My Life as a Libra

Still here, just in limbo...

2011-05-06T13:13:00.000-04:00

Reno limbo, that is. That's right, our little "kitchen project" has turned into a 5-month long nightmare that doesn't appear to have an end in sight. See, the hubs has been extra-busy at work and traveling more than usual, which cuts back on weekend renovation time. And, since he refuses to pay anyone to help us out, we're still in sawdust-everywhere-disaster-zone hell.

At least the weather is getting better, but then there's our backyard that he dug up in the fall with the intention of planting new grass in the Spring. But it doesn't look like that's going to happen for a while, either :/ In related news, our wonderful new neighbors now hate us.

Despite everything, I've managed to hold on to a few shreds of sanity. But it's wearing very, very thin. Thank goodness for in-laws that take the boy every once in a while, even if they do stuff his little face with way too much candy. If not for them, I wouldn't have even got this wee post in. So at least I have that.

I've been itching to get some posts up - I've got some good stories I haven't gotten around to writing - and I want to get them out before I forget in my old age!

Anyway, I'll do my best to pop in a bit more often, hopefully once I get my living space back & can actually sit down without becoming covered in dust, plaster or paint...

I'll Send Her the Dentist Bills

2011-02-13T23:23:00.000-05:00

My boy is active. Very active. He's my only child, and even though I grew up with brothers, I don't know if he's more or less active than the average 4-3/4 year old boy. I don't remember either of my brothers being quite as...busy. So if I had to wager, I'd say Ciaran would be on the more active end of the spectrum.

After spending the weekend with him I often feel as if I've just gotten off a 90-mile-an-hour treadmill without stopping to breathe for 2 straight days.

From the minute he wakes up in the morning until the very last second he can stall going to bed, he wants to be chased, play "puppy" (he climbs up and licks our faces - trust me it's just as gross as it sounds), "make" stuff, which always ends up way more complicated than the usual arts and crafts. I'm talking stages and space ships here, perpetual games of hide & seek where no one's allowed to find him (even though he always picks the same hiding place every. single. time).

You get the idea. The kid's playful but well, tiring. Like my mother-in-law often states after taking care of him for the day, "He never stops."

So, knowing this, realizing just how easily stimulated and animated he becomes, not to mention how exhausting it is just being in his presence sometimes, you would think she'd know better than to pull the crap she did the other day.

Let me backtrack, for just a moment.

Since we began this long and gruesome home renovating project, Ciaran has been staying at my in-laws a couple of nights a week, on the days they would normally come to our house to babysit when he's not in school.

Now, before you get all "Stop complaining, bitch - I wish someone would come take my kids off my hands 2 nights a week!" Yes, I know we're lucky. The in-laws have helped us out enormously and I'm very grateful to have them around.

However.

A few nights ago, MIL drops Ciaran off and right from the get-go the boy is more hyped-up than usual. He's literally bouncing off the walls - climbing the furniture and giggling hysterically one minute, then screaming and crying the next. You know, the whole Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde show. He refuses to eat his dinner and demands I give him ice cream for dessert. Needless to say that's not happening. He has a tantrum and gets a time out.

I notice a bit of chocolate smeared on his chin and figure his Nonina must have given him a couple of treats, obviously contributing to his overly-activeness.

After a long, extremely frustrating evening of this kind of behavior, I'm exhausted and the hubs and I are at our wits end. As I finally get the boy into his pajamas and settled into bed, I grab his overnight bag for his favorite blankie and stuffed bedtime toys and this is what I find, shoved in amongst his things:

Yep. Nothing like chocolate and caffeine to get a kid all riled up. And also needless to say? I confiscated the half-eaten bar and enjoyed every last morsel. 'Cause I deserved it, dammit!

He Reads Me?

2011-01-30T23:28:00.000-05:00

Ever have someone drop a bombshell on you - something so utterly surprising and unexpected that it leaves you speechless?

Well, that's what my husband did to me a few days ago. We were just sitting around the house, chatting about work, life and the kid, and I mentioned something about a post I'd written. I can't even remember which one I was talking about because what he said next shocked the hell out of me. It was something to the effect of, "I remember that one."

Huh? He does? And then, even more astounding, he says, "Well, yeah, I've read all your posts."

Really?

Let me explain why this is astonishing to me: Hubs is - to say the least - not the most avid reader I've ever met. Since I've known him, he's been very open about his dislike of the written word, not seeing the point in what he refers to as "made up stories". With the sole exception of The Adventures Huckleberry Finn, that is, which he claims is the best book ever written. A fine book, yes, but he honestly doesn't have much else to compare it to.

So, in this regard, we're pretty much complete opposites. Before my son was born, I ate, drank and slept books. I would see blocks of text in my dreams, mumble sentences from them while in a deep slumber. Ah, deep slumber - something else I haven't experienced much of these days...

Anyway, the point is I'm a bookworm and he is not. So you can imagine my surprise when he started describing some of my posts. At one point, I started back-tracking in my mind - had I written anything unfavorable, something that I wouldn't have, perhaps, if I'd known he'd been reading all along? Hmm, let me think. Well, he already knows about my mad crush on Benicio Del Toro, and other than that, there's just everyday stuff he already knows about - so no deep, dark secrets here.

Will it effect the way I write from now on? Nah - I don't think so. Unless, of course, I want to start dropping hints for Christmas or birthday presents. Or, I could start making up outrageous stories to see just how much he's paying attention. But that would be kind of cruel, I suppose.

So, maybe I'll start working on my Valentine's Day wish list and see what transpires. Not that I need lavish gifts. Just knowing he reads and likes my blog is enough. Although, honey, if you're reading, those chocolates from Rocky Mountain Chocolate Factory are always welcome. And so is pretty much anything from Lululemon. Cause, you know, I'll need good work-out gear after purging on all that chocolatey goodness!

Thanks, love, me xoxo

Okay 2011 - Can we start over?

2011-01-23T23:09:00.000-05:00

Talk about slacking off - could this really my first post of the not-so-new year? Holy crap, it is! Let me just say it's been a hellish last few weeks, to say the least. I hate to start 2011 on such a negative note, but seriously, can I just erase the whole month of January and start fresh?

I realize there's probably no one even reading this, after me being on hiatus for so long, but I wanted to at least check in and say, hey, I'm still here - just totally wrapped up in home ~~wreckos~~ renos, longer-than-usual commutes thanks to the lovely wintery weather, and dealing with my son's JK debacles.

My latest downward spiral started as expected, when we began renovating back in December. Being crammed in this god-forbidden basement hasn't exactly helped my creative juices flow - I haven't had much motivation to write lately.

I've also been dealing with leaky pipes, a malfunctioning furnace, a husband with a sprained hand and a very sick cat who had to be rushed to the emergency vet clinic last weekend. Pretty much anything that could go wrong, has.

Things started out smoothly enough, renovation-wise that is, until Hubby had his hand crushed by a 500-pound cabinet at work. Understandably, all renos came to a halt. There's only so much construction one can manage with a single working hand.

After resting up for a few days, back to work he went, cutting and moving vents and pipes all over the place. Then, we sprung a couple of leaks and water was shut off turned back on and shut off again; at one point we were down to one washroom. Not the end of the world, I admit. Small problems.

But, in the midst of our plumbing issues, the family cat was struck with one of his own. His urinary system became blocked, seemingly overnight. After a very expensive visit to the animal hospital, where they did as much as they could for him, we took him home. We tried in vain to feed and medicate him but he refused to eat, couldn't go pee and we could do nothing but watch him get weaker and weaker. It was heartbreaking to see him in such pain. The vet suggested we have him euthanized; he was almost 14, had heart and kidney issues and they didn't think he'd survive a surgery.

It was much harder on me than I thought it would be. After Ciaran was born, I didn't have time for playing and petting him, like I used to. I became annoyed with having to take care of him. It seemed like I was constantly cleaning up hairballs, cat puke or litter boxes, when I wanted to be relaxing or playing with my son in a nice, clean house. I made rude comments about how I wished he would run away and never come back or how I'd never get another cat after he passed away. The few times he did escape I'd end up worrying like crazy. And the house always felt different, more empty.

We got to say goodbye before he was sedated, but he wasn't the same. He was tired and feeble, not at all the feisty feline who had lived up to his name, Dr. Acula. I guess he knew it was his time.

I'm amazed by how much I miss that little furball. I keep glancing around at the floor, half-expecting him to brush against my legs as he saunters by. I miss his little face, always looking up at me expectantly, looking for a treat, or just some attention. I only wish I'd been more receptive. I like to think he knew he was part of the family, though. Whenever he did take off looking for a taste of freedom, he always did find his way back home.

We haven't broken the news yet to Ciaran. Tony and I disagree on how to tell him. I think we should tell him the truth - he'll learn about death sooner or later and this seems like a good opportunity to teach him. Tony thinks he's still too young, and has told him the cat has gone to a special "cat farm" until we've finished renovating our house.

I'm not sure who's right, but I don't know how much longer I can answer Ciaran's questions about where the farm is and who lives there. I tear up when he asks if Acci is chasing the other kitties. On the other hand, if there was such thing as a cat heaven, I'm sure that's exactly what he'd be doing.

RIP Dr. Acula

Best Friends

Pushed to the Edge

2010-12-31T00:50:00.000-05:00

Just when I thought my stress levels would start evening out a bit after the holidays - guess what? Surprise, surprise - they haven't. If anything I may have hit a new high on the old stress scale. What with our current kitchen reno situation and - gasp! not having a dishwasher for like 3 weeks now - things (my patience, namely) have been quickly falling to the wayside.

We've been holed up in our (yikes! unfinished) basement until the renos are complete, speaking of which, seem to be taking waaay longer than anticipated. But I did anticipate this, actually. These projects always take twice as long as you originally plan. Especially when your husband insists on doing all the work himself.

I'm trying hard to keep my mouth shut until things go really wrong. Should it come down to it - I have Mike Holmes on speed dial, but for now, I'm zipping it. Hubs has been getting enough hassle from my mother-in-law, who insists on telling him her dreams of beams falling down and killing him instantly. At least I'm not that neurotic.

Also, being off on "vacation" this week with a very bossy, constantly-needing-to-be-entertained 4.5 year old, hasn't helped matters. Its bad enough I feel as if I've been abducted and forced to live in someone's creepy basement (without having "Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs" playing repeatedly on a dusty old tube television and a kid yelling "Draw a skeleton, mouse, snail, insert random animal or object here picture, Mommy!").

After a few days of this, I've lost whatever reason I may have started out with. Like yesterday for example. In a desperate attempt to flee from the hammering, drilling & welding sparks seen flying from my home, I grabbed Ciaran and dragged him to the nearest mall, which happens to be the size of an entire city block. Not exactly clear thinking on my part. True, it wasn't boxing day, but in these parts "boxing week" gives half the city the idea to mill about aimlessly, looking for so-called bargains.

Normally, I wouldn't have braved that crowd, but my dear, delusional hubby, obviously blinded by his love for me, purchased a beautiful sweater gift for me...in a size 4!! I am definitely not a size 4 - to be honest, I don't think I ever have been.

To make a long story short, we didn't return the sweater. There was a huge lineup and I don't do well with lineups - especially with a kid in tow. But we did end up taking this beauty home:

Ciaran enjoying his latest toy catch!

There was no logical reason for me to buy this for my son. He'd just gotten a sh!tload of toys for Christmas only days before. Strangers walking by the lineup to pay were looking at me like I'd lost my mind. The thing is bigger than he is.

I suppose I had gone a little insane - at least temporarily. I was tired and sweaty and I really needed the whining to stop. Also, I felt guilty because earlier that day he wouldn't get in his car seat and I said something to the effect that if he didn't I'd beat his ass. Oh, I didn't mean it. I never even usually talk like that, but I had that anxious, over-whelmed feeling I get when I'm being pushed to my limit.

A woman getting out of her car next to us gave me a really dirty look after hearing me. But she had the privilege of going shopping with her male friend without any kids tagging along. I'm sure I've given that same look to frazzled mothers back in my ~~know-it-all~~ pre-child days. So I didn't take it all that personally. One day she'll understand. And maybe even end up lugging a giant fish pillow home with her.

Anyway, Ciaran thinks it's pretty cool that I bought him a giant catfish at the mall. And I decided I'm not going to live my life with regrets anymore. Besides, it kind of goes with the psycho / abductor decor we have going on right now.

Must be Santa

2010-12-21T22:04:00.000-05:00

I just realized that every one of my posts since the beginning of November have been about Christmas in some form or another (yes, all 3 of them - what can I say - it's a nutso time of the year). And... this post will be no different. It seems the whole world revolves around December 25 - even more so when you have kids.

But you know what? I love it. Yes, it's stressful and nerve-wracking and can cause mental anguish (when you can't find that one gift your kid really, really wants) and physical pain (like the blisters on my feet from walking up and down concrete mall floors in search of a gift that will have to suffice).

But like the line from that crappy Bryan Adams song , there is something about Christmas time that makes me wish it was Christmas every day. No offense to the Bryan Adams fans, I've just heard that song one time too many, lately.

Now, I'm not one of those insane over-the-top Christmas people who put up trees two months in advance and decorates every room in their house - no, I don't take it that far. But I do adore the scent of a real pine tree and insist on dragging one home every year while my hubby complains about the sticky sap all over the car and the needles we'll find well into the coming summer months.

I love drinking eggnog lattes, and getting bundled up for evening walks to stroll the neighborhood and see the lights against the crisp, white snow. I ~~force~~ let my son watch all my favorite childhood holiday movies and get just a tad carried away when the Heat and Snow Miser sing their awesome odes to the winter and summer, respectively.

And in my quest to make things all magical for my son at this time of year, we've unintentionally begun another Christmas tradition: The annual Santa photo. And not just any Santa photo. This ain't your typical fake-y cotton-bearded mall Santa, ya'll. If he doesn't look like the real deal, then I don't know who does. The best part is we've been lucky enough to track him down every year since Ciaran was a baby.

My little baby Santa's clearly unimpressed, here at 9mos.

Year 2 (sporting a rather bowl-like haircut, for some reason - shame on me!)

I know, not a Santa photo, but just look at that smile!

Santa, Ciaran and the ubiquitous pig

I skipped a couple of years in between so as not to bore you with pictures of my kid (well, that's not actually true - I just don't have digital versions of them). But isn't it cool that we have a picture of Ciaran with ~~this~~ I mean the real Santa every year?

The only downside is that whenever another Santa makes an appearance, like at the JK Christmas concert, Ciaran has taken to shouting out indignantly "That's not Santa, Mom! He's not the real Santa." Which doesn't make him very popular with the JK crowd, let me tell you. Apparently, I've turned my son into a Santa snob. Great, yet another thing to add to my never-ending mommy-guilt.

Happy Holidays everyone!!

Wordless Wednesday: Losing what's left of the marbles

2010-12-14T22:55:00.000-05:00

It's official.

I've finally gone off the deep end.

Why, you ask?

For doing this:

Goodbye, ugly beige kitchen

And this:

So long puke-y parquet floor

As well as this:

Buh bye diving wall

In the midst of this:

Getting into "Reindeer mode" for the JK Christmas concert

And this:

Still in character

And let's not forget this:

Family Gingerbread-house-making night.

Not to mention all the other million-and-one-things that go on at this time of year.

If, for some reason I'm not 100% certifiable right now, I surely will be by the end of the holidays.

An open letter to Tim Burton

2010-12-10T20:14:00.000-05:00

Dear Tim Burton,

While I'm sure you get your share of fan mail and I do love every film you've ever made (well, other than Batman - nothing personal, I'm just not into the whole superhero thing), this is not just any old fan letter.

Yes, it's true that Edward Scissorhands is possibly my favorite movie ever. That scene at the end, where Kim is telling the story to her grandchild? Makes me sob like a baby every time.

I get teary-eyed just looking at this

You might also like to know that my husband and I loved The Nightmare Before Christmas so much we considered decorating our son's nursery Jack and Sally style. But friends and family intervened - they didn't think little skeletons decorating the walls would be appropriate for a newborn. However, knowing what I do now, I beg to differ.

I know that you've recently visited Toronto, so you're aware of our dipping temperatures, overplayed holiday music, frantic shoppers and children making their yearly wish lists (not exclusive to Toronto, of course). But it brings me to the point of my letter. I need your help with something - something I'm convinced only YOU can pull off.

It's not as if I haven't tried everything I could think of. For weeks I've been combing the web, to no avail. In desperation, I even appealed to a certain jolly man with a white beard and red suit, but alas, he is not as magical as he would have me believe. There are some requests even he can't deliver on and well...that's where you come in.

You see, my little boy is completely obsessed with a creation of yours from a certain movie called Beetle Juice. Not only the title character, but everyone in it, and in particular, The House, aka Adam & Barbara's House. He knows every nook and cranny of that house, can tell you about every window, door, step and hallway, you name it, he's memorized it.

A typical evening at home

I know it's unusual, and trust me, I don't encourage it. But if I don't let him watch his favorite scenes repeatedly, there's hell to pay. Have you ever dealt with an tantrum-throwing Junior Kindergarten-er, Tim? Let's just say it makes Beetle Juice himself look like a freaking saint.

In my darling son's frenzy to re-create the Beetle Juice house, he's torn apart my home, using furniture, cushions, Tupperware - anything he can get his busy little hands on to build it. Being the artist you are, I'm sure you can appreciate his creativity.

His latest rendition

However, my dilemma is this: The only thing this child wants for Christmas is the Beetle Juice house. Yes, it's my dumb luck that his little heart is set on a toy from a movie going on 23 years ago, which to my knowledge (and I have done my homework) has never existed. Oh, I've found Adam and Barbara Maitland action figures and tons of Beetle Juice dolls, but not one house was ever constructed.

Well, except this one:

My husband's solution to all of this is to order the above. And, although he means well hubby's obviously lost his mind. This $75USD ceramic work of art just will not do. Mostly BECAUSE IT'S CERAMIC. Read: Highly breakable. Not ideal material for a 4.5 year old boy's Christmas gift.

So, what do you say, Timmy - can you help a Mama out? Call in one of your... I don't know, production people or something and have them whip up a toy Beetle Juice house? I mean, it can't be that difficult. If you can make Johnny Deep look ugly, then anything's possible, right?

One last thing - I realize you probably aren't in the habit of perusing "Mom Blogs", but who knows? Maybe on that off chance you're searching for the next #BurtonStory... also, if anyone else has any suggestions - tell me, please!

Yours truly,

Ciaran's mom.

(Almost) Wordless Wednesday - Guess I better get used to these...

2010-11-30T23:59:00.001-05:00

I'd heard about this phenomenon from other friends out there in the blogosphere, (hi, Mayor of Crazy Town), but so far it has managed to elude me, that is up until today.

An unassuming little girl placed it in my hands as I dropped my son off at school. I thanked her, thinking, "How lovely, an early Christmas card from Ciaran's classmate." I slid it into my purse and off I went without giving it a second thought. How naive of me.

