I have baby fever. AGAIN.

Some Things I Miss About My Babies being Babies

Watching them fall asleep during the middle of the night feedings. I remember I could stare at them sleeping for an hour and not want to put them back in their crib. Who needed sleep anyways? I’d have the whole rest of my life for that!

Changing diapers as they desperately try to escape giggling so hard they almost turn blue. (I don’t miss the poop.)

Getting lost in their BIG dreamy eyes whenever they see something new. The things we take for granted are so fascinating and beautiful to them. If only we could see more things through the eyes of our children.

Cuddly time after bath. They’re so fresh and soft in their little velour stripey sleepers. I used to give them a baby massage (NO, I don’t massage adults!!) right when they came out of the tub. It was the best bonding experience!

Potty time. Yes, even though my son was over 3, I DO miss it. This was always a good time to sing songs, learn nursery rhymes or have snacks. Now, they want privacy. THE NERVE!

The firsts…you know, first taste of ice cream, first bad word, first time they say “I love you”, and most of all…the first smile. I remember them as if they were yesterday.


The feeling that everything else in the world is insignificant and my BABY is the air I breathe….oh wait…that’s still there!
I sure love my kids. I wish they were still babies.

Me and my nasty habits - A housewife's cry for help!

A few months ago, I saw a show on my favorite network, (TLC) called Clean Sweep. For those of you who’ve never seen it, it’s about a team of psycho organizational freaks who come into a home and help you throw out your junk and set up a system for keeping your messy home, well…tidy.
The show has been burning a hole in my wee brain, because, well, if you’ve ever been in my home, you know that I am the tiara-wearing queen of clutter, mess and disarray. (Hubby is too, minus the tiara, of course.)
I’m the type of person who runs around chaotically throwing fitness magazines, unpaid bills, glued together scissors, broken Polly Pocket doll legs, hot wheel car parts and/or empty lipstick tubes quickly into my bedroom at the first hint of company coming.
The result?
A bedroom fit for swines who love to collect junk and can’t walk from the closet to the bed without stepping in a half completed photo album or pencil crayon box full of unlabeled burnt CDs.
I don’t know why I’m like this. Maybe I was dropped in a basket of odds and ends too many times as a child…but alas, this is ME. And I try, guys, I really do! I WANT to be neat.

My dream is that people who love and care about me (which isn’t a lot, I think there’s only two people who either truly like me or read my blogs anyways,) will come one day all intervention-style and hold me down as they toss out my beloved birthday cards from when I turned 22, movie ticket stubs from first dates of boys who I don’t care to remember, teddy bears losing their stuffing, knives that just don’t cut it, half-burnt candles, wardrobe pieces dating back to the late 80’s (NO, wait, MUST keep those), Pez dispensers, football shaped piggy banks…blah, blah, freaking, blah….and the list could be like 4 or 36 more pages…

Since this obviously isn’t going to happen, I’m going to go out and buy a few more giant containers that hold everything in the world and I’m going to set a date.
So, Barry, if you read this…and you will because you are one of the aforementioned two who is forced to read everything thing I write, we have a Clean Sweep Date.
Bring cheezies and non-alcholic beer. And prepare yourself. I am throwing out your football shaped piggy bank.

Who likes crab legs, anyways???

Yes, I am at it again. Blogging furiously in the trenches of my internet prison….(just kidding, you can’t even imagine the horror of it, if my computer were to be taken away from me for more than a couple of days…I may hyperventilate to death…or morph into Mrs. Grouchy McBitcherson)
SO ANYWAYS….

I know this topic is getting old, but for me, it’s only getting to be a more serious issue that MUST be addressed.

When my precious baby son Oscar was born, it never occurred to me that he would eventually grow up into a proper little man with his very own tastes and opinions.

Last night, we went out for supper, and he ordered snow crab legs. He’s 6, people. How many 6 year olds do YOU know that stray away from the norm of chicken nuggets or pizza? And you know what? He loved them and ate every last one.

