I uh, don't know how to tell you this...but I may have VBS, it's pretty contagious.

It's summer vacation here (wait, wasn't it May a minute ago?) right, well, anyway, moving right along... On the last day of school I brought my daughter home in tears. The idea of spending 2 months at home with me instead of at school with her friends and teacher was just too awful for her to bear.

Adam and I have no friends (fine, maybe a couple, but seriously not a lot.) While we like to get out and have grown-up fun once in a while, for the most part we tend to stay home alone, content with each others company and/or a good book. Were it not for the demands of parenting, I think I would probably live all alone and go for days or weeks at a time without any human interaction whatsoever. Adam likes people, but he's too lazy to bother leaving the house unless he has to work. When we are forced into social situations outside of our comfort zones we are inevitably the most awkward couple in the room. I loose the power of speech and sit there fidgeting in a corner until I force myself to say something I think is funny, but it turns out that after a few hours of sullen-looking silence my hysterical commentary comes off as sarcastic and bitchy and completely inappropriate. Adam, on the other hand, can't shut the fuck up to save his life. He starts to babble incessantly and is unable to detect the subtle social cues that would indicate to a normal person that the party to whom he is speaking has no interest whatsoever the the subject matter that he refuses to drop, no matter how many times they might try to politely change the subject. Alcohol helps. A lot. It helps me anyway, actually it just makes Adam talk louder.

All of this would seem to indicate that our anti-social tendencies far outweigh our honest desire to make friends. How is it then, that the two of us combined have created the most outgoing, friendly, social butterfly of a child on earth? Skylar loves people. People are absolutely crucial to her happiness on a day to day basis. She wants friends over every single day, she adores school and organized activities and she just sucks at playing quietly by herself. While all of my school report cards said " needs to participate more in class" Skylar's report cards say "needs to remember to give the other children a chance to speak" The kid thrives on company and structured activities, which, given my aforementioned general suckyness in those departments, I am simply not able to provide her with for 2 long months.

The obvious solution is summer camp. Yay! Summer camp with the friends and the games and the crafts and so on and so forth, whoo hoo! Except I'm still out of a job and summer camp is blindingly expensive, so scratch that idea. If only there was something like camp...but free.

Thus we arrive at my decision to send her to Vacation Bible School. VBS as the cool Christians call it. VBS where children play games and sing songs and make friends and are cheerfully brainwashed by Faith. I'm not an atheist, nor am I vehemently anti-christian, but I really don't have much use for organized religion as a whole. (I'm not a bigot. I think they're all equally bullshit) That being said, I do believe in spirituality and I respect every persons right to believe whatever they like. I just wish more people would put an honest effort into deciding what that is, instead of unquestioningly following their parents religion because it's the only one they know. I want my children to be free to ask questions and be given thoughtful answers. I do not want people telling them that THIS is the only right answer and you'd better get on board with it or you're going to hell. So I was nervous about sending Skylar to a place where she would be on her own with kids who have been going to church all their lives and adults who feel called upon to spread their faith like a VD to anyone they possibly can.

I wish there were more options around here. I wish I could send her to Hebrew school one week and Buddhist camp the next to balance out her theological education, but I really can't. Around here all the churches have different names, but they all preach pretty much the same dogma. Yet another drawback to small town life.

But it's free!

So I sent her off to VBS to learn about "Joseph's Journey to Egypt" Which, hey! I saw the musical! Donny Osmond kicked ass! How bad could it be? And she loved it. And apparently she had no problem with being the only kid there whose knowledge of the Bible was less than sub-par. And she came home every day singing about being a Child of God (That part bothered me a bit but damn those songs were catchy!)

The last day arrived and we all got ready to attend the show/presentation/sneak attack church service that night. The kids were adorable in their Egyptian make-up and the brainwashing songs were upbeat. Then there was a prayer. All through the hall people bowed their heads and fell silent as Adam showed Eden how to close her eyes and fold her hands. She looked around at all the quiet adults with their eyes shut, grabbed the hand of the little girl sitting beside her and yelled "Come on! It's our turn to hide!"

We're going to hell.

.............

P.S. Yes, Adam and Eden. Ha ha ha. Irony.

PHD, it's real.

Hi! I'm back from Florida!

Right, fine, actually I've been back for like, two weeks now but I've only just got over the post-holiday depression. Does everyone else get this? It's almost enough to make me swear off vacations all together, but that's an even more depressing thought so then I figured I'd plan my next vacation right away to give myself something to look forward to, but I have no money so I really can't justify another holiday for a few years yet...I have almost decided to give in and get married just to have an excuse to take another trip. That's totally a good reason right? Stop judging me or you will not be invited to my fantasy Caribbean wedding cruise!

Basically, on the final day of every trip I've ever taken I start to get mopey and sad because it's over and I don't want it to be over and it will be I forever before I get to go away again so I have nothing to look forward to anymore and suddenly my life is so boring and I hate my job and the weather back home sucks and my house is extra cramped and messy and I hate hate hate having a routine and so on and so forth. This time it was even worse because while I was away I got to meet the family I never knew I had and (much to my surprise) I fell in love with them, hard, and I'm not likely to see any of them again for an extremely long time, sigh.

Then the night I got home I found half of my fish swimming in an aquarium full of green tea (the other half were no longer swimming) because my well-meaning aunt had decided to feed them from an unmarked Tupperware container instead of the little jar with the picture of the fish on the label so I got to spend several hours cleaning out a fish tank (FYI if you don't have fish: this is a dirty, smelly, awkward, messy, time consuming job.) after having travelled since 8 am with a 6 year old through 2 flights, 3 airports and a 2 hour drive.