Stopped at a red light while singing along to the 24/7 Christmas music station (yes, I shall tire of it mid-way through December), I grabbed and opened the envelope and - OhDearGod!!

I shuddered and stifled a scream. The driver next to me looked over curiously. With shaking hands I held "it" up for him to see. He shook his head sadly and shrugged his shoulders in a "Happens to the best of us" gesture.

What, you ask was in the envelope? *This:

*Not actual invitation, but you get the idea

But then something else dawned on me as I read the details of the child's party. There were drop off and pick up times noted. That means I don't have to stay, right? So, I'd actually get a couple of hours to myself on a Saturday afternoon? Hmm, maybe these kid birthday parties aren't such a bad deal after all!

I know where Santa hangs out & it's not in the 'burbs...

2010-11-26T23:44:00.000-05:00

Despite feeling slightly on the Grinchy side lately, a little Christmas spirit has started seeping it's way into this overwhelmed and on-the-verge-of-exploding-yet-again head of mine. It all started last Sunday when we bundled up and headed into the city for the annual Toronto Santa Claus Parade.

Unlike my husband, I love the city - especially during the Christmas season. I love the white lights, shiny bows and ribbons decorating the shops. Add a light dusting of snow and some mini Christmas trees and I'm in heaven. My dream is to spend one Christmas in New York City. I imagine it's every bit as lovely and charming as Montreal, one of my other favorite winter cities, only way bigger, and without all the French people.

Isn't Montreal pretty this time of year? Le sigh.

In reality, I'll use almost any excuse to head to Toronto (or any city, really), but Tony's been on this We are no longer city dwellers; we live in the suburbs and this is where we will rot kick. He's tired of fighting through traffic to hang out downtown, when there are ~~not nearly as good~~ perfectly good resources in our neighborhood. (I obviously disagree, but am too exhausted from my dreadful daily commute to argue).

However, since we missed our local Santa Claus parade this year, I was able to convince hubby dearest to make our way into civilization and hit up one of the biggest Santa Claus parades in North America.

And it actually wasn't all that hard to persuade him. Why? Because Tony is somehow convinced that this will be the last year Ciaran believes in Santa Claus. I refuse to accept this. I believed until I was like, 12. Yes, I was a very gullible child, and highly sheltered, but come on - 5 year-olds just don't stop believing in Santa, do they? It's not like he has older brothers or sisters to dispel the ~~elaborate lie~~ Christmas magic.

Now, Tony is on a mission to make this the most amazing, magical Christmas ever, seeing how our son is doomed to become some jaded 5 1/2 year-old come next year. So, we dragged the kid to the city to stand in the freezing cold with a million other Torontonians eagerly awaiting a glimpse of the man with the white beard.

But he took way too long. Ciaran wanted to go home. It was too cold and he was tired of waiting. So back to the suburbs we trekked. Some of our neighbors had put up their Christmas lights and it was snowing light, soft flakes. And it was kind of nice. Not in a city-nice way, but I guess I can live with it.

41 Going on 14?

2010-11-18T23:20:00.000-05:00

Last Saturday evening my husband of 12 years looked me straight in the eye and said: "I think you need to sit down and have a drink because you're hysterical."

Let me backtrack and explain. I suddenly felt like I'd been sucked into a time warp. Either that, or I had finally lost my mind. And since I'd like to grasp onto whatever thread of sanity I have left, I prefer to believe the former.

Earlier in the day, I'd been radio channel surfing and settled on a station I don't usually listen to playing an old R&B song I hadn't heard in a while. This is cool, I thought and sang along as I continued with my domestic duties, surprised by my ability to remember every single word of the song despite not having heard it in 20 plus years.

But when the song ended things started getting freaky. A gentle voice from a long-time-ago place said "Coming in at number 38, that was Rufus and Chaka Khan, with the song, Ain't Nobody." Huh? That's strange, I thought. Could it be a new re-release of the original song?

"The hit's from coast to co-oast," rang out, conjuring up more ancient, forgotten memories. Oh My God - Casey Kasem! He's back? I couldn't even remember the last time I heard his radio show - we're talking years and years ago. But surely, they would have updated the jingle by now?

As I listened on, enjoying great old songs from my early teens, like Michael Jackson's PYT, Stevie Nicks and others, it was clear that I'd somehow been transported back to 1983. Just like Hot Tub Time Machine, only without the hot tub... or the time machine.

I grooved to the sounds of "35-year old David Bowie" (ha!) singing Modern Love, and belted out "Islands in the Stream" by Kenny Rogers and Dolly Parton. I grabbed Ciaran and spun him around to Prince's "Delerious" - which apparently I was. I even re-lived my head-banging days with a little Quiet Riot. Whoever said 80's music sucks was dead wrong - well besides Quiet Riot, that is. But, in one little Top 40 countdown there was something for everyone; a little funk, some pop, new wave, dance, metal and even country!

And in between all this multi-genre music awesomeness, was another forgotten feature of the program: The long-distance dedications. One in particular had me rolling on the floor in laughter - not the soldier based in Lebanon with a "lovely German wife at home in the U.S.A." but the song he dedicated to his pregnant wife. Are you ready for it? "Having my Baby." Yep. Pretty cheesy, but in defense of the 80's, I'll have you know that song came out in 1974.

Yes, I'm all about reliving my childhood lately. Maybe it's a sign of senility, or simply getting older, but I had a blast hearing those old songs, and so did Ciaran. Especially as we boogied on down to the #1 song in the nation for the week ending November 12, 1983: Lionel Richie's "All Night Long".

Afterwards, I checked the radio station's schedule online (obviously it wasn't really 1983, or I wouldn't have been able to do that), and guess what? Casey Kasem's American Top 40 is a regular feature every Saturday afternoon! So you know where I'll be come Saturday at 1:00 p.m. Hanging out in front of the radio with my mop & bucket and thinking about those glory days...hmm, I wonder if Bruce Springsteen will make the countdown this week!

Say it Ain't Joe!

2010-11-14T17:59:00.000-05:00

A few weeks ago, I described how Ciaran and I literally laughed one of our neighbors out of the house, which wasn't one of my proudest moments, but somehow oddly appropriate at the time.

Well, it seems ~~we're~~ Ciaran is hellbent on alienating more neighbor folk - this time making no secret of his utter dislike for Joe, who lives across the street.

Now, if Joe was a cantankerous old man who yelled or called the cops on kids playing outside his house, I could understand my son's anxiety, but Joe is, in reality, one of the most friendly, jovial people in the neighborhood.

That being said, he does have quite a loud, boisterous voice. And Ciaran is obviously threatened by it. Also, the boy seemingly has an aversion to the name "Joe".

My husband has a cousin also named Joe and he could be "neighbor Joe's" twin. They both wear baseball caps on a regular basis, sport mustaches and ~~bellow~~ speak in a very outgoing manner.

One day a few weeks back, as Ciaran played in the front yard with Tony, he caught sight of neighbor Joe outside his house and ran to hide behind the car, all the while yelling at the top of his lungs, "Oh no, it's Joe! I don't like Joe!"

Tony tried to tell him to keep it down or Joe's feelings would be hurt, but Ciaran shouted even louder, "Joe's not a good name! Joe's not a good name!!"

On Halloween night, while we made our rounds around the hood, Ciaran squeezed my hand hard when we approached Joe's awesomely-decorated house. "Not Joe's house, Mom," he stage-whispered. Well, at least he didn't scream it at the top of his lungs. We moved on to the next house.

But Joe was not to be avoided. As we went about our trick-or-treating business, we bumped into him and his little boy at every turn. Which did not make Ciaran a happy camper. And it certainly didn't help matters when Joe took to howling like a werewolf each time he saw us.

When we returned home, Ciaran helped Tony give out candy, and who was the first trick-or-treater to show up at the door? Joe with his son, of course.

On the plus side, The Man now has a name! I no longer have to use the empty threat of having the call The Man, or even Santa Claus when Ciaran acts up. Nope. All I have to do is utter the "J-word" to make him listen, get his PJ's on, or clean up his toys.

So much for thinking I'd never use fear to get my kid to do stuff. Sometimes it just gets to that point. And it works, for now, anyway.

Wordless Wednesday - Updates, including the rapid deterioration of furniture

2010-11-09T22:51:00.000-05:00

After our Halloween crisis this year, this is what Ciaran finally decided on. Some kind of winged hellcat; one that apparently likes to tear apart the living room furniture.

And this is why we're not buying new sofas for a looong time, or at least until he outgrows his latest obsessive compulsion:

Homework woes

2010-11-05T23:41:00.000-04:00

Lately I've been feeling like a bad mom. Ok, that's nothing new - I admit I often feel like a bad mom. There's this thing called guilt - you may be familiar with it? I know I sure am.

It isn't that I don't give Ciaran tons of love and encouragement - I definitely do. I don't have a lot of time to play with him during the week - by the time I get home, get dinner made yada, yada, yada, it's almost bedtime. I do read to him every single night and then we cuddle and talk about his day at school or make up silly songs. Up until recently our little routine was working just fine and dandy.

But then, something started nagging at me, making me doubt my capacity as a mother and keeping me awake at night (well, not really, it's just one of the many things that prevent me from sleeping at night). I began to worry about Ciaran falling behind his peers and not being able to read or write whenever it is that kids are supposed to know how to do such things.

Normally, I wouldn't have thought twice about it - I always believed he'd learn when he's ready, not to mention - um, aren't they supposed to learn that stuff in school? But there's been a fairly large amount of assignments sent home for us to work on since Ciaran started Junior Kindergarten this past September.

I was not prepared for this. Worksheets are piling up like crazy and I can't keep up with them. Homework! In Junior Kindergarten. Is this normal? There are printing his name worksheets, counting and numbers worksheets and worksheets for each letter of the alphabet.

At first, I kind of ignored them, I just figured they were guidelines, not really to be taken all that seriously. Like, if we had a few spare minutes on a lazy Sunday afternoon, we could practice writing a few letters. But then the JK teacher started sending semi-snarky notes home about how all the kids need to learn to print their names by the end of the month.

I don't know about all the other JK kids, but mine can barely hold a pencil properly. He'd much rather build towers and houses made out of sofa cushions. And he has zero interest in writing anything, other than scribbles and the odd circle. Which brings me to the question: Am I a bad mother for not forcing my kid to do homework that he's clearly not ready for? But then, when is a good age?

If only we could win the lottery, then I'd stay home & home-school. 'Cause then it would be just fine if he didn't learn to write until he's like, 18. No one else would have to know. Also? We'd have the most kick-ass pillow house evah!

Surviving Halloween #5

2010-10-31T16:53:00.000-04:00

Halloween takes on a whole new meaning when you have small kids. You get to subject them to your own costume ideas and preferences, for the first couple of years, anyway. And, if you love Halloween as much as my husband and I do, there's nothing more exciting than that. I mean, this is coming from parents who actually considered decorating our son's nursery to the theme of "The Nightmare Before Christmas". We eventually came to our senses; admittedly skeletons and corpses (cute and cartoon-ish as they are) might not have been the wisest choice in newborn decor.

But, for Ciaran's very first Halloween, we wanted a mixture of cute and scary, hence the "Baby Frankenstein" number we rigged up for his 7th month on the planet. I have to give Tony full credit for making the whole outfit, from the head piece, the black jacket he actually sewed, and the platform shoes on his wee infant feet. Don't worry, the green tint on his face is totally photoshopped.

The next year, I turned all soft and picked out this little Dalmatian costume. Tony was a bit disappointed that it wasn't more spooky, but the Libra in me just had to balance things out. Plus, Ciaran got a lot of use out of the puppy dog ears, wearing them well into spring of the next year. It was adorable, I tell you!

Year three was when Mom and Dad had to relent and give in to Ciaran's costume wishes. We made the unfortunate choice of bringing him to the costume store, where he took one look at the Viking hat and sword and decided he was going to be a little warrior. But, by the time Halloween night rolled around, he wouldn't have anything to do with this costume and one of the pumpkins ended up wearing the helmet.

And last year was the year of the ladybug, when he became ridiculously obsessed with the red and black insect, so it was only appropriate that he donned this costume.

As for this Halloween, well, let's just say we're still (2 hours before trick or treating commences, nonetheless), trying to iron out the costume details. You see, Ciaran really wanted to be a house. Yes, a house. So, we finally got it figured out just how we'd make said house costume, and then a week ago he changed his mind. He wanted to be some kind of winged cat creature. So back to the costume store we went. Again, very important advice to parents: Do not bring your child to the costume store once they decide on a costume. There are waaay too many options. Go there yourself, grab the costume and Bob's your uncle. But, no, we didn't do that. Back to square one. *Sigh*. I'll keep you posted.

On another note, I here's one of my fave family Halloween pictures circa 1984 - my cousin Jackie the vampire and my brother Jeff as a tiny Mr. T!

Happy Halloween to all!!

(Kind of) Wordless Wednesday: Just missing Casey & Finnegan

2010-10-26T22:57:00.000-04:00

I came across this structure while my friend and I roamed the CBC building last week and was instantly turned into a giddy five-year-old. Do any of my Canadian peeps recognize this famous tree-house?

Here's a hint:

Although I grew up watching Mr. Dressup from the time I was a baby, the biggest memory I have of him is getting in crap for poking fun at my brother for watching him. I was 10 and probably trying to show off around one of my friends. I called poor Mr. Dressup a bad word, which I honestly didn't know the meaning of at the time. I've always felt incredibly guilty about it; you just don't bad-mouth Mr. Dressup. It's sacrilegious for a Canadian. Casey - maybe. He had the most annoying high-pitched voice. Finnegan - well, he couldn't talk to defend himself so I guess it wouldn't really be fair. Alligator Al, I barely remember, but Aunt Bird - now she was just plain creepy. See for yourselves - she's the old lady bird wearing glasses:

Do you have any memories, fond or otherwise of Mr. Dressup?

Booty Calls & Naughty Teddy Bear Talk at the Steven and Chris Show!

2010-10-22T00:19:00.000-04:00

Can I just tell you how freaking excited I was to attend a taping of the Steven and Chris show this past Tuesday? I mean, I'm talking Uber-Excited! Because, not only are they Canadian TV icons, but my friends and I used to actually plan dinner parties around their shows.

We followed them from the time they were on HGTV's The Designer Guys, spending many a Saturday evening curled up on my sofa, with our glasses of Shiraz and Steven and Chris as our after-dinner entertainment. They were cute, talented and oh-so-witty, and it was nice to watch a Canadian TV program without being morbidly embarrassed for once. In fact, they were pretty cutting-edge for the time, pre-dating many other popular home decorating shows.

A few years back, I was at a design show in Toronto with my husband where Steven and Chris were signing autographs, but I was way too star-struck to go and talk to them.

So when I was invited to a special "bloggers only" taping of their current CBC show, I jumped at the chance. I called my friend Shirl and we made our way downtown through crazy rush-hour traffic. Not that I'm complaining. Nope, the boys did not disappoint.

From the time we gaggle of bloggers were ushered into the studio, we were given the royal treatment. I was amazed to look around and see plenty of familiar faces (well, familiar from Twitter, at least). Lovely bloggers of every age and blog genres came out. Some I was too shy to approach, but I did get to chat briefly with @MamaAsh, otherwise known as Erica from Everything Mom and Baby. Shirl and I also met a friendly lady who brought her mom - how sweet is that!

Jenny McCarthy was the celebrity guest that day and - whoa -that girl held nothing back! She was plugging her latest book and lets just say there was talk of booty calls, and some um, interesting adventures with her childhood teddy bear, among other things. I just kept thinking thank God I didn't bring my mother, 'cause that would have just been awkward!

After the taping, we were treated to a yummy lunch of pulled pork sandwiches and had a Q&A session, followed by some photo ops. And, although I was still kind of nervous, I dragged my friend up to meet them. I tried hard to keep my cool, I really did but, then I had to get all gushy, telling them how much I love them. Which is OK, because it's true and all, but it probably ruined any chance of me ever hanging out and going shopping with them. Which is kind of like a life-long dream of mine. But that's another story.

Steven, Shirl, Me & Chris!

Anyway, we had a great time and would totally recommend attending a show taping if you're ever in the GTA. If you haven't lately, check out the Steven and Chris Show on Friday October 22 at 2 p.m. EST on CBC!

Sacrifice

2010-10-17T23:38:00.000-04:00

Try to imagine that you've recently moved to a new country and you've discovered that you're pregnant. You can barely speak English, have no friends or family here, very little money and absolutely no extravagances. But, the excitement stemming from the new life inside you gives you hope for the future.

Your husband takes on more work shifts and you scrimp and save what money you can, getting by on much less than most people could ever imagine. You scope out discarded baby furniture and toys left on the side of the curb for garbage pickup and bring them home to clean up as well as you can.

You continue working your butt off for minimum wage at the local fast food place, exhausted from standing on your feet all day. You live in fear of being fired by the no-nonsense manager who narrows his eyes each time you run to the washroom, nauseous.

Thankfully, you manage to stay under the radar and once your belly begins to show, the boss actually starts treating you nicer. But there's always that look of frustrated annoyance when you're trying to explain something and the words get stuck - never quite rolling off your tongue properly. And you feel like you'll never truly belong here. Thoughts of your baby console you. You'll hang in, maybe take an English language course once you're on maternity leave.

You and your husband soon come to the realization that there's just not enough money for you to take the full one-year mat leave. You decide to stay home for three months after the baby is born and then return to work. But then there's the cost of daycare and it just doesn't make sense to work and have to give up most of your salary.

You are completely torn. If only you had family nearby to help out, but there's no one. You desperately wish your parents would consider moving to Canada to stay with you, but they're older and perfectly content living in their little village, thousands of miles across the ocean.

After many late-night discussions, most of which end in tears, you and your husband come to this conclusion: You will spend the first four months at home, after which you will journey across the ocean with your precious baby, back to your native land, where he will spend the first 4-5 years of his life. Without you. Raised by his grandparents until he can start school. Where you, the mother who will never see him take first steps, or speak first words will become forgotten, all but erased from his tiny newborn memory.

This is a real story of a man my husband works with. When he told me, I just couldn't stop thinking about it. Whenever I feel overwhelmed, tired or just plain sorry for myself, I try to imagine myself in these parents' shoes. But, I can only imagine up to the part where they decide to leave the baby with his grandparents, and then I can't even begin to comprehend. Would you even consider giving up your 4-month-old child even for the chance of giving them a better life? Such a sad story, my heart aches for the mother, especially.

Happy Turkey Day!

2010-10-10T22:50:00.000-04:00

Yes, It's Thanksgiving here in Canada, and since turkey with all the trimmings is like my favorite meal EVAH I am in my glory! So, while I'm in my own little food-stuffed heaven today, I thought I'd treat you with a somewhat inappropriate cartoon featuring that oh-so-lovable Sesame Street gang.

But first, I wanted to share a story about Ciaran's Junior Kindergarten Thanksgiving celebration. The kids made these adorable little turkey hand-print thingies to bring home, with a Thanksgiving poem printed around it that the teachers wrote. So, after I oohed & aahed over his artwork, he turned and asked me in the sweetest little voice, "Mommy, what are you thankful for?"