I watched the handsome little mo-hawked superhero with laser beam eyes and steel fists, as he dipped each bite in the melted butter and felt a little lump start to build in my throat.

When did the chubby little chewable cheeks start thinning out and developing actual jaws?? When did the squishy rolls of baby fat around his wrists and ankles turn into slender muscle?

When did he learn the kindness and respect to allow all the butterflies and ladybugs he caught for his new fully loaded insect habitat, to go free?? He won’t keep them in there for more than an hour for fear they may be missing their families or not have enough air!!

And who authorized the wardrobe change into pirate skulls and army gear from teddy bears and Bob the Builder????

My little boyo is an expert on every Spider-man villain and has taught himself some superb KAH-RAH-TAY. He has graduated into an Oral B stages 3 toothbrush and only has 5 days left of Kindergarten. He makes up his own insults (albeit they are lame; I am NOT a stinky bumface with garbage on my head!) He creates beautiful art of zombies, monsters and army vs. transformer battles every day for our refrigerator.
Unfortunately, he doesn’t fit so nicely into my cradling arms in a rocking chair anymore, and HE is the one who carries the big milk jugs in from the car because “Mommy, I’m your STRONG helper!”

Each barren and desolate day that my baby slips away from babydom forms another new wrinkle, another gray hair (yes, that is why I dye it religiously), and puts me one step closer to needing some kind of pain-numbing nerve pills.

WHY THE HELL DON’T THEY MAKE CUDDLY SLEEPERS WITH FEET IN THEM FOR 6 YEAR OLDS?????!!!!

Everyone has a pair of fat pants. EVERYONE.

So, friends of mine may or may not have heard about the Easter Cream Egg incident and what it led to. Those of you who don’t know, well, …umm…I really enjoy them and well, I put on over 10 pounds during the Easter season while they were available. Seriously, it’s a good thing I’m not addicted to nicotine or heroine because I would be a madwoman. (ask my husband, and he’ll tell you I WAS a madwoman when the cream egg stash would run out. He feared me.)

Well, that aside, here is the problem. I can’t get into any of my jeans. You remember how nothing came between Brooke Shields and her Calvins back in 1980? Well, I had a pair like that. My most favorite pair is a cute faded ripped up boy cut style that I purchased last spring and do you think I can get them on? NO. It’s like stuffing a hippo into a doghouse. Ask my friend Rehannon. She’s seen me try and nearly peed laughing.

I dread the jean shopping. The tiny dressing prisons with the falsified skinny mirrors and the hyper Lindsay Lohanish salesgirl gushing about how they look SOOO fabulous on me.
I fear for those poor salesgirls as I imagine myself tearing out of the dressing room with 6 pairs of jeans draped around my body yelling “RARRRRR” and going crosseyed with a psycho grin on my face.

I don’t want jeans with some silly butterfly or flower decal draped over one side of them as I do not have a pair of roller skates and a comb for the back pocket to go with them.
I also don’t want any super-low rise rapper girlz jeans because I can now pull off the muffin top spillage like nobody’s business.
And please don’t tell me to buy some high-waisted pleated pantalons because although I DO want to hide my jiggle baby belly (yes I hang on to it for sentimental reasons!!), I just can’t go there yet. I may be 32 but please, my maturity level is only hovering around 23 or 24.

So for now, I’m hoping to eat only celery and lettuce for the next few weeks in hopes to get back into the jeans I love more than my cat. If you see me out and about, I’ll probably be wearing my oversized muddy gardening pants, since they are the only thing that doesn’t make me feel like a kidney is about to slip out.
My sincerest apologies.
(On the upside, I think I have boobs now!)

My kids are going to Harvard. For sure.

Since I go around insulting my children's poor athletic abilities all the time and poking fun at them (REAL parents DO this!!), I thought I should do a bit of bragging to ensure nobody calls CFS on me.
It appears that my daughter has a future in comedy and my son, well...has a future in something. Rapping maybe? ewwww.
But anyways, have a look at how much cuter my kids are than all other kids on the planet. (I think they get that from me.)