The next morning I picked up my 2 year old from her grandparents house. It felt wrong. I had missed her like crazy and I just wanted to pick her up and squish her back into her place in my heart but somehow... I don't know. She was different. It's as though she has always been a part of me, an extension of my own body if you will. But by abandoning her for 10 days I had strained that connection. Suddenly she was her own little person, independent of me. I was not ready for that. Much guilt ensued.

The next day I went back to work at my crappy minimum wage job at a convenience store, which is still the best job I've ever had, only to find out that the store will be closing at the end of the month and I'll be out of a job with rent to pay and credit card bills freshly rung up from holiday making.

Soon after that I developed a massive rash. It's ugly and so itchy I want to take a potato peeler to my skin except then I would have no skin left because it's all over my body including my face: ears, nose, motherfucking eyelids I tell you...but yet not on my feet or my butt which is cool because scratching that all the live-long day might be socially awkward. My doctor's official diagnosis, corroborated by 3 other medical professionals (one of whom was googling my malady on his phone I swear) was: "Huh, weird!" He referred me to a dermatologist who called to set up my appointment: November 8th. I will have no skin left by November 8th people! Sorry, being itchy makes me grumpy.

Seriously though, it was an awesome vacation and I will totally tell you all about it when I'm in a better mood, m'k?

Happy Valentine's Day!

Me- Eew, what are you doing?

Adam- Uum, kissing you?

Me-Yeah, I don't think that's gonna happen. You're all sick and mucous-y and gross.

Adam- But I'm extra warm, that's a plus right?

Me- I like warmth, not germs.

Adam- We could do this without any kissing?

Me- Hmm, maybe...no wait...Does jizz have germs?

Adam-Huh?

Me- I mean, it must have germs. That's how STD's work, right? But does it have cold germs? Like spit and snot? Or is it somehow immune?

Adam- I...don't...think so..?

Me- Research that and get back to me.

..........................

Hope your Valentine's Day was super romantic too!

HI, I'm still alive! I know, you were worried right?

Sooo...where were we...early November. Shit. OK something must have happened since then huh?


We went to a play. An English Pantomime to be specific. My mom has some mobility issues, so she's decided that it will be her role to enrich my children's lives through the magic of live theatre since taking the girls ice skating, tobogganing, skiing, or anything else that requires walking, running, standing or any other kind of movement is pretty much out.

When she told me she'd bought these tickets I've got to admit that the words "English Pantomime" made me think of a mime with bad teeth, but it turned out to be a really hysterical production of Robin Hood where you get to yell at the actors and boo the bad guys (one of whom was portrayed by Major Bedhead from the Big Comfy Couch, parents will know who I'm talking about) and featuring some new characters like the drag queen Nurse and Larry the Snow Fairy. The kids loved it. Even Eden sat through the entire thing without getting squirmy or bored.

After the show Major Bedhead (who probably has a real name, but who really cares? Besides him I guess, and maybe his mother) called a few kids up on stage for some audience participation game type things and Skylar was one of the chosen few. As she took her place on stage he complimented her elegant dress and she responded by picking her tights out of her crotch. As he went on down the line asking names (and making fun of them) Eden noticed that Skylar was up on stage and there followed an intense wrestling match with her father as Adam tried to prevent her from running up to join her sister. Eventually the two year old kicked his ass and made a break down the aisle towards the stage. Skylar saw this and started yelling to Major Bedhead
"My sister! My sister wants to come up too!"

Since the Major knows entertainment value when he sees it, he helped Eden crawl up onto the stage and everyone "Awww"d as she took her sister's hand. Then the two of them stood there beaming and waving and ignoring instructions until the interlude was done and candy was distributed to one and all. As we walked out of the theatre they were graciously applauded and hailed as the stars of the show.

Next year's show is Peter Pan.

Giddy Up!

Skylar has been talking about her sixth birthday party since the second her fifth birthday party ended. Over the past year she has invited several hundred classmates, team mates, relatives of friends, vague acquaintances and random strangers to this party and every time she has told them it was going to be a "Cowgirl" party. Her non-stop party gibber-jabber drove me to the edge of insanity until the day that I finally snapped and forbade her to mention The Party again for the next nine months. This didn't actually work, but at least it took the round-the-clock badgering down to a more manageable tendency to mention it only when attending someone else's birthday party, seeing a party in a book or on TV, viewing a toy commercial or meeting a new friend (which happens to my child any time she is allowed out of the house)

So you can see how I could totally have forgotten to plan her a birthday party. 'Cause I suck.

OK, maybe I didn't forget. Maybe I just procrastinated due to my total lack of social skills and my inability to organize and my horror at the thought of having to communicate with other parents and my even greater horror at the thought of exposing my tiny, dingy home to those other parents and the depredations of their sugar-crazed offspring.

In the end I punked out. I just couldn't stand the thought of playing hostess and planning asinine games and decorating with a suitable "Cowgirl" theme. No way, we had to take this show on the road.

Me- So Goober, do you still want a Cowgirl Birthday Party?

Skylar- YESYESYESYESYESYYYESYYYYYYYYYYYYEEEEEEEEEEEESSSSS!!!!!

Me- Do you think we should go ride some real horses?

Skylar- Holyfuckingcrap, YES! (not exactly, but that's definitely what she meant to say)

So I embarked on a quest to find a horse.
-Hell no, I don't want you to bring horses to my house!
-Not available until November?
-How much!!!??