I told him I was thankful for him, Daddy, our house, ~~coffee, red wine, sleeping pills~~ and then asked him what he was thankful for. He grabbed his latest favorite toy, a tiny little brown stuffed moose he calls "Moose" appropriately enough, and pointed to its head.

"Oh," I said. "And did your teacher also ask you what you were thankful for?"

"Y-es".

"What did you say?"

He looked at me incredulously and said "Mom, I told her I was thankful for Moose!"

I know they have a difficult job, but man, sometimes I envy those JK teachers. Some of the answers they must get from the kids. I can just imagine his teacher sitting down to dinner with her husband, laughing over the funny little kid in her class being thankful for moose!

Happy Thanksgiving to all my Canadian friends!!

I gotta give credit to The Mayor of Crazy Town for inspiring me on this one. Go check out her Wordless Wednesday Thanksgiving Edition post for more Thanksgiving Day humor!

Alienating the neighbors one at a time...

2010-10-07T23:39:00.000-04:00

The other day, I did something I never thought I'd do - I let a complete stranger into my home. She caught me off guard, ringing the doorbell on yet another chaotic evening for me and the boy.

On the night in question, I was making a pizza, entertaining Ciaran by letting him "help" grate cheese, and cleaning up all the bits that didn't make it to the pizza. As usual, cheese ended up squished between tile grout, on chairs and in pretty much every little nook & cranny in the kitchen.

So, swearing under my breath at this unwanted interruption, I'm frazzled and not in the most welcoming state of mind as I answer the door. Especially since the woman standing there is wearing what appears to be one of those phony-ass-looking gas company badges whose logo doesn't resemble the company I deal with. I've heard stories about these door-to-door "sales associates" scamming people and I'm instantly suspicious.

She senses my wariness, asking if she's "caught me at a bad time." What I want to say is, "Bitch, I'm covered in cheese and pizza sauce, my kid's running around on some kind of sugar high and there's a burning pizza in my oven, so no, now's not the ideal time to drop by unannounced." But, instead I mumble something about "having a late dinner" and follow it up by the world's most insincere "can I help you?"

She introduces herself and explains that she's a neighbor from just down the street so I let down my guard. Somewhat. After the wackjob neighborhood I recently moved out of, I'm still paranoid of people showing up at my door, even if they seem harmless enough. Anyway she apparently works part-time for a water heater company and wants to tell her neighbors all about some amazing 4-day only promotion being offered.

Wonderful.

As I'm trying to think up some excuse to get out of this conversation, she's suddenly inviting herself inside to have a look at our water heater. And, because I'm a total pushover and can't think of anything to say to avoid the current situation without sounding rude, (and god knows I don't want to offend a neighbor), I let her in. But not before I ask her which house she lives in. Not that that would help me if she did happen to be some crazed serial killer posing as a hot water heater salesperson. Cause that's what is actually going through my head at this moment.

We head down to my war-zone-resembling basement to examine this heater that I've never given a second glance, Ciaran clinging timidly to my side. Out of the corner of my eye, I see my some of my husband's tools sticking out of one of the many boxes strewn about and decide that if it comes down to it, I'll grab a hammer for protection.

But, of course there's no need for it. She's deeply engrossed in the inspection of the heater and begins this whole spiel on how there's lead in our pipes (turns out there isn't) and that the heater is too old and we really need to take advantage of this wonderful offer she's only telling her neighbors about.

Then, something horrifying happens. Ciaran, my dear, sweet little son starts giggling uncontrollably and while I'm asking him to please not be so silly, the lady is trying to talk to Mommy, I suddenly burst into laughter. I try to cover it up, pretending I'm just laughing at him laughing, but I really can't stop. The poor woman is still pitching her product to me, but I'm in hysterics. The more I try to be serious, the more absurd the whole thing seems and I just can't pull it together. It's like I'm 11 again, and my younger brother has made me laugh during church and I know it's inappropriate, but that just makes it all the harder to stop.

I really need to start getting more sleep. Buy hey, on the plus side? I haven't gotten any more salespeople dropping by.

Getting a little Fonzie in my old age...

2010-10-01T11:26:00.000-04:00

I realize that the sheer fact I even remember a 1970's sitcom totally dates me, even if most of it is a very distant memory. Another sign of old age, I suppose. But, what I can clearly remember about Happy Days is The Fonz's inability to apologize, getting stuck on the words I'm s-s-s-sorry or I was w-w-w-wrong. Kind of like my reluctance to admit my age.

I thought it was going to be traumatic last year when I turned f-f-f-forty. See? It's hard for me to even write it out. So, I chose to ignore it, brush it off, pretend it wasn't happening. But today I'm officially in my forties and can no longer avoid this sneaky, creeping up on me, aging thing.

And, I'm not gonna lie, it's still hard. I don't feel 41. At least, most of the time I don't. Just yesterday, one of my lovely, sweet co-workers ~~lied-through-his-teeth~~ said he thought I was 29. 29! And, flattered though I was for about 4 seconds, I quickly realized that that's exactly the kind of thing people say to "older" women to make them feel better about themselves.

Come to think of it, I don't know what's worse, the false compliments or the people who don't even blink an eye when you tell them your age. Like, could you at least humor me and pretend to be shocked? Call me vain, but I think the automatic acceptance of my age, especially from a younger person, makes me feel worse. Especially since I remember thinking how ancient 40 seemed back in my twenties.

Then again, it can also suck when someone makes a remark like, "Wow, you're 41? I had no idea you were that old - I would never have guessed." Like being 41 suddenly makes you a senior citizen or something. Sigh. It's a no-win situation for me. No matter how I look at it, no one can say the right thing. But, that's just typical, Libra me. I over-analyze, think the worse and then in the end? I finally realize that it's all in this borderline-schizo head of mine.

So, I'm gonna take Fonzie's advice, shut the f**k up, put on my birthday hat and stop apologizing for being 41. That's my age and there's nothing I or anyone else can do about it.

Now, if you'll excuse me, there's a nice bottle of Shiraz on the counter with my name on it. Yes, I know it's not quite noon yet, but I thought I'd pour myself a glass and catch up on some re-runs of the Golden Girls, um, I mean Glee, yes that's it, Glee. Isn't that what all the kids are into these days? Cheers!! (no, not the t.v. show, I was toasting everyone. Yes, on my birthday. Ok, I'll stop it now...)

School Daze

2010-09-26T23:35:00.000-04:00

Oops, sorry, I've been MIA again. With Tony's crazy, minimum 16 hour day work schedule, I can barely look after myself, let alone Ciaran lately. But, I'll skip the pity party and (finally) get to the post I've been working on for the last week and a half!

Due to the fact that I'm always way behind in my posts, I thought about skipping Ciaran's first day of school and moving on to something more timely, but it was a pretty major milestone, so I had to fit it in. Better late than never, as they say. Sigh. Why is that becoming the motto of my life?

Anyway, I've been mentally preparing him for the big day for about a year now. I didn't want it to be a total shock like when he first started going to daycare. But it was difficult explaining things to him then. He understands much better now. Truth be told, his vocabulary rivals mine, with words like quite and fabulous, using them in sentences like "Mommy, these new shoes you bought me are quite fabulous." And "I quite like this CD, Mommy. I'd certainly like to find a comparable one." On second thought, I'd have to say his vocabulary is way more sophisticated than mine, although it does border on the grandmotherly side.

So, to get him in the whole school mind-set, I bought him a book about ~~an annoying little bastard~~ Franklin the turtle, and his ~~wussy whining~~ fear of getting on the school bus for the first time. We talked about what would happen when Ciaran started school, but he'd brush me off and say he wasn't going to school until he got bigger and I'd tell him that day was coming soon and then he'd either try to change the subject, or get all quiet and sad, making me feel more of that never-ending guilt.

But on his last day of daycare, I had to put it out there again. Explain that the time had finally come for him to start school. All the while keeping a happy (more like anxious-sounding) tone of voice. Telling him how exciting and fun it would be at his new school. About how many new friends and nice teachers he'd meet. He wasn't jumping for joy, but he seemed to accept the fact that he couldn't avoid going.

I, on the other hand, did not sleep a wink the night before. I was more nervous about his first day of school than I was on my own first day, so many years ago. I tossed and turned, trying to remember if I'd put a juice pack in his lunch bag. Should I pack an extra set of clothes? Were his indoor shoes in his backpack?

When my alarm went off the next morning, I dragged my butt out of bed and tried to pull myself together. As I got him ready, I tried to keep that happy-go-lucky tone in my voice although I felt like total crap. This was supposed to be an emotional, exciting day for me, but all I wanted to do was throw up and crawl back into bed.

At the school, it was complete chaos as we were herded to one classroom, told to go somewhere else and then back to the original class. The whole time, the principal and the JK teacher explained procedures to us as I looked back at them blankly, my head spinning. I must have looked like some cracked-out mom. Not a good first impression for my son's first day of school.

But, although I didn't take nearly enough pictures and was too tired to shed more than a couple of tears, in the end, it all worked out. He's a happy camper and actually enjoys getting up and going to school. And his vocabulary? Well, let's just say in the zombified state I've been in lately, it sure as hell kicks my ass!

Cuddling with Ducky before heading off to school

No ducks in the classroom!

Wordless Wednesday - Farewell to Summer

2010-09-15T06:00:00.000-04:00

Ok, I know it's still technically summer, but the CNE (Canadian National Exhibition, for you non-Ontarians) always marks the end of the season for me.

This year we took my parents who were in town for their very first "Let's Go to the Ex" experience. They joined us in stuffing our faces with junk food, the most tiny, delicious doughnuts and watched Ciaran enjoy his first taste of cotton candy. I skipped the deep-fried butter, though. Cause, you know, that's just wrong! Cheryl from Mommypants would be proud of me for that, of this I'm certain.

Ciaran's First Tiny Tom donut

Trying their luck with the carnies

Look what I won!

Sleepyheads

Homeward bound

Cotton candy heaven!

I'm (Trying to be) Mrs. Bright Side

2010-09-12T23:09:00.000-04:00

I recently blogged about being abandoned - albeit unintentionally - by my husband while he was away on business. Yes, it was tough, stressful and very tiring. But, in my typical Libra fashion, I must see both sides of every situation and I've come up with a list of things that were not all that bad about holding the fort on my own.

To keep ~~what's left of~~ my sanity and to avoid that horrible feeling that everything is falling apart at the seams, I've been really striving to think more positively about things. Otherwise, I'll drive myself crazy just thinking about everything that's beyond my control. I'm trying to "go with the flow" as the saying goes. To live in the moment and enjoy the little things without obsessing over the dishes in the sink. It's hard as hell, let me tell you but totally necessary if I don't want to wind up in the mental ward.

So, without further ado, here are some of the things I embraced about being a single mom for a two and a half weeks:

No dirty socks under the sofa. No matter how much I bitch and complain, my husband has deemed it his manly right to roll up his dirty old socks and shove them under the sofa. It's not uncommon for me to find 4-5 pairs as I'm dusting beneath the furniture on a Saturday morning. So, it was nice not having to worry about clogging up the vacuum with smelly socks.

Whole wheat carbs! I'm a bit of a health nut. Ok, not always, but I was raised by parents who brainwashed me into thinking white bread was "poisonous", so I'm all about the whole grains. Hubby, on the other hand, loves his squishy white bread & pizza dough and while we buy separate loaves of bread for our individual tastes, the dough and pasta is always a battle. I've made him whole wheat versions on numerous occasions, but whenever he does the grocery shopping, that damn bleached crap is the what winds up in our cupboards.

No snoring. Ahh, the pleasure of sleeping in my cozy bed without hearing those freight train-like sounds was pure bliss. I'm not sure if it was due to sheer exhaustion or having peace and quiet in my bedroom, but I slept like a champ.

No opening & closing drawers at ungodly hours. There is nothing more irritating than to be awaken by the sound of dresser drawers repeatedly being opened and closed. I don't mean just once, twice or even 3 times to get socks, underwear and whatever else he frantically searches for at 6:00 a.m. It's not like there's even all that many drawers. He just keeps opening and closing the same ones. Over. and. Over. I definitely did not miss this, nor his "closing" the front door much harder than what surely is necessary.

After Dinner Dancing. This was my favorite part of the 2.5 weeks. No, I did not sneak in a boyfriend after my son went to bed (how could I, the kid doesn't go to bed until 10:00, sheesh)! Lately, whenever Ciaran hears a good song, he jumps up and "shakes his feather tail" as he so adorably puts it. So while Tony was away, dancing before, after and sometimes even during dinner became our ritual. We'd hop up from the table, grab each others' hands and get our grooves on. After a few minutes he'd insist that I pick him up and dance with him in my arms, which is not an easy thing, with a 40+ lb child. But, with my new "enjoying the moment" mentality I told myself it was a good workout for my arms. Sure, I lost all feeling in them after like 10 minutes, but hey, no pain no gain, right?

Updates, Chaos & House Guests

2010-09-01T13:13:00.000-04:00

I know I haven't posted in a while - as many of my other bloggy friends have also expressed - this summer has been an extremely busy one (not to mention a little on the stressful side) for yours truly.

First there was the move (still haven't unpacked everything - shamefully our entire basement is filled w/ boxes). Stuff is everywhere, but not where it's supposed to be.

Then, Tony went away on business for what was supposed to be one week, but has now turned into 2.5 weeks. Fortunately, Ciaran has been pretty well-behaved, but it's still hard doing it all on my own, plus working, taking care of the house, yada, yada, yada. By the weekend, I just want to crawl into my bed and never come out, but with an energetic little boy jumping all over my barely-conscious self at 8:00 a.m., relaxing on the weekend is not an option.

Also? How the hell that child doesn't collapse by the days end is beyond me. I know the saying "youth is wasted on the young", but seriously - he does not stop. He doesn't even slow down. Not one iota. It's go, go, go, run, run, run, talk, talk, talk, all day long. I love his exuberance, but it's also completely draining me.

The worst part is, he's decided he just doesn't want to go to bed at night. It's like a 2-hour process getting him ready & tucked in. And right when I think, ok, yes! I've got him in the bed, he's lying down, he's rubbing his eyes - bam! He'll jump up for just one more hug, kiss, drink of juice, question, remark, anything his little mind can think of to keep me in there for as long as he can. And I'm too tired to fight him. He's got me beaten down. He knows this all too well.

But help is on the way. Tomorrow my parents arrive from the East Coast for a week-long visit. So, although I've been running around getting things ready for them, once they're here, Ciaran will have 2 more adults at his ~~torment~~ entertainment disposal.

Which is a really good thing, because I'm starting to look & feel like this (minus the teenage girl):

Who knows? Maybe while they're here and when Tony gets home I can even sneak in a blog post or two. That would be totally awesome. *Fingers crossed*.

The Price of Free Babysitting

2010-08-25T23:04:00.000-04:00

Ciaran's first sleepover at Tony's parent's place went so well, (too well, actually), that my mother-in-law offered to take him on a regular basis. "Once or twice a week, if you want" were her exact words. Should have been music to my ears, but trust me - those words have severe consequences.

My in-laws have been dying to keep Ciaran overnight - they've even got a kids room all set up, not to mention some 30-odd acres of farmland complete with sheep, chickens, wild turkeys and rabbits.

And tractors. Big, shiny red tractors that my machine-obsessed child goes apesh!t over. Those, and anything in the color red. So red tractors? Are da bomb as far as Ciaran is concerned.

But time and time again, when I'd ask if he'd like to have a sleepover at Noninna's, he'd nod but then quickly ask, "You're coming too, right Mommy?" Now, not to judge or slam my mother-in-law here - she is a wonderful, generous, woman. But she would totally tell him "Oh yes, Mommy is staying too." I, on the other hand, can't tell him those kinds of untruths.

Yeah, sure, I do still tell him The Man is coming if he doesn't stop playing with the washing machine, vacuum cleaner, (insert practically any mechanical object here). But I could never lie for the sake of making him stay overnight. I have ~~some~~ scruples. He had to want to do it on his own accord.

Then one day he mentioned that he wanted to sleep over at Noninna's - without insisting that I be there. Before he could change his mind, I packed his bag and called my mother-in-law to tell her what she'd been waiting 2 years to hear.

But, as anxious as I was to finally have a child-free night, albeit during the middle of the week (beggars really can not be choosers, y'all), it's hard watching him become more and more independent.

I worried that come nighttime, he'd realize I wasn't there to read him a story, scratch his back and do all our other little bedtime rituals. What if he freaked out in the middle of the night and wanted to come home, I asked Tony. He assured me he'd drive the 45 minutes north to go and pick him up.

We called after dinner and I pressed my ear to the phone, listening to him recount breathlessly how much fun he was having. The rest of the night I half-expected the phone to ring, telling us to bring him back home, but the call never came.

Excited to see my little monkey the next day, I imagined him running up the driveway, his arms spread open to greet me the way he often does when I fetch him from daycare.

Except that was so not how it went down. Instead? He started crying the instant he saw me, kicking and refusing to get out of my MIL's car. We finally pried him out of his car seat, MIL repeating over and over how he didn't want to come home, how he begged to stay there one more night, making me feel oh-so-peachy at that particularly stressful moment.

Inside, he proceeded to scream at the top of his lungs for 45 minutes. Straight. No break. I was seriously gonna lose my marbles. I walked away and washed my hair while he curled up on the sofa and kept wailing away.

Later that night when the demons finally retreated and I was tucking him into bed, I casually mentioned how he must have really enjoyed his sleepover. He got all quiet and I thought: Here it comes. That knife into my heart. He'll straight out disown me after one night of no rules and a ridiculously late bedtime, not having to eat his veggies and a huge bowl of chocolate ice cream...

Then he looked at me and said in the sweetest little voice ever, "It wasn't THAT fun, Mommy. I just really liked playing with the tractor."

Wordless Wednesday - BDT - The Good, The Bad and The ...Scary!

2010-08-18T06:00:00.000-04:00

Anyone who knows me knows about my obsession with this man:


I think we can call this "The Good", no?

I'm not a smoker, but how cool does he make it look?


A classic scene from "Traffic"


Not his most flattering look, but he was filming "Che"

Trying to kill Anthony Hopkins in "The Wolfman"

I recently found out I have competition. Yes, it seems The Empress over at Good Day, Regular People ~~stalks~~ loves Benicio Del Toro just as much as I do. Yup, we've been trading secret tweets about our Benny boy. And, just as Benicio has ~~not so gracefully~~ grown older, so have I. I can no longer be jealous of the other BDT lady fans.

You see, there was a time when I'd become fiercely envious of anyone who dared to even agree with me that he's the most sensual man on the planet. But it seems child rearing has worn me down; I'm much too old to fight over an imaginary boyfriend these days. So, Empress, I'm dedicating this post to you, honey - enjoy!

The Birthday Get-together

2010-08-15T23:01:00.001-04:00

The air hung heavy and thick as we sat on my sister-in-law's patio on Saturday evening. Too hot to move, we sat languidly in mismatched chairs while our host & hostess served us chilled rose wine. It took effort to breathe, let alone eat, but we managed to polish off some fine barbecued fare and sampled not one, but two different types of cake.