Please sir, can I have some nukes?

I've decided to allow a couple of my political blogs on here, as they are pretty tame. This one was written October 10 2006


Dear North Korea,

We're sorry that President Bush called you evil.
We're sorry that Rumsfeld probably sold you your nuking gear.
We're also sorry that we have a prime minister that has regular play dates with Bush.
We really hope you're messing with us when you say you have missiles that can reach America.
We also hope that you were just f*cking around with your buddies when you tested your so-called nuclear bomb the other night. (YES, WE BELIEVE YOU NOW!!!)
And specifically to Kim Jong ll, we are sorry for not feeding your attention starved ego lately, we've been busy helping Bush plot against Iran and cleaning up the messes we made in the Middle East playground. Maybe if you had a bucket of oil, we would play with you more often!!

Finally, it would be wise if you would put your efforts into helping your impoverished country's economy rather than sinking all your money into silly old nukes. Y'know, I'm just saying...

Love and Hugs,

Canada (country north of USA, that does what it's told)

Spirited Energy

This blog was written June 19 2006

Phew....what a relief! I no longer need to be friendly. Now my licence plate will read "Spirited Energy". And I ask, do we need to be drunk for that?

Anyways, this really tops my list for stupid crap now. It's already cost taxpayers $600000 and is estimated to cost over $2 million when all slogans and crap are done.

But fear not my friends, as Gary Doer insists that now everyone will know what Manitoba has to offer. We're more than just friendly folk with bitter winters and killer mosquitos. This new slogan and ad campaign will tell everyone about our creative edge.

Personally I would have voted for " Manitoba - Uncomfortably Close to Ontario".

How much does this suck? I was content being friendly. Now I gotta come up with some energy. And spirit? eww.

Why Swim with the Sharks?

Why Swim with the Sharks?

Is your brand new black acura really going to bring you more happiness than your kid-filled old rusty mini-van with cheezie crumbs, baby wipes and the off key warbling of “The Wheels on The Bus go Round and Round”?

If you put that Ikea retro-modern dressoir and candelabra in your living room, do you think your kids will remember when they’re adults that you took their ugly stained Winnie-the-pooh foam chairs away just so their Dad’s new boss would be impressed when he came over for dinner parties? Where will they play board games now? Why can’t they have popcorn anymore on the new shag white carpet on family movie night?

Is it really going to be better if you take your kids to the most expensive amusement park like your neighbours did, rather than spending a weekend camping and learning about nature and telling campfire stories?

What is the point of dressing your children in Gap or Abercrombie? Do you think the other kids and parents will like them better? What are you teaching your children about the value of a dollar if you spend 30 dollars on a shirt rather than 10 dollars for one just as good that doesn’t have a stupid name on it. And when you stop and think about it, wouldn’t you rather your children (and yourself for that matter) gain the friendship and respect of others based on their attributes rather than the clothes they wear? Maybe that extra 20 dollars you spent on the Gap shirt could be put towards sponsoring a foster child. Think about what THAT would teach your child!

My point is this:

If you spend all your time, money and effort trying to attain the things you think will make you happy or impress others, you may find that you missed out on the things that make life REALLY beautiful.
Don’t get me wrong. I like nice things too. (especially plants!!) We all do. In fact, I just got a new living room suite. So every now and then, I’ll probably go back and re-read this just to keep myself grounded.
However, I see so many people around me trying to outdo one another. If the Jones’ have this or that, we think we MUST get one too. And maybe even a newer model, just to make them jealous..snicker snicker…
My home is my fortress…it is beautiful to me for memories like Oscar’s first wobbly little steps, Shelby’s dislocated elbow from trying to do a WWE suplex on her Daddy, and the abstract artworks hung strategically all over the walls by Shelby and Oscar Graham.
I may not have all the neatest toys or most expensive things, but I am blessed beyond belief for the beauty in my home, yard and family.