And eventually we found a place where we could rent a couple of horses (and a matching set of handlers) for an hour and then eat some cake in a barn. Whoo Hoo! The only down-side was that it was a 45 minute drive away.

We sent out invitations. I forced Skylar to pare down her guest list ruthlessly. I told her that since she was turning 6 she could invite 6 kids (That's it, just six. 1 2 3 4 5 6, and nooooo kindergarten!) Every single one RSVP'd in the affirmative, saying that such and such a child would be thrilled to attend, but no, the parents had no desire to come along, thanks. So with Skylar and Eden and a couple of cousins we had 10 little girls to transport. Skylar picked out an ice cream cake. We got loot bags and Hannah Montana plates and paper hats. Then Skylar told me she'd changed her mind. She thought maybe she didn't want horseback rides after all. What the hell, child? There are starving children in Africa who would give their left nut for a cowgirl birthday party and you are getting fucking pony rides and you will bloody well like it! But it turned out she had just remembered that she wanted a pinata, which had to hang from a certain tree in the yard, which would mean we would have to stay home. So we got a pinata (do you have any idea how much pinatas cost? Too much to smash with a freaking bat, that's how much) and promised to do that once we got back to the house but before the parents came to collect their kids. The spoiled, spoiled little princess was appeased and the plans went forward.

On the day of the party (a week after the real birthday, because again, I'm a slacker) the kids began to trickle in and we collected gifts and booster seats and loaded up the two vans we had commandeered for the occasion while the screaming little psychopaths ran wild after the cats. Did you know that three booster seats will not fit on the rear bench of a mini van? We didn't. We do now. Shit. We would need a third vehicle, dammit. Then at the last minute we were saved by our good friend alcohol. It turns out one mom had spent the previous night at a much more grown-up party and had completely forgotten to bring her daughters over thanks to her mind-numbing hangover. We would be two kids short, which is sad for boozy mom's kids but hella convenient for us because we could now dispense with the third vehicle.

If you can possibly avoid it you should never let yourself be trapped in a car full of six year old girls. The shrieking. The squealing. The endless bathroom humour. That road has never been so long.

We collected helmets and signed waivers on behalf of other people's children and herded them into a barn. The first two kids were mounted onto bored looking ponies and the rest were subdued with cheese and crackers. Then the handlers led those two kids outside to walk around the yard. Except as they were leaving the barn the ginormous sliding door took a homicidal plunge downward and attempted to decapitate one of the Emilys. Funny, this scenario never occurred to me while I was signing those waivers. Luckily, the kid shook it off and declined to get off of the horse, so I hopefully won't be hearing from her parent's lawyers.

We rotated all the girls through their pony rides, but the highlight of the day was the big ass pile of hay. They seriously enjoyed that hay. If you're planning a birthday party you should probably just get a big pile of hay. They'll be talking about it for years. They'll probably also be picking hay out of their ears and ass cracks for years.

We had ice cream cake, because Skylar will not eat non-ice-cream cake. Some kid decided the time had come to tell us that she was allergic to dairy and was not allowed to have milk, ice cream or cheese. Surely if this was serious her mother would have SAID SOMETHING? Meh, the child was still alive and showing no signs of distress when I handed her over and it became officially not my problem.

We got everyone home and survived the pinata and present unwrapping ceremonies without injury or loss of life and the parents arrived to whisk their sugar filled, hay covered, horsey-smelling daughters home for dinner. Good luck with that.

Basically, it was a great day. Lots of fun, lots of laughs. Almost no tears (except for that poor kid who almost got her head cut off and that's a reasonable excuse) and no mess at all in my house. Nice.

Did I mention Skylar is six? SIX. Not a baby or a toddler or a preschooler or a kindergartner or anything but a full fledged six year old, full time schooling, gymnastics taking, eye-rolling, smart-talking, joke-telling, big-sistering, breakfast-making, book reading, brilliant, awesome kid. Wow.
*sigh* well I almost made it through this post without getting sentimental. Happy Birthday, Goober.

The end of my summer, condensed.

It has been pointed out to me that I have not written in a while. Whoo hoo, somebody noticed!
Sooo...let's see:

I went on vacation! It was great. I drank wine and climbed mountains (fine, I rode up a mountain in a gondola-like-tram-thing, I'm not a super-hero here) I shopped and took pictures and caught up with friends I haven't seen in years and drank more wine and splashed in the ocean (ish) and fell in love with the scenery and rode ferries and skybusses and other exotic forms of transportation. I'd tell you all about it, but in all honestly there's only like three people who actually read this and two of you were there. I'd like to thank you both for your organization, hospitality, entertainment, and all around awesomeness as well as for your patience with my public transit retardation (I totally failed to follow even your most basic written instructions) and for the phrase "Gear down, Big Rig." best delivered with a Scottish brogue. To the other one: Sorry, you shoulda been. It was boss.