The only one not slowed down at all by the heat, was, of course, Ciaran. The boy does not quit. Right off the bat he ran to his older cousins' trampoline, demanding that I help him climb inside and watch as he bounced up and down, sweat dripping down his recently scrubbed face.

It was the annual family get-together/late birthday party for our niece and nephew. Their actual birthdays both fall in July, but since their parents made the excellent career decisions of being teachers, they travel each year until mid-August and host a get-together upon their return. I totally kick my arse every summer for having not listened to my mother about becoming a teacher. For that, and also for not marrying a millionaire like one of my aunts once told me. Kidding. Kind of.

Anyway, as we sat there tired and lazy and arguing over whose turn it was to chase after Ciaran, I was struck by a few different thoughts - the first of them being this: I am so flipping OLD!

At one time, my sister and brother-in-law's backyard was filled with kids running wild, playing catch or tag while the adults (well, me, at least) clung tightly to our wine glasses. Since the grandparents were always fussing over the youngsters, we had a break for a good couple of hours.

But this year there was a notable difference. My niece, now 14 and my nephew who turned 12, have become more like grown ups and less like the playful, mischievous kids they were not so long ago.

Talk turned, as it inevitably does, to how our nephew was born just weeks after Tony and I were married and how quickly our little 2 year old flower girl had grown up. Of course, only the adults got all sentimental over this, and when my niece casually mentioned that she still had the flouncy little pink and white dress from our wedding, well, I swear I felt a lump in my throat.

And it wasn't because that sweet-faced, tousle-headed little girl had turned into such a lovely young woman, no, that wasn't really it. It's because it hit me for the first time, how old I'm getting. Seriously - how did time creep up on me like that?

I tried not to think about Ciaran growing up that quickly, but then something else struck me:

It is way more freaking relaxing eating dinner with a 14 and 12 year old. They actually sit still during the meal; there's no food being thrown, or spilled all over the place. At no point did I feel little hands grabbing my legs from beneath the table.

Nor did they announce loudly during dinner that they had to go poop - RIGHT NOW! And even if they did, so what? They could get up and go themselves without anybody wiping their butts, or answering a thousand questions about where the poop goes and how toilets work in general.

And the conversation? Delightful! Imagine, a whole hour where I didn't have to raise my voice, threaten or sigh in constant exasperation. My husband was thrilled not to see me holding my head in my hands and muttering under my breath for once, I'm sure.

But, when Sunday morning rolled around, I came to another conclusion; I kind of like my sleepy four year old climbing into bed to snuggle next to me, a pink stuffed pig in one hand and a bright green birthday balloon in his other. Even if, shortly after, he kicks me in the ribs and tells me to make him some pancakes.

(Almost) Wordless Wednesday - It's oh so quiet...

2010-08-11T12:46:00.000-04:00

Ciaran is having his very first sleepover at my in-laws tonight. This is the first time he's ever spent the night away from me. I miss him already.

But on the plus side it feels like the first time in years I can hear myself think.

And hubby and I are totally going to take advantage of this peace and quiet. Oh yes, we're going to have a nice, relaxing meal, maybe even light a candle or two. Just like the good old days B.C.- before Ciaran.

And after that? We're going upstairs to do something we haven't done in a long, long time. You know, the "S" word. And it's going to be amazing.

But wait - before you go thinking dirty thoughts, I'm not talking about THAT "S" word. God, no, I'm way too tired for that. I'm talking about the other "S" word. The one that I crave, can never get enough of, dream about during my waking hours.

Oh yeah, I'm talkin' about that elusive bastard also known as Sleep!

The rare sight of me kicking back & relaxing!

Sometimes I'm a Pig

2010-08-06T06:00:00.001-04:00

That's right, sometimes I am a pig. Not the kind that makes huge messes or overindulges in chocolate (ok, that's a blatant lie - I do overindulge in anything listing cocoa as an ingredient). But that's also not the kind of pig-ness I am referring to.

The metamorphosis almost always happens at night, usually when I'm tucking my son into bed. He hands me this pinkish stuffed farm animal and makes me "be" the pig. I'm sure all you parents know what I'm talking about. When you're forced to become an animal or other toy character and tell stories or answer questions in not-sounding-like-any-person-animal-or-character-anyone's-ever-heard-of voices. At least that's how we play in my house. Please tell me we're not the only ones?

Piggy - Ciaran's fave toy, for this month at least.

I actually enjoy being Piggy, though. I fly though the air and have awesome parties where my toy friends and I jump into imaginary mud puddles the size of Ciaran's room. Oh, and I can sing Down By the Bay in a rather amusing operatic style. Yes, I'm one wild and crazy, not to mention talented pig.

But the best thing about becoming Piggy? I get to be privy to things I normally wouldn't be as plain old Mommy. Ciaran tells me Piggy things much more candidly during these times.

For instance, I learned that he wishes I would come pick him up from daycare earlier than I usually get there. It seems he's always one of the last kids to be picked up at night and, while I never realized it bothered him that much, apparently it does. Also, Noninna (my mother-in-law) gives him waaay too many treats when she's babysitting. (Mental note to talk to her about that!).

I'm not always resigned to just being a pig, I'll have you know. I've also done a pretty good characterization of the Buddha. Yes, Buddha. We have a wooden figurine of him that Ciaran took to playing with for a while. And once he stopped freaking out over Buddha's eyes being closed, he started handing the figurine to me, wanting me to speak for him.

I'm not gonna lie; that was a bit awkward at first. I wasn't sure how to "be" Buddha. I experimented with different personalities. Sometimes I was all reflective and wise, but Ciaran seemed to like "fun Buddha" better. And again, I could never get the voice quite right. Buddha always sounded like a slightly more refined Elvis impersonator.

Hmm, now that I think about it, maybe Elvis is Buddha. And, before you go thinking Well, she's really gone off the deep end now - I'm obviously not the only one who's thought about this:

The Blue Box - Part Deux

2010-08-02T22:52:00.000-04:00

So, I decided to split my last post into 2 parts - it turned into a longer story than I'd anticipated and also I seem to have less and less free time, as my son keeps getting needier and needier. But that's a whole 'nother story!

Ok, now where was I? Oh, yeah, the part where hubby tells me there's a steering wheel from a 1950's crime scene in the pretty blue box I'd assumed was a gift for me.

Like many of you expressed, I too was like, WTF??

It's a project for his work, he tells me. And he had to take it home. For what reason, I have no idea, because I've stopped listening to him - my mind is still reeling from this bizarre tale. And the fact that the steering wheel of a convicted murderer is sitting in a fancy box on top of my bookshelf is really creeping me out.

Oh, but that's not the worst part of the story, no, it gets worse. As Tony grabs the box from the shelf to open it, he excitedly tells me the blood stains are still on the steering wheel - do I want to see it?

Hell no! I jump back as if the thing itself could attack me - I want nothing to do with that evil object. From the box he takes out a letter outlining some details of the crime, including the murderer's name, which becomes etched in my mind.

It turns out that this evidence has come from a police museum in Calgary where it is kept on display. Tony's company is redesigning the interior of the museum and making special display cases; hence the reason for the steering wheel's mysterious arrival.

I flirt with the idea of looking at it, but when I realize that it's staying in my house overnight (until Tony delivers it to a display vendor the next morning), I change my mind. My nightmares are made of stuff like this. I still get the heebie jeebies thinking about scary movies I've seen years ago. My mind wanders, things get blown out of proportion and suddenly I'm waking up in a cold sweat at three in the morning. Don't even mention the words The Shining to me. Or The Ring. Not even in broad daylight.

But I can't stop thinking about the damn thing in that blue box; I become obsessed with it. So, what do I do? I start researching the case. If this thing's going to be in my house, even just for one night, I need to know who's blood stains are on it. I feel connected to this crime now, I'm emotionally involved.

There's not much information on the Internet, but I manage to dig up a few facts: The murderer was a young married man - boy, really - but old enough to know right from wrong. There was a trial and he was given the death penalty for the rape and murder of a female. He was hung in Alberta in the summer of his twenty-third year.

But what I really want to know about is the woman. How old was she? Did she know her attacker? Was she a someone's wife or mother? Or was she a child herself? Other than her name and being listed as the victim of the crime against her, there's no other information about her. And it makes me sad.

Lately, I've been feeling exhausted and overwhelmed. I'm frustrated that I can't find enough time to blog, exercise, or do tons of other things as much as I'd like to. But I'm grateful that I have this platform to write and share things that make me upset, angry or overjoyed. And I like knowing that one day my son might want to look back and read about them.

I still wonder about that woman sometimes. And maybe it's because I'm a mother, but I imagine she had children. Yes, she had two children, I think. A boy and a girl. She read them bedtime stories and baked them gingerbread cookies and held their hands as she walked them to school. And she kept a diary of her life with them. And after she was gone, their loving, hard-working father gave them the diaries and they knew just how she felt about them. And they never, ever forgot her.

The Blue Box

2010-07-29T22:17:00.000-04:00

I pulled a man trick and totally forgot about my anniversary this year. Tony was the one who reminded me. It also happened to fall on Father's Day, which I also kinda forgot. I did remember to send my Dad a gift, but it somehow slipped my mind that Tony is and has been a Dad for the past four years.

Even now, it still seems strange to me that we're parents, that we're responsible for raising another human being. It's also pretty scary when I stop to think about it. But after living together for seven years before deciding to have a family, it's sometimes hard to believe it actually happened.

And as wonderful as family life is, it often contributes to the already out of control daily guilt I feel, adding extra pressure to remember more holidays and momentous occasions. It also doesn't help that since giving birth, my brain is like a Jenga game; with each important date, fact, or other thing I have to remember, something else slips out. Like my anniversary and (Tony's) Father's Day present.

So, when hubby arrived home from work a few weeks ago with a beautiful, rather large Tiffany-esque box tied up with a white ribbon, I can't imagine why I automatically assumed it was some kind of "just because" gift for moi.

Maybe it was the way he set it down with such flourish on top of the bookshelf, turning to face me expectantly. The way a husband might had he decided to bring home a lovely gift for his wife out of the blue.

After a few seconds of him looking at me rather eagerly, I finally demanded to know what was in the box. And annoyingly, he totally ignored my question and started telling me what sounded like a well-rehearsed story. It went something like this:

One evening back in 1954, a young man out in Alberta did a very bad thing. He attacked and ended up killing another person. Upon realizing what he'd done, he fled the scene of the crime, jumped into his 1950 Ford model car and drove away, either not realizing or not bothering to wipe the other person's blood off his hands. Eventually, however, the blood left behind on the Ford's steering wheel was used as evidence to convict the man of murder.

I stood dumbfounded at this, finally asking what this horrible yet apparently random story had to do with anything.

Well, hubby tells me, the steering wheel of that Ford model car is in the blue box!!

To Be Continued

Friday Funny - Dark Side This Is

2010-07-23T06:00:00.005-04:00

I was going to post a humorous story that I've been writing for my Friday Funny installment today, but while doing research on something for work earlier this week, I came across two hysterically funny videos that I just had to share.

Anyone who really knows me can tell you that I am directionally-challenged. Yes, I'm that woman who gets lost crossing the street. If it weren't for Mapquest, I'd be much worse off, but even that isn't ~~fool~~ Pamela-proof. If anybody were a prime candidate for a GPS, it is me.

So, when I came across these GPS units available with Star Wars characters voices - well I was just about as giddy as a freaking school girl. I loved the old Star Wars movies as a kid - I remember thinking Hans Solo and Darth Vader were like, the coolest. What can I say? Even back then I had a weakness for the bad boys.

When my husband told me he'd never seen the original trilogy, I dragged him to see all three movies. I mean, how could anyone have grown up in the late 70's without seeing Star Wars? Anyway, he wasn't overly impressed, but its of those things that unless you've seen it through the magic of a child's eyes, you can't appreciate it as much.

I thought TomTom did a terrific job with these "making of" videos for the Yoda & Darth Vader voices. Now I just have to decide - do I want to be guided by a Jedi Master or by the Dark Side?

Wordless Wednesday Snack + Sun = Sleep

2010-07-21T06:00:00.006-04:00

On Sunday, we:


Made some Rice Krispy Squares

Then we:

Enjoyed a snack in the pool

And finally,

One of us crashed out on the sofa

I Fought the Law...

2010-07-18T23:30:00.000-04:00

As revealed in my last post, when I thought I'd be hanging my hardened-criminal head in shame by now, I was in traffic court last week. The charge: Speeding. My first ticket ever. It's not that I don't usually speed. Oh, no, I speed. Every day. Not breakneck speeding or anything. And not if my son's in the car - I keep the speedometer right around where it should be when he's with me.

But when it's just me and my Honda, I'm always going a little too fast, even when there's no need for it. I just can't get out of that rat race mode. Plus I usually have the music cranked, which, I admit, gets my adrenaline going.

On the day in question, I'm rushing home from work to pick up Ciaran and relieve my mother-in-law from a long day of baby-sitting ~~hell~~ duties. Like any other day, I am probably thinking of everything I have to do when I get home and oh, did I mention I have road rage? Uh-huh. I do.

So, when the driver in the opposite lane isn't letting me pass to switch lanes it really peeves me off. Then, when I slow down to let him by, HE slows down too. There's nothing that pisses me off more than that - okay maybe tailgaters - tailgaters are total a-holes.

By now, I'm enraged. I put my pedal to the metal to try to pass him once again, but surprise, surprise, he speeds up too! I now start gunning it down this big hill, gaining pretty good momentum when - urk!! There's a cop standing right in front of me pointing his trusty laser thingie in my direction.

Bust-ed!

Now, 8 months later, I find myself at Old City Hall, having refused to just pay the fine and get the demerit points added. 'Cause ~~I'm badass~~ don't want my insurance to go up. Lovely building Old City Hall, if only it weren't the middle of July and the whole place wasn't completely sweltering with no central air!

Anyway, as I'm waiting my turn to talk to the prosecutor, I listen in on discussions going on between other prosecutors and law-breaking peeps and I hear deals being made left, right & center. Ok, I say to myself, I'm willing to play this game.

Then, it's my turn. The prosecutor takes my info without a word and starts circling & scribbling stuff on a piece of paper. He looks up at me, all serious and I'm thinking, that's it, I'm totally screwed. They're throwing the book at me for sure.

Then, in a barely audible voice, he tells me "there's no evidence", so the ticket will be dropped. I don't really understand, but I'm sure as hell not questioning it. Yeehaw!! I'm free, baby! All I have to do is pop into the courtroom and he'll call my name and like, officially withdraw the ticket in front of the judge and everything.

So, I'm chilling in the courtroom (literally, since someone had the decency to install an a/c unit in there), when who comes in and sits on the bench right beside me? The cop who pulled me over!! I know it's him and he looks at me like he knows it's me too, or is my mind playing tricks on me? How could he possibly remember me after all that time, all those tickets he's surely issued?

My mind starts racing once again. I start imagining one of those dramatic made-for-TV-movie moments where right as I'm about to be cleared, the officer jumps up and shouts, Your honor! This has been a grave injustice of the law - book this woman immediately! I mean, I did almost run him down that day, totally not expecting to see anyone standing in the middle of road as I sped down it. I actually remember thinking, Who is this idiot standing in the street and what's with the funny hat, right before I realized what was happening.

But, this is Canada, not a TV drama, and our court is really, really boring. So when they called my name and said I was free to go, the judge even gave me quite a pleasant smile and bid me a good day.

The moral of the story? No matter how much of a douche the other drivers are, cops are super tricky, so don't speed. But if you do get pulled over, stay calm, act remorseful and choose the court option. I may have just gotten lucky, but it was worth it for me and I did learn a valuable lesson; never wear a jacket and long pants in Old City Hall in mid-July unless you're carrying extra antiperspirant. Also, Marilyn Manson is not good driving music.

Wordless Wednesday: Sticking it to The Man!

2010-07-14T09:57:00.000-04:00

I thought this would be appropriate for today's Wordless Wednesday since I'll be in traffic court today fighting my first ever speeding ticket:(

Fingers crossed, I won't end up like the Soggy Bottom Boys:

But if I do, I will avoid her at all costs:

The striped look does suit her quite well don't you think?

Monday Musings - The one that (almost) got away

2010-07-12T23:33:00.003-04:00

Ever become so obsessed with a song that you just had to try and find it? Only problem is, you don't know who sings it, let alone the name of said song?

But it haunts you, sticks in your head and refuses to let go. And so you surf every radio station, trying in vain to hear it again. And then one night you finally do, but it's right at the tail end and wouldn't you know, the blasted announcer plays another song (one that you really don't like), and then another, and another and by the time the crappy-song marathon has finally come to an end, there's another DJ on the air and he's doing this gospel hour program and never bothers to mention the names of the previous hour's worth of music.

So then you go to the CD store to try to explain it to the blatantly uninterested, detached sales clerk who has no idea what you're talking about and does little to hide the look of sheer disdain on his/her face.

This happened to me when I returned from my honeymoon twelve years ago. We were in Ireland and we'd rented a car to travel along the beautiful countryside. After sorting ourselves out with the whole driving on the wrong side of the road thing (thankfully it was during the 1998 World Cup, so NO ONE was driving, or we likely would have gotten ourselves killed), my first order of business was to find a decent FM station to listen to.

It didn't take long before we found a hip station called Today FM. There was a particular song they played - a remix of an old Jackson's song, Can You Feel It. I know, I know, not the kind of Indie Rock stuff I usually go for. But it was funky and dance-y, reminded me of some part of my childhood, and there were these bells...I don't know what came over me. I just really dug the song.

But, I could never catch the name, what with our constantly getting out of the car to kiss ancient stones and traipse around crumbling castles.

I forgot all about it for the last few years. Having a child will do that to you. It wasn't until Michael Jackson died last June, that I started thinking about the song again. The search was back on!

So, with the Internet being that much more advanced and having YouTube on my side this time - I think I found it! I'm almost 99% certain this is it - at least it's the closest one to my recollection. There seem to be several remixes of this song.

Before I "show" you the video, just be warned, it reeks of cheese. And now I can totally admit, so does the song. But there's something about those bells - they get me every time!

And if I close my eyes I can picture the misty, Irish morning dew as we race down narrow, winding roads, (me) singing at the top of my lungs. Young and carefree and full of energy and adventure and not yet the tired parents of a four-year-old boy.

Intervention, anyone?

2010-07-08T06:00:00.001-04:00

I am struggling with an addiction. It began in my childhood and has caused me to lie and scheme, suffer from crazy withdrawal symptoms and, since I've acquired a taste for only the best, most expensive stuff available, has cost me a fair amount of moolah over the years.

I've hoarded, gorged and pilfered it. And, since I've watched my fair share of Intervention episodes I'm quite certain that all of the above factors qualify me as an addict. But on the plus side? I'm no longer in denial. Today's the day I come clean.

