvet to where I have stashed my alarm clock so I can ignore it. In the dim light of the bedroom, I half open my right eye and peek at it.

6:29

Shit.

Shit shit shit.

M had to leave for work in 15 minutes and he was currently snoring. My left eye was still closed. V was still sleeping. So was the dog.

M, who was asleep, somehow managed to instantly manifest himself in the shower. Naked. Thank goodness he managed to take his clothes off.

I walked the dog, woke up V and traded places with M. It was a baby hand-off.

I had a 2 second shower. I forgot my breakfast on the kitchen counter. I did, however, manage to get myself dressed, get V dressed and drive my car.

Slightly out of breath, I managed to make it to daycare. We entered the classroom to the slightly apologetic smile of one of V’s teachers.

Unfortunately, she told us, DCF requires that students how have a documented fever not return to school for a 24 hour period. V was sent home yesterday at 4:10 with a fever of 100.8.

She reminded me that this was in the packet of papers that I filled out (I filled them out in September). Apparently I was expected to remember the fine print.

I was not pleased.

So Little Man went to work with Mummy this morning. And I called my Father-in-law, who happily came and picked him up and took him to Ikea for breakfast.

I swear I seethed about this all morning long. And I wonder how I will act around them this morning when I take him back. I haven’t quite made up my mind yet.

Later in the day I did receive an apologetic call from the school’s director, apologizing for the confusion with some blathering about how it was a ‘new policy’ (my ass) and how she was ‘sorry for the confusion’ (which she wasn’t). I knew she was only saying that as I had left the school saying that I ‘understood that there are rules, but I would have appreciated a reminder when I left with him the day before as I could have easily made arrangements’.

Regardless, I know the way it goes. When you work in one field, you automatically assume that everyone who employs your services understands the ins and outs. But the truth is, everyone knows very little.

So expecting me, as a mother of a young child, to automatically know the policies and procedures when a child has a fever is ridiculous. Perhaps if V was 3 or 4. But he isn’t even 2 yet and only  there for 3 months. So pardon me. Pardon freakin’ me for having not memorized all the paperwork that I signed and handed in in September and for, apparently, being a little ‘confused’ (as his young teacher explained to me with a wee frowny face) by everything.

And now, thursday morning, as I watch V eat breakfast and enjoy some morning Sesame Street, I am still thinking about how to handle the situation this morning. Humourously? Sternly? A combo of both?

One thing is for sure, there will be no apologizing on my part for anything. And since I am writing this down, I will be sure to remember to NOT apologize (it’s a bad habit of mine).

Wish me patience and a calm demeanor!

xoxo a.m.