I worked, but I don't get paid enough to deal with shit like this:
Stupid Kid:What can I get for this? dumping a hand full of coins on my counter and waiting expectantly.
Me: I can't do this with you today. I've got a line-up. You're going to have to count it yourself and figure out what you want. translation: you're not cute enough to get away with this bullshit.
Stupid Kid: How much would it be for a Froster and a Skittles and a Rollo and a Push-Pop?
Me: What size Froster?
Stupid Kid: What's the biggest I can get for this much money?
Me: How much money do you have?
Stupid Kid: uuuuuuhhh...less than three dollars?
Me: You can't get all that stuff.
Stupid Kid: How much is a large Froster and a bag of Skittles with tax?
Me: Around 3 dollars.
Stupid Kid: How much exactly?
Me: Here's a calculator if you'd like to figure it out.
Stupid Kid: Huh? can't you just scan it all in?
Me: No, because I only get the taxes included if I push it in as a sale and total it and then I'd have to cancel it and do it again a dozen times as you fuck around trying to spend every last penny and every time I void a sale I have to print a receipt and write the reason WHY and I can only do that so many times a day and I'm not wasting them all on you AGAIN. Do you see the line of people I'm dealing with here? Do you think this stack of porn is going to price and shelf itself? Guess what kid, porn doesn't just happen. It's my JOB. "No."
Stupid Kid: UUh...what do I do?
Me: Jesus, this twit has got to be 13 years old, what the hell do they teach them in school these days? Add the prices of the Froster and the Skittles together. 1.69+0.99.
Me, to another customer: That's $1.34, Sir. Debit?
Stupid Kid: A dollar thirty four plus what?
Me: No, not you.
Stupid Kid: Then what?
Me: multiply by 0.12 for the tax.
Stupid Kid: Divide by what?
Me, to another customer: Sorry, only the bags of milk are on sale, not the jugs.
Stupid Kid: Is that all?
Me: No, add that number to your original total.
Stupid Kid: A dollar sixty-nine?
Me: No, the Skittles and the Froster together.
Stupid Kid: I forget that.
we repeat the process, step by step, between serving customers, making coffee and pricing chocolate bars.
Stupid Kid: I got a hundred and forty-two dollars and seventy-three cents.
Me: Yes, that's exactly right.

My kid started school. Grade school. Real, 5 day a week, no longer any kind of pre-school school. Where the big kids go. Every day.
In first grade there is homework. We get a book at the beginning of the week. This week it was "Feet." On Monday we're supposed to talk about the pictures. On Tuesday I'm supposed to read the book to her. On Wednesday she's supposed to pick out a few words and so on and so forth until we're so sick of "Feet" we could just puke. Finally she's supposed to answer an asinine question about "Feet." each day. That's the procedure anyway. Except my kid read the book to me on the first day without assistance and her answer to the question "I wonder..." was:
"I wonder why I can't read a properly written book? Who says 'I keep my feet warm. I wear socks'? Why wouldn't you just say 'I wear socks to keep my feet warm? And who cares about feet anyway?"
Well done, my child.

I got a dog. Skylar has been begging for a dog for years and my response has always been: When we get a bigger house. It doesn't look like that's going to happen any time soon, but that didn't stop her from telling everyone she meets that we are going to be getting a dog. A three year old dog, with curly ears, to be specific. So I started reading adds and searching shelters and signing up for Internet dating type services where you are matched up with the pet of your dreams based on age, race, interests and astrological signs. Have you tried to adopt a dog lately? I'm not trying to adopt a baby from China here people, do we seriously need to know about my obedience philosophies, nutrition plans, household income, the lives and deaths of all my past and present pets, and so on and so forth? I'm not even exaggerating here. They wanted to interview every member of my family and come over for a house check, from Toronto, not for free either. They require references and an account with a veterinarian. And it's still around $300-$400. I was bitching about all this while my mom was on the phone ('cause I'm considerate like that) and her friend had a friend of hers in the background and she said she was looking for a home for her dog. He's a three year old Cocker Spaniel (read: curly ears) and he's free. The next day we had a dog.

More on that later.

The most amazing 2 years of my life.

Shortly after midnight, July 16 2007.

Shortly after midnight, July 16 2009

Happy Birthday Eden Ariana.

mini vaycay

HI! It's been a while, I know. Been busy. Lots to do. Also, I'm lazy and easily distracted.

Sooo...where were we? Father's day. Right. On that day we dumped our adorable children at Adam's parents place to celebrate with their Papa and we hightailed it to Niagara Falls.

It had occurred to us (Me) that not once in seven years had the two of us gone away for a weekend. We've gone to visit friends or camp out with old buddies or gone our separate ways for a few days now and then, but never actually spent a child-free weekend alone together. I felt it was time to remedy this omission, if only out of morbid curiosity as to whether or not we still had the capacity to get along without the prop of day-to-day life.

So, yes. Niagara Falls, where we enjoyed the most fantastical hotel room our poor, lower-class eyes had ever beheld. With floor to ceiling windows around two walls overlooking both the Canadian and American falls, a king sized bed which we tried out within minutes of walking through the doors and a jacuzzi big enough for the two of us and a bottle of wine.

Fireworks at Niagara Falls. I was going to delete this picture, cause it's boring, but Adam said not to because:
"Look at all those Orbs!"
"Orbs?"
"You know, that's how ghosts look in photographs."
"Uum, we're at Niagara freaking Falls. I think that's caller Water."
"Maybe lots of ghosts decide to come here before they cross over."
"Unfortunate to come on a fireworks night then. Just imagine! Hey, don't go towards the lights! They buuurrnnnn!"

The next day we went to Wonderland and rode the kick-ass new roller coaster: Behemoth ( I highly recommend it, as a roller coaster aficionado) and generally had all the fun that theme parks can provide when you don't bring along kids to whine and complain about standing in line, and get tired and throw fits when they're too short to get on the good rides, and throw more fits because they want some over-priced crap that you'll then have to carry around for the rest of the day, and fall asleep, and slather with sunscreen, and demand to be carried, and beg for ice cream, and throw up the ice cream, and why the hell do they allow children in amusement parks anyway?