Ok, so I'm not talking about drugs, alcohol or anything debilitating like that. But I am seriously addicted to...chocolate! You're probably saying, who isn't, right? I'm obviously not the only person on the planet who just can't get enough of the deliriously fantastic yummy-ness that is chocolate. I mean, just look at the selection in your local drugstore - it actually pains me to have to choose just one. I do prefer anything Swiss, but I will settle for pretty much any kind.

But not these!

Nope, I can't do the Big Turk. Those are just plain crap. I have a really bad association with them. Once, when my brother & I were at home sick (but apparently not sick enough to forgo candy), my father went to the store to buy us some ginger ale and chocolate bars. Big Turk chocolate bars. The first and last time I've ever eaten one. I don't even think I got past the first bite. My brother has appropriately called them "Big Turds" ever since.

But, just as I've never forgotten how horrible they tasted, I will also never forget my first introduction to the wonderful world of Lindt chocolate. I have my brother-in-law to ~~blame~~ thank for that. He lives in Switzerland and the first time I met him, over 14 years ago, he came bearing a huge plastic bag filled with little individually wrapped morsels of heaven. And at the first bite I was hooked.

My husband was amazed and I think slightly mortified that I took that huge bag and stashed it away, insisting that I didn't know what happened to them, as I consumed every last mouth-wateringly delectable piece. All by myself. That was my first inkling that I had a problem. I could not be trusted around that amount of amazingly good chocolate.

But I'm dealing with it. I only buy dark, organic chocolate now to satisfy my cravings. It's not as satisfying as the "good stuff" so I'll only have a small piece at a time. It's not the same, but the thought of me being stuck in a room with my entire family reading loving, yet stern letters about my toxic eating behavior is enough to stave me off my drug of choice, at least for now.

In one of my favorite Family Guy episodes, Brian sums up pretty much how I feel:

Wasn't That a Party!

2010-07-05T11:19:00.000-04:00

Over this past weekend, something totally unexpected and highly unusual happened. Our new neighbors not only spoke to us, but invited us to a friendly neighborhood barbecue.

Now, to you this might not seem all that unlikely, but seeing how we've recently escaped Shantytown after 13 hellish years, I'm still shell-shocked and even slightly suspicious when people are so...well, nice.

The minute we moved into our new house, we were greeted with smiling faces and friendly waves, some folks even stopping by for introductions and welcomes.

There were even a couple of "Well, if you need anything, we're right down the street", which is a very neighborly thing to say, don't you think?

I mean I know, and they know, that the chances of me actually ringing their doorbells "needing anything" will probably never happen, but after ~~living~~ suffering next to the riffraff from our old hood, I appreciated just hearing it.

So, when Sandra across the street casually mentioned that she was hosting a Canada Day shindig on Friday evening and that we should stop by, we took it with a grain of salt and politely said, sure, we'd try.

I never dreamed that part of the street would be shut down with pylons, kids playing soccer in the middle of the road, a row of barbecues lining Sandra's driveway. Enough wine and Coronas to rival an all-inclusive Mexican resort filling her garage.

And we certainly never expected 2 lovely neighbor ladies to come knocking; persuading us to join in the fun taking place right outside our door.

So, despite my usual shyness of new people and trepidation of taking part in such things, I decided to throw all caution to the wind and embrace it.

And though the music was ear-splittingly loud, and not the kind I usually listen to, and kids ran amok, people danced in the street, and fireworks went off like cannons all around us, we did meet some really cool folks of all ages and walks of life.

But the best part? In the moment of that crazy, unexpected evening, I finally felt like a part of a community. And I have to say it felt pretty awesome.

Ciaran's new favorite neighbor helping light his 1st sparkler

Ciaran & Mommy (unable to take a picture with open eyes - especially drunk)

Friday Funny - Prince - Genius Musician and Athlete to Boot?

2010-07-02T07:19:00.041-04:00

Remember the Dave Chappelle show? I used to watch it on The Comedy Network on Friday nights and pee myself laughing. Before he lost his marbles and ran off to Africa, Dave Chappelle was one hysterically funny dude. This spoof he did about Prince and Eddie Murphy's brother, Charlie has to be one of my all-time favorites.

First, of all, let me just tell you how much I love Prince. The singer Prince, or The Artist Formally Known as Prince, whatever he goes by these days. Actually, I take it back; I just like the old-school Prince, before he went all born again Christian and stopped cussing & all. The 1980's Prince who sang Let's Go Crazy, and Raspberry Beret. The cool Prince.

My husband and I saw him in concert five or six years back when he was still married to that Canadian chick. Hubby and I were such ~~losers~~ fans, that we actually used to drive up and down Post Road in the Bridle Path (a super ritzy neighborhood in Toronto) where Prince and his Canuck wife supposedly lived. We'd entertain ideas about what we'd do if we actually saw Prince out collecting his mail or something. Like how we'd strike up a conversation interesting enough for The Prince of Funk to invite us in for tea. Crazy, I know. But B.C. (before Ciaran), we had that kind of time on our hands.

Anyway the Prince concert was pretty amazing. Probably one of THE best performances I've ever seen. And I've seen a LOT of concerts in my day. Maybe it's a sign of getting old, but there's something cool about seeing your childhood idols perform, especially when they still kick (pint-size, purple-blouse-wearing) ass!

I'd actually forgotten all about this skit until someone on my work Twitter account brought it up. Apparently, there was a Prince tribute on BET a few days ago and the tweeter commented that they should have shown the "Prince Basketball Playing Skit".

It's so absurd to see Prince portrayed like this, you can't help but giggle. Or snort, chuckle, or whatever it is you do when you find something as silly as this.

Dave Chapelle: Prince plays basketball - watch more funny videos

Sleep...or Lack Thereof

2010-06-29T23:01:00.000-04:00

I have a problem. I never thought it would happen in a million years. I swore up and down that it wouldn't. But, here I am turning into my mother. At night, anyway.

Until recently, insomnia was a foreign idea to me. I could sleep anytime, anywhere, as soon as my drowsy head hit the pillow. Enjoying eight or nine hours a night in a semi coma-like state was the norm. Once, in my younger, single days, I even slept through an attempted break-in to my apartment. Cops showed up and everything, and I didn't so much as stir. When my roommate told me about it the next day, I refused to beleive her until she showed me where the screen door had been smashed in.

But lately, something has shifted. It feels like a hormonal thing. Not every night, but during certain times of the month, I lay awake for hours, my mind racing, my body totally exhausted but unable to get the rest it needs. I've tried a number of things. Herbal pills, and teas, and a recent prescription for Adavan my doctor suggested I take. Sometimes they work, but not always. Not on the really bad nights, when I feel like running a marathon at three in the morning. I probably could too, but I know I'd be even more of a basket case at work the next day. So I keep laying there, trying desperately to make my brain shut down and catch a couple of zzz's. And hoping it won't get worse like it did with my mother.

My mother has suffered from sleep deprivation for years, usually getting no more than four or five hours of sleep a night, and very often, only an hour or two at a time. When she still worked, she would then get up and put in a full day, sometimes doing 12 hour shifts.

It explains a lot now. I can understand her annoyance with us, which at the time I couldn't. And it was hard. There was a lot of internalizing and self-blaming. But as the saying goes, "You'll understand when you get older", I suppose I finally do. I understand the irritable sighs and impatient, sometimes biting remarks were not my fault. I wasn't the cause, at least not directly, of her frustration.

I also understand being exhausted to the point of feeling nauseous, so dazed and out of it that it's probably not wise to be driving around the city, especially with a little boy in the backseat. A boy who likes to ask questions and talk and laugh and doesn't deserve to be ignored or snarled at because Mommy's too tired to answer. I also know I'm not the only sleep-deprived Mom out there on the loose.

So, I try to keep it together, at least until he's home, safe in bed and I curl up with a book and some warm milk and pray to the sleep gods to please just let me have a decent night's rest...

What do you do when you can't sleep? If anyone has any other suggestions, let me know - I'll try anything right now!

A Libra Spin on Summer

2010-06-24T23:35:00.000-04:00

Now that summer is officially upon us, (okay, I'm a few days late, but I'm on Pamela Time - always a little behind schedule), I thought I'd share some of my favorite things about the season and some stuff I don't particularly care for. Because, you know, I just have to balance everything out in that annoying Libra way of mine.

What I love:

Heat. When I first moved to Toronto from the East Coast, I couldn't bear the sticky humidity of the city. Over the years, I've learned to ~~love~~, well, tolerate it at least. Now, I laugh at all my East Coast kin when they complain about 30C-including-humidity-temperatures. I've earned that right seeing I'm now a know-it-all Toronto snob, haven't I?
Sun. What's not to love about it? It shines, brightens everything up, makes the flowers bloom and the birds chirp. People all over the world have composed soulful melodies inspired by the wonder of it's rising and setting. Others worship it. Yes, the sun definitely rocks.
Summer wardrobe. There's nothing better than kicking off those heavy winter socks (after a nice manicure, of course) and schlepping around in some cute summer sandals. It's so freeing to leave the house sans jackets, boots & other cold weather gear, not to mention how much easier it is getting the boy out the door for daycare in the mornings.
Summer beverages. Ahhh, Margaritas, Sangria, Pina Coladas, Mojitos - take your pick. These exotic and tropical drinks not only sound divine, they go down so much smoother on those sweltering summer evenings on the patio.

What I don't like:

The oily greasiness that is my skin. Seriously? By this age, I thought I'd be well beyond the teen acne that seems to plague my face not only year-round, but on a exacerbated level come summertime. Even armed with facial blotting papers and a compact, it's a losing battle this time of the year.

The Sun. I know, I know, I just said the sun rocks. But it also keeps my kid up until almost 9:30 at night and wakes him up much earlier than I'd like to get out of bed. Same thing for the birds. Their damn chirping has roused me awake far too many mornings before 6:00 a.m. Go squawk somewhere else you annoying feathered freaks.
Bickering over the AC. I'm talking about the bickering between hubby and I about when to turn the air conditioning on and off. If it were up to him, we'd never turn the blasted thing on. He's always going on about how expensive it is to keep it running and that I turn it up too high. He forgets how I threatened to leave him back when we didn't have it a few years ago. (In my defense, I was pregnant and highly emotional.) I am very cranky when it's too hot. I refuse to cook. I become easily frustrated. He shouldn't mess with me then. It's dangerous, I tell you.
The frizzies. Yes, ladies, many of you know what I'm talking about. The big hair. The no-matter-how-much-product-you-use-can't-avoid-the-afro-do. It's so far beyond a "bad hair day" you might as well just give up and chop it all off. This is my ultimate least favorite thing about the summer. And for all you silky, straight-haired ~~bitches~~ babes who never have to fuss to tame your locks, I have only one thing to say to you - Bite Me!!

No amount of anti-frizz serum, or hats, hair bands, etc. can control it!

Wordless Wednesday - Monkey See Monkey Do

2010-06-23T08:00:00.000-04:00

I wanted to post these photos for Father's Day, but was without Internet connection in our new place. (Really bad planning on our part). I honestly don't know how I survived without my computer or TV for the past 5 days, but it was just one of the many things that slipped our minds in the course of the move!

Anyway, to keep it brief, Ciaran has shifted from being a total Mama's boy and wanting nothing to do with Dad, to being Daddy's little shadow. It seems the tables have turned and I have to admit, I'm feeling a little left out. Damn fickle kids.

I took these photos last week at the old place - Ciaran goes completely apesh*t whenever he hears, sees or thinks about a lawnmower. He begged me for his own toy toy version & follows his Dad around - anyway it's pretty self-explanatory - so I'll shut up now. Happy WW!

Friday Funny - Yet another hilarious Canadian, Jeremy Hotz

2010-06-18T09:00:00.007-04:00

I'd never heard of this guy until the first time my husband and I visited Yuk Yuk's(a Canadian-based comedy club, for my American friends:) I think I actually peed my pants laughing, pretty impressive considering I hadn't yet given birth at that point in time.

We went there obviously expecting a few laughs, but never imagined just how hard we'd be clutching our sides and howling like idiots. But that's ok, because everyone else in the audience was too! The entire line-up that night was amazing, but when a comedian by the name of Jeremy Hotz came on we laughed from the minute he set foot on stage until well after his set was done. We even reminisced about his jokes all the way home and for days afterwards. If you have six and a half minutes here's a pretty funny clip of one of his skits on being Canadian (Oh, there's some swearing, of course, like what comedian worth watching doesn't cuss?):

Happy FF everyone! I've been away from the FF link-up over at Crazy Town for a couple of weeks now, but I'm heading there now to check for some more great laughs!

Time to Get Down & Dirty

2010-06-17T10:00:00.004-04:00

I thought I'd try a little something different today - something...naughty! That's right, Stefanie over at The Dirty Mommy Club has invited yours truly over for a little rendezvous to take part in what she likes to call Threesome Thursdays.

Now before you get all hot under the collar, let me just backtrack a bit. Stefanie has kindly offered to feature My Life as a Libra along with one other sexy mama blog, Heligirl on today's Threesome Thursday post. Go on over and check us out and if you like what you see show us some love. (Comments, cheeky monkeys, I was talking about comment love). Now get your minds out of the gutter and get on over to the DMC. I'm sure you'll love Stefanie's take on the "dirty side" of motherhood as much as I do:)

Because Some Wackos are the People in My Neighborhood

2010-06-15T23:32:00.010-04:00

Thirteen years. It's a long time to dislike where you live. To never quite feel like a part of the community. To not be able to join in the conversation because so few people speak either one of your two (okay, one-and-a-half) spoken languages. To share a driveway with a psychotic man who has never so much as uttered "hello" the entire 13 years. And whose discarded cigarette butts flickered across my drive and lawn greet me each morning. Thirteen years is long enough to get out of this hell hole!

A Brief History Lesson on Shantytown

The neighborhood is old but not charming-old, run down and depressing. A few years back we had an Asian beetle infestation and the city came and cut down almost every tree on our block, leaving it even more barren and desolate-looking, the houses shabbier. I took to calling this place "Shantytown". I mean, people use old rusted garage doors as fences in their backyards - not the kind of place you'd be proud to invite your friends over to visit. It's just a couple of notches up from the slums, if you ask me.

I'm not trying to mock poverty or anything. The people here are not poor - in fact, I know some of them are actually quite well off. They're just, shall we say, very frugal. Many are retired and just don't see the point in spending good money on things like fences or patio furniture when they can recycle old doors and hang out in their garages to peer at passerby.

And peer they certainly do. It still baffles my mind that 13 years later I can't drive (or certainly walk) down my street without several pairs of eyes blatantly staring me down as I drive past. It is seriously to the point where I fear the bolder ones will jump into the passenger seat, they get that close to the car. It's unnerving, I tell you!

So, how did I end up here?

After enjoying a number of years as a single urban girl in the big city, I met a guy at the trendy downtown loft office where we both worked. We fell in love, and after a whirlwind 9-month courtship got engaged during happy hour in a New Orleans bar. True story. Anywho, I moved from my tiny basement apartment in Toronto to a sprawling semi-detached home just north of the city. Although secretly horrified by the neighborhood's left-in-the-70's appearance, I convinced myself it would be okay. We were still in the 416 area code. I wasn't an official suburbanite. On a good day I could be in the city in like, 15 minutes.

Little did I know how quickly my soul would start to wither away!

Yes, the house needed some TLC. I tried to ignore the parquet floors, stuccoed ceilings and hideous fixtures all installed in 1972. We couldn't fix everything all at once. Over the years, we chipped away and actually did a decent job renovating the place. But with every new thing we fixed, we stuck out like sore thumbs in our largely senior-citizen-populated neighborhood. Why are you painting your garage a different color than the house next door? Why don't you leave the railing white, like everyone else has? they'd ask us. Tony would answer patiently in his mother tongue while I tried to control my inner rage. Really? Was it any of their business?

To deal with my dislike of some of the neighbors, I started giving them nicknames. For instance, the biggest neighborhood gossip is known as "The Crazy Sweeper". She sweeps her driveway several times a day with such vigor that no leaves, grass or specs of dirt stand a chance. She's equally as fastidious in the winter. No snow shall sully her drive, even if she has to spend all day battling it out with her shovel. The craziest thing is - neither she nor her husband drives anymore.

The phenomenon seems to be spreading (or sweeping the neighborhood, if you will!). "Crazier Sweeper", just a few doors down from the original Sweeper, has also taken to obsessively cleaning her driveway and the surrounding sidewalk. It's slightly more impressive, as she sweeps while chain-smoking and screaming "Paul John!" at her kid every 30 seconds. Her secondary nickname is "Insane Mullet Lady", for self-explanatory reasons.

Jack, or as I call him, "Jackass" lives across the street and is in the construction business. How do I know this, never having had a conversation with him? Well, my first clue was when he used this massive cherry picker machine to put up his Christmas lights. It's quite the production. It's not like it's such a huge house that he needs this contraption. Everyone else manages just fine with a ladder. But Jack likes to put on a show and even lets his kids go up in the machine. One time it scared the crap out of me, because they were like 10 feet away from my living room, looking right inside my balcony window.

And then there are the fireworks!

For some reason the residents of Shantytown like to shoot off fireworks every couple of weeks or so, and not just on holidays. I'm not just talking a couple of kids with sparklers. No, there's a full-blown Magical World of Disney type show going on on a regular basis (obviously without all the nice palaces and such). I've never figured out what the occasions are - they always vary and seem pretty random. At first it was pretty cool - I could just open up my balcony curtains, pop some popcorn and enjoy the show, but after a while the novelty wore off and it doesn't help that they tend to start this spectacles late at night when we're trying to sleep.

Picture this over a much more ghetto type neighborhood!

There are many other reasons why I'm happy to be leaving this place, including a recent visit to a house down the street from the SWAT team, as if that's not reason enough. But, deep down inside there are also things and people I'll miss. Like Chicken Man, the neighbor who left us a funny surprise in our backyard a few years back. And also? I'll be a little sad to leave the first place my little boy called home. The place where we brought him after leaving the hospital when he was born. Where he learned to smile and laugh, took his first steps, and learned his first words. But on the other hand, he's already cussing in Italian, so now's probably a good time to leave...

Ciaran's first day home

Wordless Wednesday - I'm stressed, tired & kind of feel like puking. But hey, I finally own a home!

2010-06-09T21:35:00.000-04:00

Ok, so it's been a crazy couple of weeks, getting the mortgage and house stuff all sorted out. Being a first time home buyer, I'm in a bit of a panic seeing my life savings drained in a matter of minutes. These cartoons pretty much sum it all up. Well, since the closing is in 2 days, guess I should get packing, huh?

Happy WW everyone!

I've been Tagged!

2010-06-07T22:45:00.001-04:00

Remember playing tag back in grade school? I was such an introverted, geeky kid that I always despised being "it" and I was usually the last one tagged, which suited me just fine. But now I'm (semi) grown-up and it's been (never mind how many) years since I've been subjected to that kind of school yard humiliation. And fortunately I haven't been too traumatized by those childish games to reject participating in a nice, friendly, sitting-down-at-my-computer tag right now. In fact, I have to say I rather like this civilized version of the game.