We spent that night at what turned out to be a university residence rented out as a hotel for the summer. Less grand yes, but dude, we had a microwave!

Then off to Wasaga Beach for relaxing in the sun. Which was pretty much all we could do there since the water was frigid and filled with some nasty yellow plant-life or sewage spill residue (we debated which it might be and decided we didn't really want to swim anyway) and the entire tourist district burned down a year or two ago and hasn't quite been rebuilt yet.

Then we came home, collected our offspring and enjoyed the first week of summer vacation by: Attending swimming lessons with Skylar. Going to work. Babysitting a crippled dog. Turning 24 and 26, respectively. Playing the wii my mom got us for our birthdays (thanks Mom! p.s. my mom doesn't read this). Filling a kiddie pool in the back yard. Trying to find a teenage babysitter (no luck whatsoever, know anyone?) and going to see UP, which I found hilarious but my kid found by turns terrifying and sad, except for the part about the squirrel, that she liked.



Fun in our own backyard. Happy Canada Day!

Happy Father's Day

"What's your daddy's name?"

"I don't have a daddy."

"Did he die?"

"No, I just don't have one."

"Well, if he didn't die then you must have one. Everyone does."

"Well, I don't."


I had this conversation a few times when I was a kid. Not many, mind you. I was never teased or ostracized or anything old-fashioned like that. But every once in a while someone would ask.


Of course everyone does have a father, mine's name was Tom. He was a liar and a drunk and my mom left him when I was just a few months old, because it was best for me. But she never stopped loving him. She missed him. She never dated anyone else while I was growing up. Maybe because she didn't want me getting attached to someone who might not stick around, maybe because she was afraid of getting hurt, maybe because she simply wasn't interested in male companionship. Whatever the reason, she raised me alone and she did a damn fine job. I never wanted a father, never felt I lacked for anything, never blamed him for leaving. I was perfectly happy in my place at the center of the universe with all of my mom's attention focused squarely on me.


Every Sunday my aunts would bring my cousins over to our place and we would play together while the grown-up ladies chatted and played cards. I didn't have any uncles. My cousins were not the ones who asked my daddy's name. Not all of them knew their own. Fathers were an obscure concept. A little frightening, as the unknown always is. And nothing of any real importance anyway. Sure, some people had them, but they certainly weren't necessary. Children belonged to their mothers and it was as simple as that.


When I was eleven my mom started seeing Tom again. I was not supportive. As I said before, I never blamed him for leaving, but boy was I ever pissed with him for coming back. I resented the intrusion. I was a spoiled brat and I hated the thought of sharing my mom's affection with anyone, whether he happened to be my father or not. I barely spoke to him. I stormed off to my room to sulk when he visited. She was happy when it was just the two of us right? Why did he have to come and ruin everything! I hated the sound of his big stupid booming laugh coming up the stairs.


Then he got sick. My mom started spending most of her time at the hospital with him and I was alone a lot. Finally I consented to go see him.


He was more than half delirious and in his more coherent moments he declared he was going to die that night. He wanted a priest. Luckily, hospitals have some of those handy and someone went to fetch one. While we waited I stared at this stranger who was my father. He was shrunken and emaciated, with waxy skin drooping from his wrinkled face. He kept pushing his oxygen mask up onto his forehead, so his fingers were turning purple, yellow and green. He asked my mom to pick him up and shake him. He said he'd be just fine if she would just lift him up and give him a good shake to get everything back in it's proper place. She told him she couldn't. He was too heavy. I thought she was probably wrong about that. She asked me to help her move him instead. She told me to grab the corners of the little sheet he was laying on and we'd slide him up in the bed a bit. I took hold of my side and we started to lift, but as we moved him his blanket started to slip and I could see that his gown was all rucked up around his waist and his bony hip underneath and part of a bedsore and oh my god I did NOT want to see him naked and holy crap he's so light and...I let go and ran out of the room and down the hall to the bathroom. When I came back the priest (minister? padre? whatever, it was a woman with a bible) was there. She asked if I was his granddaughter and I said nothing. My mom choked out that I was his daughter. The woman asked if I was remembering all the good times I'd had with my dad and I continued to say nothing. This time Tom answered for me. "She certainly is not." The man had only the barest grasp of reality at that point, but one thing he was aware of was that I hated him. His eyes rolled around the room and he jammed a finger up his nose to get at the pesky dry itch. Then he reached out to me. "I think he wants to hold your hand" my mom explained, as I stood there dumbly. Are you serious? Did you not just see him picking his nose? I managed to overcome my raging brattishness and took his hand. It was an odd sensation. The skin was hard, calloused and cold, but it felt like warm liquid inside. Like a leather water balloon, half full and squashy. The fingertips were green from lack of oxygen. I was surprised that the overall impression was one of life. It was the first and only time I remember ever holding my father's hand.
.......

"Adam, please call me, or come to my house or something as soon as you get this message, no matter what time it is..."

"What's going on? are you OK?"

"I went to the hospital today and got a test...Adam, it was positive."

"...Well...that makes things...interesting."


...


Shit. Why did I freak out and tell him? Why couldn't I just keep my damn mouth shut and get an abortion or break up with him and then put it up for adoption. It's none of his business anyway right? This is MY life, not his! Stupid, stupid, stupid!
...


"Look, I just want you to know that I'm not expecting anything OK? I mean, you can be involved if you want to, but I don't want you to feel obligated or anything. Like, I'm fine on my own, OK?"

"What are you talking about? Of course I'm involved!"

"If that's what you want, fine. But just don't, you know, feel like you have to stay with ME or anything, you know, if you don't really want me..."

"Do you want me to leave?"

"Let's just see how things go, and see what happens."
...


I finished my senior year of high school and found a prom dress that accommodated my 6 month belly. Adam went to school in Toronto and drove back so visit me every weekend. While my friends prepared for university, I spent the summer renovating the tiny, run-down apartment we would live in. It was the loneliest summer of my life. Adam moved in at the beginning of September, when his course was over, and we had 2 weeks to get accustomed to each other before we became parents.

Despite having tried to push him away, I soon realized how glad I was that he hadn't accepted the offer. I couldn't have done it by myself. I know there are women out there who rock the single mom thing, but I'm not one of them. During those first few crazy months of adjustment, reassessment, sleep deprivation, depression and anxiety, Adam's presence probably saved Skylar's life and my own as well. I was a mess. My self-centered upbringing had left me totally unprepared to dedicate my life to someone else. I was resentful and bitter towards my baby for stealing my freedom. Instead of bonding with her I grew more and more distant. I began to hate breastfeeding her. I would spend her feeding sessions crying and fighting back the nausea that filled me as this big pink parasite sucked me dry. She would cry for what seemed like hours every evening and images started flashing in my head of just how easy it would be to make the screaming STOP. The worst part is that it wasn't any sense of love or decency that prevented me from doing it. It was just a small, bored voice in the back of my mind that told me not to bother, because I'd just end up in jail and I still wouldn't be free. To this day I still feel sick when I think about what might have happened if the screaming had gone on just a bit longer, or louder, and drowned out that voice. I used to think mother's who claimed post-partum depression made them kill their babies were lying monsters, but now I just feel sorry for them. If it wasn't for Adam I might have been one of them. But he was there. He was there pacing the floor for hours on end with an inconsolable baby on his shoulder while I hid uselessly in another room. He was there rubbing my back and telling me it was OK while Skylar nursed. He was there wearing a snuggli and carrying the baby for miles while we explored the countryside together, growing calm and happy with the physical exertion and fresh air. He was there making meals when I couldn't be bothered. He was there holding me at night while I cried myself out, thinking about what an awful, worthless person I was, making me believe that maybe there was someone in the world who wanted me anyway.

I got better. I fell in love with my baby and came to appreciate it all the more because it hadn't come naturally. Time and experience made me a better person, and while I can still be selfish and impatient, I have learned how to put others first. Adam taught me that. It still surprises me that I learned to love a man. I'm still pleasantly shocked every time he holds me in his arms and I realize that I feel completely safe and comfortable and right.

Over the next six years we grew into a real family, as opposed to a couple of scared kids and a baby unfortunate enough to be stuck with them. As a father and a partner Adam has surpassed all of my expectations. He is kind and compassionate, patient and playful, strong and intelligent. He carries the girls on his shoulders, submits to playing Barbies and dress-up. He can be trusted to care for them when I'm not around. He puts up with my shit, whereas I would long ago have punched myself in the mouth. He snuggles. He sees the humor in day to day life. He believes in magic. He packs school lunches and changes cloth diapers. He makes sacrifices for the three of us. Most of all, he loves. He just radiates love unabashedly all around him, towards his daughters, and for some reason I'll never understand, towards me as well.

I just wanted to say that I appreciate it.

Thank you for being you. Thank you for teaching me what fathers can be. Thank you for sticking out the hard times and adding to the good times. Thank you for loving us.
We love you too.

Happy Father's Day.

Easter: Lessons in greed.

There are several religious interpretations of Easter, but for us it was pretty much about family and chocolate. Oh, and passing on character lessons about the importance of greed.

Lesson 1: Easter at Adam's Parents. Time is of the essence!

You mean there's going to be chocolate AND blueberry cake?!

This was Eden's first egg hunt. She approached it the way she did with Halloween: Get one candy, open it and enjoy it before moving on to the next. Unfortunately, with 6 older kids around who were more clued in to the massive chocolate hoarding possibilities at stake here, this system left her with a pretty bare basket. Clearly more training was needed.

Screw eggs, there are full sized chocolate bars and flashlights to be had! (no, that's not a dildo in my kid's Easter basket)

Lesson 2: Easter Egg Hunt at the Park. Brain washing en mass.

We got to the small park down the block from our house a little early, in time to see the volunteers scattering plastic eggs about the playground with all the magic and whimsy of a chain gang at work. Skylar stopped in her tracks and went from cheerful and excited to grumpy and uncooperative in a split-second.

"Those are just toy eggs! They're not chocolate at all! This isn't going to be any fun. Let's just go home!"

I stopped her by suggesting that there might be treats at the end. Since her sense of greed is well established, she consented to stay.

The Egg Warden called the assembled townsfolk to order and explained the rules: There's a roped off section for kids 2 and under, the rest of the park is fair game for older kids. Once you get 5 eggs you take them to the Easter Bunny (aka mentally enfeebled lady in a dirty white fur suit from the Halloween clearance bin. Of course, the costume might have been at fault for the mentally enfeebled vibe.) who will give you a special treat!

Skylar took off running because she's 5 and doesn't need me anymore.