I've been tagged by Tracy of The Daily Mom Diaries and instead of getting that old familiar feeling of being somehow contaminated, I'm proud to accept my tag & seek out a fellow blogger to spread the love around.

The only conditions of my tagging are that I list a few things that make me grumpy, which believe me, is not a difficult task for me. I will, however, cap it off at 5, and spare you all my irritable grumblings. So, here's my top 5 pet peeves (for today, anyway):

Cranky people. I know, it's supposed to be things that make me cranky, but there's nothing that bothers me more than when I wake up in a decent mood, only to be surrounded by moody, sullen folks. It ruins what could have been a perfectly good day, and therefore makes me just as cranky.
Leaving my son in hubby's care for an hour or two and returning home to find my just-cleaned house in a shambles.
Not enough sleep. I love to sleep. I used to be able to sleep anytime, anyplace. Not so now. Last night I got about 4 hours. *Sigh*.
Stupid drivers. In the city that I live in, there seem to be many. I have terrible road rage that I need to get under control.
Crappy music. One thing I love about my job is I can listen to my fave tunes on my headphones pretty much all day. I'm very particular about what I listen to and have zero tolerance for bad music. I guess you could say I'm a music snob.

So, there you have the top 5 things that turn me into a Grumpy Gus. And now it's time to turn things over and tag a fellow blogger - Stefanie at The Blue Zoo - you're it!

Something I Learned from an Annoying Turtle

2010-06-03T23:36:00.001-04:00

We needed a break, my little boy and I. From the house, the T.V., the never-ending chores and errands and also from each other. But since we were stuck together in the midst of yet another weekend during which Daddy had to work, we made our escape.

It had to be done; I was heading down that panicky road I start spiraling towards when I'm trying so hard to be perfect and keep up with everything. Like when I spend all of Saturday morning cleaning, only to have to pick up every single toy ten times over, mop up spilled juice from a freshly-scrubbed kitchen floor, or get interrupted every 30 seconds with some question, request or other constant demand for attention.

And, in a moment of sheer exhaustion and weakness, I took out my frustration on my son, screaming at him for something he didn't deserve to be screamed at over. I hadn't meant to sound so harsh. But there they were, my words like a stinging slap across his fragile feelings, silencing his innocent questions.

His happy little face became downtrodden and those big, beautiful blue eyes turned so sad.

That constant lingering guilt kicked into overdrive as I knelt down to hug and kiss him, but his next question floored me.

"Mom, how come no one likes me?"

"What do you mean, honey?" I now felt like a total piece of crap. "Everyone loves you. I love you, Daddy loves you...."

"But you yell at me, Daddy yells at me, Nona yells at me..."

My heart sank. I needed to right my wrong. So, walking away from the pile of dishes in the sink and the endless baskets of laundry, I tried to make up for my mommy inadequacies.

And off we went to spend a summery afternoon at the splash park, followed by a visit to the local ice cream parlor. I started to curse myself for leaving the camera at home but that's okay. For once I lived in the moment and just enjoyed it. Enjoyed hanging out with my water-logged little boy in all his chocolate-covered bliss.

Then, just the other night as Ciaran was getting his nightly bedtime Franklin fix, something about this certain episode sounded very familiar. Franklin's parents had been reprimanding him for something or other (can you tell I totally blank out during these shows?). Anyway, this caused Franklin to think they hated him and he got all sulky and kept asking why no one liked him.

Stupid whiny turtle putting things in my kid's head. Parents - beware. Kids pick this stuff up and use it against it us in some kind of ploy to add to the already overwhelming daily guilt we feel. But, just like Franklin always seems to, I learned my lesson too. Dishes, laundry & all the rest will always be there. But a little boy is only four once.

Brainwashing little bastard.

Wordless Wednesday - Summer Fun, Circa 2007

2010-06-02T12:58:00.000-04:00

*Sigh* I kind of miss those baby days. Life seemed so much simpler when I didn't have a back-talkin' 4 year old running around!

Happy WW!

A Truly Absurd Mystery Involving a Smuggled Chicken

2010-05-28T13:11:00.001-04:00

A couple of years after we were married, long before the whole urban farmer thing became popular, we had a very unexpected visit from a chicken. Yes, that's right - a chicken.

I don't remember what day, month or even year it was, but I will never forget that strange afternoon when my husband called me into the backyard. It must have been spring, because there was no snow on the ground, but the trees had not yet fully bloomed and the grass was still that dirty shade of brown.

"Come here," he said, gesturing towards the back door. I vaguely recall getting frustrated because there I was slaving away in the kitchen and he wouldn't tell me why I should follow him. Finally I relented, but he still wouldn't explain what was going on.

"Look," he said, pointing at something on the ground in the distance. "I found it back here while I was putting away tools in the shed. Someone even blocked off either side of the shed and left it a bowl of water!"

A low, rustling sound from about 20 feet away finally drew my attention to "it". And it was not happy. It came running towards us, causing me to shriek in a way that's normally reserved for mouse sightings. I ran to the gate at the side of the house, the chicken at my heels, pecking and clucking. Luckily, we just made it to the other side of the gate & slammed it closed before It took a chunk out of my flesh.

After debating on what to feed this obviously starving creature, we went back inside and grabbed some bread, which I proceeded to hurl out the washroom window into the back yard, rather than risk being attacked by the crazed animal. Understandably, it seemed to settle down a bit after chowing down on its high-carb snack.

Then, we went off to find whoever was responsible for this seemingly practical joke. We called Tony's parents first. They live on a farm, so it was the most logical place to start. Had they finally snapped after living so isolated up there in the country? But, no, they were just as baffled as we were.

We knocked on doors. People gave us strange looks. No one had seen anyone sneaking a chicken into our backyard. I spotted a family down the street smiling at us and became immediately suspicious. Were they the culprits? No, they were not. To this day, they avoid me like the plague. And honestly, I can't blame them. What kind of madwoman goes around accusing people of smuggling chickens into her yard?

We called every one of our friends; if anyone was going to play a practical joke, it would have been more likely one of them, not a neighbor we barely knew. (Too bad I hadn't thought of that earlier). But, no, the friends all plead innocent. (We did of course, get a few inviting themselves over for a fresh poultry dinner).

The next day we got up and peered out the window to see if the chicken was still there. It was. I threw more bread outside and we went to work. When we came back home, there it was scratching in the dirt and pecking at the grass.

We couldn't keep ignoring it. I mean, how long could you keep a farm animal in the city? Surely it wasn't even legal. I decided to carefully open the side gate & set it free. No, Tony said. It would probably get hit by a car and then, wouldn't I feel guilty?

At that moment, someone knocked on the door. I heard Tony speaking to our next door neighbor's son-in-law, who had recently moved in with his family. He'd been away for the past couple of days and had "found" this chicken in the park. Now, I don't know about y'all, but I've never once in my life seen livestock wandering around the local park.

It seems he didn't want his wife's elderly mother freaking out over his stashing a chicken in her backyard, nibbling away at her veggie garden, so he decided to put it in ours, but forgot to tell us. The chicken was of no use to him, he said, explaining that it was a "layer" and couldn't be eaten. So, if Tony's parents wanted, they could have this one. They came the next day to pick it up.

That's how our house became the livestock trading headquarters for the neighborhood. I come home to find rabbit cages lined up in front of the garage door, dropped off by neighbors for my in-laws. They make deals during the day for rabbits, chickens and turkeys. Just the other day I got a phone call from a lady asking for a rabbit. Sorry, I told her, he can't come to the phone. I don't think she got it, but I laughed myself hysterical.

Happy Friday Funny all! Don't forget to link up your funny story, video or email over at Crazy Town.

Wordless Wednesday - Good thing he takes after Mommy

2010-05-26T12:53:00.000-04:00

Look what happens when Dad's left in charge!

Friday Funny - Skankin' it up for the Long Weekend!

2010-05-21T13:16:00.001-04:00

So, once again, I've left the blog-hop post to the last minute, but also once again, I've been inspired by another lovely bloggy friend.

I've been so busy buying houses, gnawing on what's left of my once perfectly manicured (& pre-child) nails during an exhilarating bidding war ,which happily worked out in our favor, that I really have not been in the funny frame of mind.

Until, that is, I visited Tracy over at The Daily Mom Diaries and had a giggle at her Casual Friday cartoon! Also, it reminded me of one of my favorite scenes from The Office, the one where Meredith takes Casual Friday to a whole new level.

I don't know about you, but I have worked in offices where some ~~skank-a** tramps~~ ladies tended to get a bit carried away with "dressing down" on Fridays. And, as ridiculous and exaggerated as The Office sometimes seems, I love it because there's often a grain of truth to every character. Or, maybe I'm just constantly drawn to the obscenely insane. Yeah, actually, now that I think of it, I totally am.

Speaking of which, I better get my butt on over to Crazy Town to link up my Friday Funny!

Happy Friday & May 2/4 Weekend Everyone:)

Wordless Wednesday - Recycled Goods

2010-05-19T12:46:00.000-04:00

As I mentioned in this recent post these are actual items Ciaran has at some point thrown into the recycling bin. Here are some of the things we've retrieved:


A brand-new box of kleenex

The important part of this invite, including info like THE DATE has yet to be found!

Yep - that's a sweet potato.

This poor little guy!


One gold pump from a pair worn exactly once. Maybe I should have left it in there...

This one was saved by my husband just moments before being hauled away.

One day, maybe next Wednesday, I'll do a post on the stuff we never got back. Although now that I've written that, it might be kind of hard to show you...

Happy WW all!

Yeah, That's Right - I'm a Triple Threat Baby!

2010-05-16T18:02:00.002-04:00

Despite all my recent whinny mutterings of a nervous breakdown and generally feeling sorry for myself, I've been very fortunate to have met some really cool and funny Mama bloggers since I started ~~complaining~~ writing about my life as a Libra.

And for some reason or another that I don't dare question, two of these fabulous ladies found yours truly worthy enough to bestow me with not one, not two, but three bloggy awards!

Feast your eyes on these beauties:

My first Honest Scrap and Sweet Blogger accolades were awarded to me by the wonderful Tracy of The Daily Mom Diaries, and I must apologize to her for taking so long to acknowledge said awards. But, being the busy Mom of three boys, I'm sure she understands. Tracy also does awesome reviews and giveaways, and one of these days, I'm totally going to enter one of her contests. Like that one for the cellulite lotion! Cause I could really use something like that. Anyway, Tracy is a faithful follower and friend and I always look forward to her cheerful replies and comments. You rock, Tracy!

My second Honest Scrap award was presented to me by The Mombshell of The Mombshelter whose often hysterical and always beautifully-written posts keep me coming back for more. Reading her stories makes me strive to be a better, not to mention wittier writer. The fact that she mentioned my blog in the same breath as "possible Pulitzer winning material in the non-existent category of blogs" rendered me giddy beyond belief! It seems I impressed the Mombshell with the Leonard Cohen lullaby singing skills I ~~boasted~~ mentioned in my recent guest post. (Shameless plug there, I know). But let's face it - the Mombshell is way cooler, smarter and funnier than I could ever dream of being.

Now for the hard part. The rules for accepting each award are that I must pass them along to 10 other deserving bloggers. It isn't difficult finding deserving blogs - no, there are hundreds, possibly thousands of much better blogs out there than my own.

I am also to reveal 25 things about myself. But, since I (a) have never been one to follow the rules, (b) don't have many bloggy friends that haven't already been awarded, and (c) can't think of 25 things that I haven't already revealed or am not saving for future posts. Cause, you know, I only have so much material until I start regurgitating the same idiosyncratic stories. And no one wants that.

I do, however, love the idea of spreading the blog love around, so I will follow the Mombshell's lead and award 5 wonderful ladies I've come to know and admire:

The Empress of Good Day, Regular People for her posthumous wish that her children burst into tears upon the sight of books. (I too, have a similar goal, in which the sound of Thom Yorke's voice would bring my son to a weeping, emotional mess after I've passed).
My Momma Drama for her self-written survival guide outlining who would get the first bullet, should her husband ever be foolish enough to stray.
Cheryl of Special Sauce in the House for making me tear up over her beautiful, inspiring posts & also for rocking the jeggings look so fantastically.
Bibliomama because she's way smart, has a vocabulary that never ceases to amaze me and her recent, impressive guest post that made me realize it's okay that I'm not a perfect mom.
The Mayor of Crazy Town for being my first follower and constant supporter and for letting me write my first guest post (and yes, I'm still kissing her butt, but if it weren't for her, I wouldn't have gotten to know most of these other talented ladies)!

I know some (maybe all) of you have received these or similar awards, but I insist on presenting you all with both awards, cause I'm ~~too lazy to find 25 other blogs~~ awesome like that! Enjoy:)

Friday Funny - Badass Mommy

2010-05-14T18:41:00.000-04:00

Still riding on the coattails of Mother's Day and because I found this video on Funny or Die I thought I'd share this crazy broad's Mother's Day fantasy for today's Friday Funny. But just to warn you, there's cussing, violence and drug references, so use your viewer discretion (in other words, probably not the most suitable thing for the kiddies to watch, unless you're one of these girls parents , but that's a whole other story and not one for a Friday Funny post.

Now, be honest, did any of you have these kinds of thoughts last Sunday?

MOTHERS DAY OFF - watch more funny videos

Ok, a little over the top, but it could happen. I wouldn't mind cutting loose like that too, though I'd likely forgo the hard drugs and mutilation of others. Then again I only have one kid - who am I to judge! Multiple children just might turn me into a a murderous raging junkie (or addicted to prescription meds, at the very least).

Don't forget to link up your Friday Funnies over at Crazy Town using The Mayor's cool Mr. Linky widget! Can't wait to head over there for a few laughs myself - TGIF!

Happy Friday all!

Wordless Wednesday - You Know I Wish That I Was Rick Springfield's Girl!

2010-05-12T18:38:00.003-04:00

Ok, I'll be brief. I was gonna skip this WW because I'm lame like that, but Shaunadnauseam gave me a great idea. Ok, I kind of stole it from her.

Last night on Twitter 90% of the tweets were #Glee this and #GLEE that, which I usually ignore. (Sorry, I know everyone loves it, but I can't get into it). UNTIL, The Mayor tweeted something that made go "WHA?"

OMG Finn is ROCKIN' Jesse's Girl!!! #Glee

Suddenly I'm having a flashback to 1981 and my first celebrity crush. I mother-freaking loved Rick Springfield. Today I admitted to Shauna and The Mayor that I carried his photo in my locket when I was a wee girl of 9 or 10. So, before I ramble on even more here's my WW tribute to my 1980s heartthrob!

Wow, still looking pretty darn good for a 60 year-old man, don't you think?! Happy WW everyone!

All the Single (Mama) Ladies!

2010-05-09T14:52:00.008-04:00

The last few weeks have shown me how my life would play out should I ever act on my impulse to pack my bags, grab my kid and run off to Hollywood in search of Benicio Del Toro. (Circa 1999 Benicio, not the bedraggled, greying, desperately-in-need-of-a-haircut Benicio of late.)

Since I'm quite certain my idol wouldn't fall all over himself at the sight of some crazy stalker lady and her kidnapped child at his door, I'd likely end up exactly how I've been living for the last little while; husband-less, tired, sick and even more overwhelmed than usual!

No, Tony hasn't left me, nor have I thrown him out (just say the word, Benny!). But he has been super busy with work projects and was away on business all last week. So, on top of all the usual working, cooking, cleaning, laundry, dropping Ciaran off at daycare and picking him up, playing, bathing, reading stories, etc. etc. - all stuff that I do during a regular week, I also dealt with the following crap:

The Fridge Breaking Down.

It had been working on and off for a while and fortunately(?) we live in a tacky 1970's house with a full kitchen in the basement that we never use. So, I spent the week running up and down stairs, transferring food from one modern but malfunctioning fridge to a puke-green colored 1973 model.

The Dishwasher Stopped Working.

Oh, dear god, my worst nightmare came true. Ciaran actually pointed this out one night after dinner, when he opened the dishwasher door and saw his reflection staring back at him from a pool of smelly water. After scooping out the water with a measuring cup, Project Hand Washing went into effect. Tears were fought back (mine) for the first of many subsequent occasions that week. Everything seemed to be quickly unraveling.

The Kitchen Sink Backed Up.

Hence the non-working dishwasher. I'm pretty sure Ciaran was to blame, as I could have sworn I saw him cramming plastic straws down the drain just the other day. I tried to catch him in the act, but he was, as usual too quick for me. When I asked what he was up to he answered, "Noth-ing" in that annoyingly mischievous way kids often respond when they are, in fact, guilty of Some-thing.

Ma! Ma! The TV Done Broke!

It was an ugly scene on a rainy Saturday morning when nothing I tried could bring Ciaran's beloved Treehouse shows to life. I remembered with humiliating terror that I hadn't paid last month's cable bill. I swear on my pinky finger that's never happened before!

Tearing the house apart, I searched for the latest bill, but it, like so many other things around here, had disappeared. Again, I'm blaming Ciaran - lately he's taken to "hiding" things in the recycling bin. I called our service provider and after sorting it out with a rather snarky customer service person, tried the TV again, to no avail. With a screaming child in the background, I called the tech help line, who kept insisting I must have it on the wrong channel - no, I did not. After going through a lengthy trouble-shooting check-list, it was discovered that it was a loose connection.

More tears were fought back - was I really one of those women who couldn't survive on their own? I mean, it's nice to have my husband around (I obviously prefer it), but I shuddered to think of myself as becoming one of those helpless broads always in need of a man's help.

Overwhelmed and Run Down

The rest of the week started improving slightly, other than me almost forgetting about my close friend's baby shower and of course, not being able to find the invitation (I am so doing a post about things that have wound up in our recycling bin). Also, my brother's wife had just given birth and I hadn't even gotten around to sending them a baby gift! (Sorry Jeff & Jenna, it's on its way, I promise!)

So, I had the joy of dragging a cranky, demanding child to Babies R Us to pick up some presents while being subjected to him yelling "Mom! I want a red lawn mower! Mom! Mom! a RED lawn mower!" My nerves were so shot, I actually bought him the damn toy mower just for a couple minutes of peace. Bad idea, I know, but sometimes, I do cave in.

Then, just as we were winding down one hectic, crazy week, on Sunday night Ciaran woke up sick and screaming at the top of his lungs, scaring the bejesus out of me right as I was finally drifting off to sleep.

Poor little guy was burning up and (surprise, surprise) my digital thermometer was not working. Also, when the upstairs refrigerator broke down, I ended up throwing out a bunch of stuff in there, including the children's Tylenol. So, there I was at 12:30 a.m. on Sunday evening, alone with a sick child burning up with a fever (I think). That, my friends was my final breaking point. Could anything more go wrong? Muffled by his crying, I held him and hid my face in his little shoulder letting my tears flow freely now.

A couple of hours later, I got him settled down and we both lay exhausted in his race-car bed. As I watched him sleep, I thought about all the single moms out there who have to deal with the week I just had on a regular basis. Being a Mom is a hard enough as it is, but to do it on your own is beyond stressful. I truly have the utmost respect for single mothers; I could not do this child rearing thing solo.

That's why, even after listening to Ciaran beg and scream for me to come with them, I don't feel all that bad about leaving him and his Dad to spend Mother's Day with Nona today. Cause I SO need the break!

Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got some old Benicio Del Toro DVD's waiting to be popped into the player. If I can find them, that is. Sigh. Guess I'll start with the recycling bin.

Happy Mother's Day everyone!

Sorry, Benicio - guess it just wasn't meant to be!

Friday Funny - Brought to you at the Expense of Some Kids!

2010-05-07T12:53:00.001-04:00

I have to add a small caveat to today's Friday Funny, since apparently it's contraband. But it makes me giggle so hard that I figure it's worth the risk. I first got this email a few years back, before I had kids and I found it amusing. But now that I have, um, let's call it abstract artwork decorating my refrigerator, I appreciate it even more.

I forgot all about the email until my brother Scott also forwarded it to me recently. So when The Mayor first started the Funny Friday blog hop with the killer elephant joke, it got me thinking back to all three funny emails I've ever received. Let's face it, most of those "funny" or "cute" email forwards are seldom worth the clicks. Some of you may have seen this one before, but hopefully it will still make you smile:)

Before I share, I must credit this guy or someone will supposedly show up to break my kneecaps. Seriously dude, no offense or anything, but lighten the heck up!

I am better than your kids.

If you work in an office with lots of people, chances are that you work with a person who hangs pictures up that their kids have drawn. The pictures are always of some stupid flower or a tree with wheels. These pictures suck; I could draw pictures much better. In fact, I can spell, do math and run faster than your kids. So being that my skills are obviously superior to those of children, I've taken the liberty to judge art work done by other kids on the internet. I'll be assigning a grade A through F for each piece:

Megan, age 4

First of all, I don't even know what this is. If it's supposed to be a dog, then it's the shittiest dog I've ever seen. F

Kyle, age 8

You spelled America wrong asshole. Also, I could have sworn America's colors were red, white and blue. There's no yellow anywhere, traitor.F

Lisa, age 6

Holy shit, I almost had a seizure when I saw this one. Three words: too many colors. Also, eggs aren't supposed to have ears, dipshit.F

Cameron, age 4

Terrible. F

Bryce, age 10

This one wouldn't be too bad if the color was kept inside the lines, you picked a new perspective, used non-abrasive colors and asked someone with talent to paint it for you. On one hand I want to give an A for effort but... F

I win. When I go into work next, I'm going to surprise all my co-workers and put up pictures of myself instead of their ugly kids and their inane drawings.

More crappy children's art work

The premise: I can draw better, spell better, and run faster than your kids. So being that my skills are obviously superior to those of children, I've taken the liberty to judge art work done by other kids on the internet. I'll be assigning a grade A through F for each piece:

Jon, age 8

Ding Ding! Here comes the shit-mobile. I've never seen a fire truck that needed to be shaved. I would rather be burned to death than be saved by this hairy piece of shit. F

Rachel, age 7

That's interesting, everyone in this picture is white. Even the rainbow is white. Perhaps in an ideal world, everyone would be white isn't that right, Rachel? Or should I call you RACIST? Nice try, Hitler. F

Jason, age 6

This one would receive an "A" if the assignment was to throw as much random shit onto a paper as poorly as you can. I've pissed patterns on snow that look more coherent than this. F

Seth, age 4

Vrrrroooooooooooommmmmm! F

Kelly, age 9

This was a Christmas gift from Kelly to her parents. Good job Kelly, now pack up your shit and find a foster home. If my kids tried to pass this off as a gift, they'd come home from school and find all their shit outside in a box. What a lousy gift, seriously. You give them video games and toys, and they give you some half-assed drawing with a crooked tree. I wonder how much a gift like this would set someone back. Five, maybe ten minutes to find a napkin and some markers? F

I can't believe how much I rule.

Wordless Wednesday

2010-05-05T13:27:00.002-04:00

Ok, I'm going to give this Wordless Wednesday thing a whirl! Guess I'll have to get used to the whole not over-explaining every emotion concept! So, just a brief explanation: Last night, after Ciaran's bath, I was trying to get him dressed for bed, but he had other plans, which included jumping around and shouting like a little maniac. So much for baths relaxing kids - it has the complete opposite effect on mine! Look at that cute little Gene Simmons imitation, though! Alright, I'll shut my trap now!

Bedtime Rocks!

Yipee!! I'm Jumping Aboard the Crazy Town Train!

2010-05-03T09:59:00.007-04:00

Well, it finally happened - I've run off to Crazy Town and I couldn't be more excited! No, I don't mean the loony bin or the psych ward, at least not yet, anyway. I'm talking about that fun and wacky place that The Mayor, also known as My Fairy Blogmother resides over! Yes, The Mayor has graciously requested me to write a guest post for her Mother's Day Mayhem event, happening this month and I'm extremely humbled to be the first among some really fine bloggers also taking part!

The Mayor is in!

I am so fortunate to have made The Mayor's acquaintance right after my very first blog post, when she greeted me to the blogosphere with open arms and became my first (and very often only) follower! Her encouragement and support continues to blow me away - she truly is a rare jewel, let me tell you!

In addition to her duties as Mayor, she is also the mother of four and still finds time to create buttons for us less tech-savvy Mama bloggers, while selflessly promoting our asses - 'cause that's how she rolls! Her wit and warmth shine through the chaotic & hilarious tales of life in Crazy Town and I'm super giddy and excited to be contributing to the insanity today!

Friday Funny

2010-04-30T12:38:00.000-04:00

After the week I've had I can not even begin to tell you how happy I am that it's Friday! Let's just say it was "one of those weeks" and leave it at that. Otherwise I may go on an excessively lengthy rant and I'd rather not bore, depress or annoy anyone.

So, today I'm keeping it light and fluffy and since it's Friday that can only mean one thing - Friday Funny time! Once again, thanks to Tracy, AKA The Mayor of Crazy Town for hosting her weekly FF blog hop! Got a funny story, joke or video to share? Post and link it up with The Mayor's handy Mr. Linky widget!

So, as promised last week (and because I'm still too brain-dead to come up with anything better), here are two more silly videos, this time involving goats.

Goats are amusing enough on their own; if you don't believe me try Googling "funny goats". There are literally over 1 million results. But my fav has to be this crazy critter:

Now, listen to him bleat it out with Usher:

Call me immature, but I could watch (and have watched) the yelling goat again and again. Sometimes when I'm having a bad day I'll put it on and life doesn't seem so serious. I like to think that's what the goat's trying to say, too.

"Hey you! Think your life sucks? What about me? Here I am tied up as these a-holes point a video camera and force me to sing with some horrible R&B music!!"

Guess even goats need to vent every now & then. Happy Friday everyone!

Hard Questions

2010-04-26T23:29:00.003-04:00

Ciaran's been asking some tough questions lately. At first, I thought I was answering them pretty well, but the truth is, they've become increasingly difficult and I find myself struggling to provide him with knowledgeable responses.

First of all, let me define "hard questions". I'm not taking about stuff like How did I get here? or Who's this Jesus person Nona's always going on about? No, I mean impossible-to-answer questions, like demanding to know who lives in a random house that we happen to pass by.

I start out by saying, "Well, people live there." Then he wants to know, "What people?" Then I might say something like "Probably a family, a mother and father and maybe some kids." But he keeps pushing me for more and more information and refuses to except the answer I ultimately resort to, that I just don't KNOW!

Now, I am usually a very calm, relaxed person, but these constant questions are DRIVING ME INSANE! I know it's probably all very normal and that children must ask questions in order to learn, but really? "Who lives in that house?" And the follow up question to that was "Why do they live so far away?"

I've tried giving short answers and brushing the question off, distracting him, "Oh, look over there, honey! A doggie!" Or the old answering a question with another question trick. "Who do you think lives there?" But this child's insatiable curiosity will not be ignored nor is he easily fooled.

Instead, I end up repeating the same answer over and over until he finally moves on to a new series of questions at which point my breathing rapidly becomes more shallow and my left eye starts twitching like a madwoman.

And Then! There's the Then, what happened? game. It goes like this:

Ciaran: "Mom, Why is the vacuum cleaner loud?'

Me: "Because it has a powerful motor."

Ciaran: "Why does it have a powerful motor?"

Me: "To vacuum up all the dirt and dust."

Ciaran: "It vacuums up dwurt and dust?"

Me: "Yes, that's what it does."

Ciaran: "And then what happens?'

Me (keeping it nice and calm): "Nothing. After the floors are clean, we turn off the vacuum and put it away."

Ciaran: "But what if it doesn't pick up the dwurt? Then what happens?"

Me (mild frustration creeping in): "Well, it will, honey, because that's how it works."

Ciaran: "But what if it doesn't work?"

Me (taking a deep breath): "Then, we'd have to fix it."

Ciaran: "And then what happens?"

These conversations can last ten, sometimes fifteen minutes. And depending on my state of mind, how much sleep I've had the night before, or whether or not I'm driving, I can become somewhat frazzled.

The only two child-rearing books I've read in my life "What to Expect When You're Expecting" and "What to Expect, the Toddler Years" have not prepared me for these constant questions. I'm a quiet person who likes to talk only when absolutely necessary. Perhaps it's time I revisit the Parenting section of my local Chapters and read up on the best way of handling this non-stop barrage of questions.

If I had to make an educated guess, I suppose kids ask questions repeatedly like this not only to learn, but for some kind of reassurance. I remember when he first started talking and he'd hear a louder-than-usual sound he'd say "Noise? Noise?" over and over and I'd have to keep talking to him about the noise until he felt better about it.

After that "What Happened?" became his catch phrase. If you so much as raised your voice slightly, dropped something or even sneezed, he'd come running over asking "What happened? What happened, Mommy?" And again, I'd have to convince him every time that no, the world was not coming to an end. I actually got really freaked out once when he said "What Happened?" like thirty times in a row. It was as though a fuse short-circuited in his little brain. Sometimes kids really know how to scare the crap out of you!

Now that I've vented my frustration at my son's questioning nature, I wouldn't be a proper Libra if I didn't look at the flip side of the situation. Often, his questions actually do make me smile and some have me biting my lip so I don't burst out laughing. I also have to wonder, where's he picking up this stuff. Yesterday, for example, he asked me "What's jail?" But I'd have to say, his recent inquiry "Where does piss come from?" really takes the cake!

Friday Funny Blog

2010-04-23T19:25:00.001-04:00

After reading about Tracy from Crazy Town's fantastic Friday Funny idea to post something humorous as an alternative to Follow Fridays, I knew immediately what to do. I have to also give props to Jesse over at Screw Your Courage, who introduced me to what I think are two of the most hilarious videos I've seen this year.

You may have seen the Charlie Bit My Finger video:

Cute, but you may not have seen it like this:

Maybe it's from lack of sleep, but something about adding AutoTune to regular talking just makes me laugh myself silly! Next week (if Tracy doesn't ban me) I might just post another hilarious parody of Usher singing with a goat!

Disclaimer

Please excuse any spelling, grammatical or other errors in this post as I'm typing this as my rambunctious son jumps up and down on the sofa beside me, while a toy mixer runs without cessation next to me and my husband is giving me an extra loud play-by-play of the neighbor across the street's wedding preparations (over the noise of the mixer and blaring tv). All this on just four hours sleep last night...Okay, time for my Friday night glass (or two) of wine!

The Invasion of the Ladybugs

2010-04-22T23:25:00.003-04:00

They came not in droves, but slowly, one by one into our home. The first one arrived about a year ago, received excitedly by Ciaran, who loves all things red, and now apparently, red with tiny black spots. It was plump, rubbery and kind of evil-looking, but my boy was delighted and so, we let the creature stay.

He looks menacing but he's harmless

This next specimen was handed over by his Dad as a bribe, one of many items given in such a manner, this time for sitting quietly while getting a haircut. (A cherry-flavored lollipop was also part of the bargain.)

Wind me up and watch me go!

By Christmas, news of Ciaran's insect collection had spread and good old St. Nick delivered a very special bug that lights up and is the perfect companion for little boys who are just a teeny bit afraid of the dark.

The added bonus of lights made this one an instant favorite!

Then, we spent New Year's Eve with a very dear friend, who also decided to add to our infestation with this fun little guy.

With 8 legs, he really gets around!

By now, a precedent had been set and whenever we'd see any red and black spotted object it would inevitably come home with us. Like these recent inhabitants:

And finally, seeing that we'd become some kind of crazy, red toy insect magnets, the mother of all ladybugs showed up on Ciaran's 4th birthday:

Unfortunately, our runaway cat got really freaked out and peed all over the above giganotosaurus, somewhat putting a damper on the birthday festivities, so we now keep it in a safe, high and dry locale.

So, what does one do, you ask, when such creatures have overtaken your living space and you can't go three feet without tripping over, kicking or accidentally stepping on a ladybug?

If you can't beat 'em join 'em!

The New Babysitter and The Man

2010-04-18T23:00:00.002-04:00

There's a new babysitter in town and I must say, she not only provides Ciaran with endless entertainment, but she's (mostly) quiet, well-mannered and hard-working too. I leave him in her care with complete ease of mind. I've never seen him so content in my absence; I can actually walk away without the usual clingy and tearful goodbyes that mar most of our partings. Her name? She goes by Whirlpool model no. YLSR7233EQO but my son lovingly refers to her as "washing masheen".

That's right, Ciaran is obsessed with a laundry room appliance and has been for over a year now. It started by letting him accompany me to the basement to sort and wash clothes, rather than leave him alone upstairs to get into who knows what kind of trouble. He was instantly fascinated. He's always had a thing for water - turning on the faucets at full blast, flushing the toilet over and over again. I finally told him that The Man would come and yell at him if he didn't stop wasting water. I had to, he wouldn't listen to my rationale on expending resources. I honestly don't even know who The Man is, but in Ciaran's little mind it must be a scary man. Not my proudest parenting tactic, but hey, it works and sometimes desperate measures need to be taken.

Anyway, once Ciaran discovered the spinner part of the machine, (the agitator, I think?) well, he went completely apey. Turns out he loves spinny stuff too. I can't tell you how many times he's asked me what the spinner is doing, why does it turn, how come it spins so fast? Question after question about something I'd never given much thought to other than cramming filthy clothes into and peeling clean ones out of.

I deferred him to his Dad, who explains these types of technical questions much better than I do. His Dad not only explained every working part of the machine, but in my absense took these pictures of Ciaran inside of it. (This is exactly why I rarely leave the two of them alone in the house):

In no time the kid could tell you what cycle the machine was on, just by standing at the top of the stairs and cocking his head towards the laundry room.

"Mom! Mom! I hear the rinse cycle!" And the joy in his wide-grinning face would have you believe Santa Claus himself had just dropped off a heaping sack of toys, or at the very least a handful of red lollipops.

"Mmm hmm", I respond. And every time I lug yet another basket of laundry down the stairs, my little helper races past me into the creepy, damp place where spiders hang out to seek out his new favorite pastime.

The routine goes something like this: Ciaran stands on an old kitchen chair directly in front of the washer, I select the time required per load and he starts the machine. I measure out the detergent and pass it to him to carefully dispense into the water. I hand him each article of clothing and he tosses them one by one into the sudsy abyss.

Yes, we are a dynamic duo. There's nothing that doesn't come out sparkling clean using our team effort - toys, money, household items - you name it. I dare anyone to find a grungy plush toy in my house. And coins? You'll never see the Queen's face gleam as brightly as it does on the spare change around here.

Yet, as cute as I found his washing machine fixation in the beginning, it quickly started to wear on me. He would not stop talking about it, asking even more questions, wanting to visit it after all the laundry (and other assorted items) were washed, and put away.

At first I'd hang out with him, until after the machine filled up and began its washing cycle, but he kept wanting to stay longer and longer. I tried dragging him away, but he'd sneak back down. Then, I did as other busy, tired parents do and just gave in.

So now, he stays in the laundry room until all cycles are complete and then yells up the stairs for me to bring down the next load. It's actually working out very well. I can clean up, make dinner, I even started my blog during one of his washing machine sojourns. I do check up on him often, just to make sure he hasn't stuck his hand into the machine or anything like that. But he's very cautious, and has been warned over and over about touching the machine when it's working. Besides, he does not want The Man dropping in on him and his favorite new babysitter.

Guilt

2010-04-14T23:03:00.003-04:00

Whether as a result of my religious upbringing (I'm an ex-Catholic - strong emphasis on the ex), or perhaps it's one of those emotions instilled in all mothers the moment they give birth, but some days, I have overwhelming feelings of guilt.

Most of it stems from things I feel I should be doing but am not, either because I'm too busy, tired or just plain overwhelmed at the thought of whatever I'm currently avoiding/ignoring/putting off until later. Some of it stems from things I am doing, but wish I were not.

There is so much to deal with during the course of a day that many little (or not so little) things get left by the wayside and pushed back to the place where guilt begins to fester.

I know I'm not alone, so I thought I'd share my top 10 guilt triggers. Maybe you'll relate. Or maybe I'm just a neurotic guilt-mongering, freak. Decide for yourself:

1. Not spending enough "quality" time with my son. Time itself is not the issue. When I'm not at work, he's with me all the time, especially lately, now with his Mama's Boy phase in full effect. It's the playing and teaching time where I feel I'm lacking.

2. Not spending enough time with hubby. I can't take full responsibility nor am I casting blame, but his job requires him to work long hours and at times, he'll get home, have a bite to eat and go straight to bed. It doesn't help that we don't have anyone close enough to babysit for more than a couple of hours at a time, so date night is nothing more than a novel idea for us.

3. Our Only Child dilemma. Not to totally re-hash my previous post, but if Ciaran had a sibling, or playmate his age, perhaps I'd feel less guilty about point #1.

4. No time for family. My entire immediate family lives in other provinces and now that we all have families of our own, we rarely talk, other than on birthdays and Christmas. I know that's life, but it makes me sad all the same.

5. Losing touch with friends. Same idea as #4, only my friends live much closer, so in some ways, it makes me feel worse. Even finding time to pick up the phone to say "hi" can be challenging. Especially since I forget all their phone numbers!

6. Not exercising enough. Supposedly I'd have more energy to expend if I exercised more. But if I have no energy, how can I exercise? It's a vicious, vicious circle, I tell you.

7. Not eating / making enough healthy meals. I try. I really do. As long as I don't buy junk food, I don't see it and therefore, am not as tempted to stuff my face with Sour Cream & Onion chips right before dinner. However, my husband does most of the grocery shopping (yes, in some ways I'm lucky) and he tends to pick up those naughty but oh-so-delicious snacks that I just can't resist!

8. Not reading enough. I love to read. It's my second biggest pleasure after writing and slightly before my love of caramel-flavored cheesecake. But, again, other less important but necessary evils such as laundry and housework often take precedence and my reading material (literally) gets shelved.