I took Eden over to the baby coral and plopped her over the rope into the pen with all the other toddlers and infants, some of whom were barely able to sit unsupported. Then they stared. Parents stood around the pit and blinded them with a thousand camera flashes. Some of the babies cried. Parents pointed wildly at the brightly coloured plastic eggs on the ground and encouraged their munchkins to get them. The babies continued to stare blankly. Eventually one of them picked up an egg, to the wild and frenzied cheers of his family. They began to catch on. They picked up eggs. They offered them to their parents with 'What? Is this what you want?' looks on their faces. They tried to eat the eggs, but alas, as Skylar had already pointed out, they were not chocolate. Older ones tried to stuff eggs in their pockets and got frustrated when they wouldn't fit. Younger ones picked up 2 eggs and got frustrated when they had no more hands. They offered each other eggs and dropped eggs into their neighbour's baskets. This, of course, had to be stopped. "In YOUR basket, Buddy! Put the eggs in YOUR basket!" Then they started stealing eggs out of each others baskets. Much better.

Ha! I'm not the only slacker mom who didn't remember to bring baskets to the egg hunt and had to make do with a plastic bag that was wadded up in my pocket from the last time I took my mom's dog for a walk!

By the time Eden was done here, Skylar had already collected her eggs, waited in line and exchanged them for a book and a ziplock bag full of jellybeans and chocolates from the "Easter Bunny" entirely without assistance. Eden wanted nothing to do with Easter Bunnies or lines for that matter, all she wanted was the free juice box.

Lesson 3. Easter with my Family. When did Easter become Christmas?

My daughters, and other family members who bloody well smile and don't put things in front of their faces when told to say Cheese!

The greed took on a whole new level here. There was no egg hunt at all. Instead there were gifts. Toys and clothes and chocolate bunnies and so on and so forth and holy crap, what am I supposed to do with all the stuffed rabbits?

Quick! She's wearing them! Take the picture now, now, NOW ! Too late.

Check out that tail.

By the time Easter Sunday arrived Eden was a pro. She put the first chocolate egg in her mouth and then carried on looking for more. She knew what she was looking for and where to put them when she found them. Greed training complete. With a little bit more speed and some search and recover skills she'll be a champion egg hunter by next year. As it was, she was still lagging behind Skylar a fair bit, but then Skylar lost her head completely and started pointing eggs out to her baby sister and even depositing a few of her own eggs in Eden's basket. Shit, now we have to re-train that one too.

March Break Madness

My arm hurts. So does my back, and my neck, and my side. How did I injure myself? I played 20 minutes of Wii sports.
Apparently bowling without a ball, batting without a bat, swinging without a club and tennising without a racket is hard damn work. Oh, and my fitness age?....80!
Yup, I have all the fitness and coordination of the average octogenarian. Nice.

I'm spending this March break babysitting Adam's sister's kids, and I'm thinking I should NOT have more kids. It's not that they're bad kids or anything. It's just that I now have twice the diapers to change, twice the noses to wipe, twice the mouths to feed (and in one case to remove dead flies from. Jesus, the child is like that nut job in Dracula: Bottle-No, dead bugs-Yes!) Nap-times to orchestrate, hands to wash, boots to find, and so on and so forth. And Eden is siiiiick, and Skylar is boooored, and Evan won't shaaaaare, and Jasmine...has another fucking fly, Dammit! Open, come on, spit it out! and...I'm going to bed.

Mother/Daughter time, old-school.

Tomorrow I leave Goober and Mooch with Adam's parents and head off for some good ol' fashioned mother-daughter time, with me reprising my roll as the daughter.
My mom and I are off to Niagara Falls for the weekend. There to sit in a hot-tub, drink some wine, stare at water and NOT do kiddie touristy crap for 2.5 whole days.
The mini-vacation is my mom's somewhat spur of the moment idea (which is one of the reason's I love her) But it has not escaped me that this is the 1 year anniversary of my Grandma's passing and the Falls hold some special memories for us in that regard, so it's likely to be a bit of a bittersweet trip. I'm looking forward to being able to finish whole sentences without interruption, to not planning my day around nap-time, to never having to ask anyone to eat just 2 more bites, and most of all to living 2 whole blessed days without listening to any whining.

Incidentally, did you hear about that guy who survived going over Niagara Falls 2 days ago? Failed suicide attempt. It was on the News. Know what you don't see on the News? All the successful suicide attempts. Two years ago we watched from Table Rock as a body was pulled up from the gorge by a crane. Our friendly tour bus driver told us that it happens 5 or 6 times a year, but it never makes the news because they don't want to encourage people to try to go out with a splash, so to speak. Apparently putting the dead person's name in the paper is like giving in to a toddler's tantrum: It only encourages them. So instead we ignore it. Tourists from all over the world mug for photos (Have you ever noticed that no matter what language people are speaking they ALL say "cheese!" when a camera is pointed at them?) with the Horseshoe falls, or the everlasting rainbow, or the yellow body box suspended by a wire in the background. It's kind of surreal. People crane their necks a little as they walk by, maybe they even put a few coins in the binocular thingies so their kids can get a better look, but then they go about their happy vacations with smiles on their faces and a few more cool photos to show the family when they get home.

Oh, and speaking of death and Niagara Falls (What a happy little trip down memory lane this post is turning out to be!) The most disturbing thing I've ever seen at a family tourist destination is the delightful street exhibit right next to the Dairy Queen on Clifton Hill, where for just 2$ you can push a button and execute a man. Because if anything can keep little kids entertained while waiting in line for ice cream, it's the sight of a very realistic mannequin strapped to an electric chair with a sack over his head, screaming and thrashing around violently, complete with flashing lights and smoking ears. That's good wholesome family fun, well done tourism board, bravo.