9. Not being career-oriented enough. I've never been one of those corporate ladder-climbing types. I've made mistakes and chosen paths I was not meant to follow (Hi, customer service rep position(s)!). I'm happy with the work I'm currently doing, although I still feel like I should be much further ahead at my age. It is nice that I can leave at 5:00 p.m. and go spend some (non-quality) time with my son.

10. Not thinking "positive" enough. This is one I struggle with more than I'd like to admit. I've read a few "positive thinking" books and I wholeheartedly subscribe to the idea of changing your thoughts and changing your life. Dr. Wayne Dyer is one of my favorite self-help gurus. It's a good thing he's not a cult leader because I swear, his voice could command me to do almost anything. However, being positive takes constant practice and I tend to fall back into negative thought patterns, thinking the worst in certain situations.

So there you have it - the things that make my guilt-consumed mind tick. It seems to me that if I had a handle on all of the above, I could finally reach perfection. Isn't that what most of us strive for? Of course, we know it's unattainable, but it doesn't stop us (me, at least) from constantly beating ourselves up. I am getting better at letting things go. All the little life lessons I'm learning as a Mom are slowly teaching me that some things are not worth worrying about.

The Lonely Child Dilemma

2010-04-11T22:55:00.006-04:00

Lately, I've been thinking about our only child situation. Worrying is more like it. I never intended for it to happen - it just turned out that way. Another baby is not an option for us now. I feel way too old and tired to go through it all again. Plus, I can't imagine loving another child half as much as I love Ciaran. Oh, I know I would, but it's just hard for me to picture.

He doesn't seem to mind not having a brother or sister. I guess not knowing any better he's fine playing on his own, talking for his stuffed animals and answering them back. (Maybe something else I should worry about?)

At any rate, he's a happy little guy, always laughing and making up silly songs, talking a mile a minute, asking a multitude of questions on any given subject.

I bring him to play in our local park, but we are, more often than not, the sole visitors there. Our neighborhood consists mainly of seniors citizens, and there are very few kids, let alone kids his age, to be found. It's lonely for me, with no other moms or dads to chat and compare our kids playing habits with. I'm sure it's even lonelier for my son, with no one to chase around or build sand castles with.

So, I send him off to daycare a couple of times a week for that all-important 'interaction with other children' I keep hearing about. But, all of a sudden, he is a different child. Withdrawn. Quiet. Sad.

I kiss and hug him goodbye and put on the "cheerful voice" I use whenever I feel guilty making him do something I know he doesn't want to. Maybe you're familiar with that voice too. It's slightly higher-pitched than normal, usually quite perky-sounding with undertones of anxiety.

"Okay, honey, have a good day. Have lots of fun! Mommy will be back just as soon as she can, okay? I promise, sweetie pie! Okay, bye, love you!"

He hugs me back dutifully but his eyes search mine questioningly. "Why are you leaving me here, Mom? Why can't I stay home with Nona again today?" they ask.

Every day I'd ask him how his day went, did he had fun, make any friends? As much as I am concerned for his well-being, I wanted to clear my guilty conscious. But, no, he didn't have much fun and he did not make any new friends. The friends at daycare were mean, he said. They yelled and pushed and were very very loud.

Then, one day, he started talking more and more about another little boy. Lucas. "Lucas, your cousin?" I'd ask. "No", he said. "Lucas my friend at daycare." He and Lucas had lots of fun together, mostly laughing and acting silly as 3 and 1/2 year old boys are apt to do. They giggled uncontrollably when they'd see each other and my heart felt much lighter, leaving Ciaran with his new little comrade.

They both wore the exact same red snowsuits and black hats and when I'd drop Ciaran off at daycare in the morning, he'd race to the little cubbies where the jackets are hung to see if Lucas' was there.

Then, one day, Lucas' jacket was not hanging with the others. "Oh", Ciaran frowned, "Lucas is not here". "Well, maybe he's coming a bit later," I said. "If not, then you'll see him on Friday."

But Friday came and went, then Monday, and still no Lucas. I later discovered after reading the monthly daycare newsletter, that Lucas, along with a few other children had left the center. The daycare expressed sadness to see them go and wished them the best of luck. It happens. Families move, mothers decide to stay home and take care of their little ones. I'm not sure which one applied to Lucas and his family. But my little boy still misses his friend.

The other day, while washing Ciaran's clothes, I noticed that his black hat felt different. Slightly more worn. I looked at the label inside the hat. The writing was not mine. Upon closer inspection I saw the name Lucas written on it. A remnant of my child's first friend.

Cult of Personality

2010-04-07T22:58:00.003-04:00

In my last post, I dished quite a bit about my Libra characteristics and pondered over whether or not my birth date had anything to do with who I am. To sum it up, I don't follow my horoscope regularly nor do I believe the stars can predict my future, but it is uncanny just how many Libra traits I feel describe me perfectly.

I also believe that there are certain personality traits we're born with, inherited no doubt, from our parents. Also, there's the nurture factor - the influence of our surrounding environment. It makes sense to me that both DNA and environment play a huge part in determining our personalities. But, I'm not here to debate the whole nature vs. nurture theory. What do I know? I'm no psychologist. Maybe I should have been, though. I do enjoy trying to figure out what makes people tick!

A work friend recently sent around an interesting personality test that had some of us amazed at the results. It's called the HumanMetrics Jung Typology test, based on the Carl Jung and Isabel Myers-Briggs typological approach to personality. Turns out I'm an ISFJ - Introvert, Something, Feeling, Judging. I think. Oops, I already forget. What I do remember is that I apparently have the same personality as both George Bush Sr. and Mother Teresa. Who knew?

If you find these kinds of tests as intriguing as I do, try it out when you have a few minutes. There are 72 yes or no questions, dealing with how you feel, act, or perceive certain senarios.

And, just to balance things out ('cause that's what us Libras are all about) I'm throwing in another quiz for you courtesy of Oprah.com. It's called Who Am I Meant to Be? and it supposedly helps you find your striving purpose. It's not quite as long as the HumanMetrics quiz, and although I'm not exactly sure how accurate it is, I was quite pleased to find out I'm an Intellectual, striving for knowledge.

My take-away on these personality tests? People are complex and can not be categorized by answering a few questions on a computer.On the other hand, it can be entertaining and maybe even give a wee bit of insight into your life. What are your thoughts? Have you tried taking these or similar personality tests? Did you learn anything about yourself that you're willing to share?

Getting to Know Me - Part One

2010-04-03T09:15:00.002-04:00

Psst! Wanna know some secrets about me? Stuff I've never shared with anyone else? Well, if you are reading my posts (and hopefully someone out there is) I thought it might be a good time to reveal a little more of myself and maybe dish the dirt, as they say.

As you've probably noticed, my astrological sign is that of the Libra. Born October 1, 19-none-of-your-beeswax. Kidding! Sort of. It's way too depressing to go there. Anyway, other than reading an occasional horoscope for entertainment, I really don't take the whole zodiac thing very seriously. I find it hard to believe that your date of birth somehow predetermines the kind of person you'll be.

I will admit though, that many characteristics I've read about Libras describe me pretty darn accurately. For instance the whole Needs to find harmony in every situation. I must weigh all sides of an argument over and over before coming to any kind of conclusion or decision. It does not help that my husband is also a Libra cursed the same ~~flaw~~ trait. You would not believe the amount of fence-sitting that goes on around here. A typical conversation goes something like this: (Disclaimer: this conversation took place pre-baby).

She Libra: What should we do this weekend?

He Libra: I don't know. What do you want to do?

She Libra: Maybe see a movie?

He Libra: Sure, if you want. Which movie?

She Libra: Hmm, how about (insert non chick-flick, non action-film, something-we-might- both-enjoy movie title here)?

He Libra: Doesn't matter to me. I'll leave it up to you.

She Libra: Early or late show?

He Libra: When do you think would be good?

And on and on it goes until we eventually hammer out the details or get overwhelmed by too many options and give up on trying to plan anything. This also explains why haven't gotten around to buying a house yet. We've literally spent years trying to decide on which neighborhood to live in.

The next Libra characteristic that I possess is Being neat. Yes, I am was a neat freak before having a little boy who colors and smears food on the walls and a cat that likes to barf everywhere. These days, if there are no puke or chocolate milk stains on the carpet I'm happy. That being said, I do tend to arrange and rearrange the same household items to the point of borderline obsessive-compulsiveness.

Other things Libras are supposed to like:

Beauty - Sure, who doesn't?
Subtle colors & textures - Sounds lovely
Haute Couture - In my dreams, definitely
Gifts - For me? You shouldn't have - but I'm really glad you did!

And some stuff Libras dislike:

Noise - Not a big fan
Confusion - No love for bewilderment here
Sloppiness - Is there anything worse?
Dirt - In a word, Blecch!
Being rushed - One of my biggest pet peeves. Ever.

Okay, so these aren't exactly earth-shattering revelations, but now you know a bit more about me and maybe about Libras in general. What about you? Does your astrological sign match your personality? Do you think it's possible that our fates have already been decided by the stars? Or do you think it's all hogwash? I'd love to hear your thoughts.

Next Time on My Life as a Libra - Stay tuned for Part Two to find out even more about me (who say's Libras are narcissistic?) and perhaps learn a few things about yourself with an interesting personality test!

A Birthday Love Letter

2010-03-28T22:06:00.003-04:00

Love at First Ultrasound

The first time I saw you, you were a wavy blur on a a black and white screen. The doctor pointed out your heart, complete with its tiny valves and my own heart skipped a beat or two. We watched you kick your little feet and swing your arms and I began counting the days until we'd meet. I also remember thinking, Man, that little thing sure is hyper. My first inkling of just what I was in for!

From Butterflies to The Irish Jig

As you grew inside me, those kicks got remarkably stronger. What started out as a ticklish butterfly feeling soon progressed to swift sharp jabs to the ribs. I imagined you kicking up your heels like some kind of fetal Michael Flatley doing the Riverdance. Christmas and Latino-style music really got you moving. Also, the sound of Jim Cramer's voice on Mad Money - BOOyah!

The Arrival

Exactly ten days after your due date, you finally introduced yourself. Very quietly. It actually kind of frightened me how little noise you made. Daddy Libra (yes, you have two Libra's parents) gave me the play-by-play as the nurses cleaned and wrapped you in a blue blanket. He's perfect, were the words I still remember him saying.

And so you were. A calm peacefulness resonated from you. I held you close and breathed in your newborn smell. Your big blue eyes locked on mine and I knew my life would never be the same. I'm your Mama, I started to explain. But you had a wisdom about you that seemed to already understand. Still, I had to say what I'd been waiting nine months to tell you. I am going to take very good care of you. I promise. You looked at me solemnly and the oath was sealed. Now, four years later those words mean just as much to me, if not more, as they did on the day you were born.

Happy Birthday My Beautiful Boy!!

Mama's Boy

2010-03-24T18:56:00.001-04:00

I'm sure it's just one of those never-ending phases that kids go through, but over the past year, Ciaran has become more and more clingy to me. It's gotten to the point where I can't go to the washroom without him wandering in behind me. I have to distract him with a toy or something so I can run to the ladies room & lock the door behind me. But as soon as he realizes I'm gone, he's dashing down the hall and pounding on the door shouting Mommy, Mommy! Let me in, I have to pee! So, of course, I open the door in case he really has to go, but 90% of the time he doesn't. Don't get me wrong, I love the fact that he wants to be around me, especially since it wasn't always that way.

For pretty much the first three years of his life, I could come and go without him blinking an eye. He would stay with anyone and barely seemed to notice when I'd leave or return. Once my mother-in-law commented about how strange it was that he didn't jump all over me when I came home. Like all her kids used to. I'll admit it - that got to me. I wondered if I was a good mom. If I was, was there something wrong with him? Like maybe he wasn't responding to me in a normal way? He seemed almost detached at times. My husband told me to stop analyzing things. But as every mom knows, it's impossible not to worry.

Now it's a different kind of worry. I worry about him starting school. I know sooner or later he'll have to break out of his shell, but he's started asking if I can ride the bus to school with him. The first time, I sort of brushed him off and said No, of course not, honey. Only kids go on the school bus. Then he got really quiet and didn't say anything for a long time. Thirty minutes later, when I'd already forgotten the conversation, he looked up at me with big, sad eyes and said Well, maybe Nona can ride the bus with me. It breaks my heart that he's already anxious about something that won't happen for months.

What he's also anxious about lately is anyone other than me dressing, bathing or feeding him. From the time he wakes up in the morning until bedtime, if I'm not the one rousing him from bed, getting his juice and putting on his slippers, all hell breaks loose. If my husband tries to help put him to bed or read a story, well, that's just asking for trouble. Ciaran will yell at him to Go away! and I want Mommy! And it's becoming very stressful, especially after coming home from a long day at work. I'm not liking the solo mothering thing. I have a whole new respect for single moms, because honestly, that's how I've been feeling lately.

On the other hand, while putting him to bed after snuggling up with a bedtime story, there's no better feeling in the world than hearing a little voice say I love you Mama, you're my favorite girwil! Guess I'll just suck it up and enjoy this phase while it lasts.

The Cat Came Back

2010-03-20T16:39:00.003-04:00

Long ago, back in our child-free days that I like to refer to as B.C., or Before Ciaran, my husband and I adopted our first baby - a cuddly little black and gray tabby kitten. Given our quirky natures, we named our tiny new fur-ball Dr. Acula - get it? Dracula? Well, we thought it was clever at the time. Anyway, our new pet really did live up to his name. After the first few playful months, that is.

In the beginning

He was as cute and mischievous as every other young feline. We changed his slightly sinister misnomer to a shortened and less threatening nickname of Acci. But then a change took place. One day the affectionate swats, nips and sweet little meows turned into fang-bearing hisses and deep guttural growls that seemed to be summoning something from the gates of hell. Pretty scary stuff. He'd stalk and attack us, taking pleasure in clawing and biting any bit of exposed flesh he could find.

Something had to be done

Being an indoor cat, we had him declawed, mostly for the sake of our wounded, scratched-up arms. After that, other than a few semi-vicious attacks, which drew blood on occasion, we managed to co-exist peacefully most of the time. He was like a child to us. A very temperamental one, but ours nonetheless. We had birthday parties for him every March 17 (yep - an extra special St. Paddy's Day for us!). I even bought him a Halloween witch costume, complete with cape and pointy hat. He did not find it nearly as humorous as I did.

We clearly needed children

The day we brought Ciaran home from the hospital was one of apprehension, mixed with delirious new-parent joy. While pregnant, I worried about how Acci would handle the arrival of a new baby. After warding off another spastic cat attack during a midnight fridge raid, I seriously considered well, dumping him. How could I justify potentially putting my newborn at risk? I struggled with the idea of giving Acci away, wrote down all the pros and cons and finally decided, well, if he attacks me one more time...

A change has come

Luckily for all of us, Acci must have sensed that things were not in his favor. From the moment we carefully introduced baby Ciaran to him, something in that little cat brain of his switched to calm. It was like he knew he'd better start behaving and once again, I witnessed a major transformation - this time for the better. He became a completely different animal. He would keep his distance until Baby C's bedtime and then creep silently into the family room, looking around to make sure the coast was clear. No kid? Whew, he seemed to be thinking while jumping up beside me for a quick petting session. And, for the past four years we've lived free of any bad kitty drama - up until last week.

The not-so-great escape

Last Wednesday evening, Tony slid open the back door and - whoosh - just like that Acci slipped out and disappeared into the night. The worst part is, I didn't notice he was gone for two whole days! I figured he was hiding in the basement or curled up asleep in the guestroom. His usual hang-outs. As always, I was too preoccupied with Ciaran, work or other everyday things to even bother checking up on him. Once I finally realized he'd never come in from his backyard jaunt, he'd been gone for two nights, most likely without food or water. On top of it all, for the last 24 hours it had been raining non-stop. My poor tamed beast was lost or... worse!

The Mission

After noticing that the food and water dishes we'd left out for him had not been touched, we knew more drastic measures had to be taken. He's out there somewhere, Tony insisted to my I have a bad feeling he's never coming home. If he won't come to us, we'll have to go to him, he said, pulling on his old running shoes and grabbing a broken umbrella. And, armed with a single piece of Kentucky Fried Chicken, umbrella thrashing in the wind, off he went in search of Dr. Acula.

Yes, that's right, KFC. Acci's most favorite thing to eat in the entire food kingdom. One sniff of that stuff and he'd meow and purr in a slightly deranged manner, rubbing his head against our legs until we'd relent and throw a bite or two in his direction. If anything could lure him back home, it was a delicious morsel of chicken coated with the Colonels secret recipe.

For an hour Tony roamed the neighborhood, peeking under cars and trees, chasing after any four legged creature that crossed his path. All the while shaking the piece of chicken like a madman. Pretty much normal behavior in this neck of the woods. (more on that in later posts). But, unfortunately, his efforts proved to be futile. He jumped in his car and circled our block for another hour or so, but still, no sign of Acci. We both kept watch out the windows for the rest of the evening, but in my mind, I'd come to accept the fact that he'd gone for good.

The Homecoming

For no other reason than perhaps his kitty senses were tingling, Tony decided to check outside one last time. At two in the morning. He figured that was normally Acci's most active time of night and he may have come out of hiding to begin his journey home. And lo and behold, there he was, sitting in front of the door, sniffing at the air, meowing and purring insanely, rubbing his head against Tony's leg. Once inside, he chowed down on his chicken, lapped up some water and crashed on his cozy yellow blanket for the better part of three days. As chaotic as it sometimes gets, our house finally feels back to normal now.

Welcome home Acci - we missed you!

Rainy Day Fun

2010-03-13T23:09:00.001-05:00

Ciaran's solution for keeping busy on a cold, rainy day - take every cushion & pillow in the house & pile 'em all up. He was not a happy camper when they inevitably came tumbling down!

A Blog of My Own

2010-03-13T17:19:00.001-05:00

I am super excited to have finally created my own blog! After years of worrying about whether or not I'd have anything worthwhile writing about, I decided to just do it! I mean, why not? I've always loved writing as a form of self-expression and had pretty much given up journaling when my son was born almost *gasp* 4 years ago?!

When I returned back to work after mat leave, I took a job as a copywriter which, unfortunately, did nothing to satisfy my creative side. I mean, I love shoes as much as the next woman, (in fact, maybe even slightly more - just ask my husband) but really, how many different ways can you describe them? They're shoes - you buy a nice pair in your size aaannd you wear them on your feet. The end. On the plus side, shoes are much more interesting than say sink faucets or self-watering plant containers. Yes, come to think of it, I've reviewed & written about way more boring things than shoes!

Now here I am with my very own blog, over which I have complete creative control! This is completely awesome! The best thing is I already have tons of things to talk about, all inspired by my somewhat crazy everyday life. The challenge for me will be finding the time to post them all!

I can't wait to tell you all about my cutie patootie, ladybug-loving, washing machine obsessed, Ciaran, Daddy Tony and our very charismatic (ok, not really) tabby Acci, otherwise known as Dr. Acula.

So, feel free to drop by anytime and peek in at this wonderful cast of characters, not to mention my work (and life) in progress!