I Love You..or Not, You Know, Whatever

I swear my baby said 'I love you' so I thought it would be oh so cute to tape it and post the awesome cuteness for all to enjoy on Valentines Day. Unfortunately, Eden always wants to see herself on the camera, which would require her to be behind the camera, which makes it very hard to get a shot of her in front of the camera...So here you go. Happy Valentines Day to all.

The Holidays are over, YESSS!

Goober goes back to school tomorrow! Whoo hoo! Is there any booze left-over for a toast? No, damn. It's not that I don't enjoy my daughter's company, really. It's just that...uumm...I appreciate it more when there's less of it?..No, that still sounds mean. Meh, whatever, I'm mean then.
I know, I know "Treasure these moments, for they are fleeting" and "They grow up so fast and you'll miss these days when they're gone" and so on and so forth, but the truth is I can only stand so much. I am not cut out to be a full time mom. I look forward to my children growing older and gaining more independence. I'm impatient and selfish and I would rather read a book than play Barbies. The idea of homeschooling is laughable for me. It's been more than 2 weeks since school has been out and bad weather has forced us to spend most of it indoors in our very small house in our very small town. Goober is the kind of person who needs large spaces. There is simply too much of her to be contained. Too much energy, too much imagination, too much emotion, too much volume. I don't want to stifle her. I believe in the idea of self expression and acceptance, but in practice.....fucking sit still and shut up for 2 god damned minutes! The child is simply incapable of silence.

"Go and sit on the stairs! 5 minute time out."
"AAAGHBLAAAAARGNNNNOOOOWWWHHHHHYYY!!!"
"The time doesn't start until you're quiet."
"AAAAGHIHATEHAATEBBUUUTTT"
"You know why you're here, when you're quiet the timer starts."
"AAAAGH!"
"....."
"MAMA!"
"...."
"I want my blanket!"
"...."
"I want my Grandma!"
"...."
"I don't like Mommy!"
"...."
"I hate my life!"
"...."
"How much longer?"
"Five minutes. You haven't been quiet yet so no time has passed."
"BBLLLAAAAAAAGH!"
"...."
"How much longer now?"
"...."
"Don't let Mooch touch my puppy!"
"...."
"I'm Sorrry, I'm sorrrrryy! I looove you. Can I get off now?"
"...."
"I don't know HOW to be quiet!"

For the love of God child shut-up. Can you really not shut the hell up for one minute? Apparently not. It's like that scene in Fierce Creatures where Kevin Kline is holding a gun to Michael Palin's head, ordering him to stop talking or die and he just keeps on rambling, while Kevin begins to scream "He would rather speak than live!" and it's hilarious. Goober is like that, only less hilarious.

All Christmas toys and games aside, the best laughs are still produced by rolling around with the girls: swinging them in the air, spinning in circles, flying, flipping, wrestling and such, and that is as it should be. But again, I'm only human, and my endurance runs out long before theirs does. I am left a worn out shell, seeing spots while trying to catch my breath as they fight and whine and cry for more. I lay panting on the couch, thinking about how different they are. Goober is a tightly wound coil of power. Her small frame contains springy muscles and sharp bones. Playing with her hurts. I didn't notice her growing so strong and quick. Long flailing limbs and hard jabbing elbows are all the more apparent when I compare them to Mooch's squishy softness. My baby is so soft and mushy, with chubby padded knees and hands that lull you into a false sense of security. I get swallowed up by her perfect yummy skin and can't resist gobbling her chubby cheeks and round tummy. Then, once she has lulled me into a false sense of security with her harmless ways and clumsy movements and I have dropped all of my carefully built, Goober-proof, self-defence mechanisms...she head-butts me right in the nose with her rock solid forehead. Ouch.

We have played house, had tea-parties, watched movies, played cards, twister, board-games, play-doh, Barbies, School, painting, colouring, dress-up, Store, tobogganing and tag. Not to mention having baked cookies, read stories, made music, put on plays, built forts, given make-overs and played computer games and I'm out of ideas.

So bring on the public school, please God I need a vacation.

And I'm done!

So the holidays have been and gone and we are beginning to resume normalcy, inasmuch as Normal is possible where ever-changing kids are concerned.

High-lights of the season:

-Dec. 21 : Headed to a Christmas party in a blizzard because Canadians (Adam's family in particular) are batshitfucking crazy and don't cancel family gatherings just because of a little snow and ice and wind and OhMyGodIWantToLive! Adam bounced my van off of a guard rail and now our gift to each other is car repairs.

-Dec. 23 : Took the girls to the mall to see Santa. Paid over 20$ for an ornament and a photo of Mooch howling with the sudden realization that her mother is a heartless bitch who wants her to be eaten by a deranged hairy freak in a red suit. Goober asked the freak (who was in fact a fantastic Santa) for a toy that she totally DID NOT put in the letter we sent off weeks ago, forcing me to brave the wilds of Walmart Christmas Madness.

-Dec. 24 : Took Goober skating, remembered I can't skate and have no business teaching anyone else. Watched her develop the oddest form of self propulsion I've ever seen and shout to passing strangers "Look! I'm doing it! I can skate all by myself!" Read my children Christmas stories by candle-light, like my mom did with me every year.

-Dec. 25 : Stayed home. Watched the girls open gifts, took pictures, ate pancakes, assembled toys, watched Christmas specials, ate chocolate, had dinner with family, a perfect day.

-Dec. 26 : Went to Adams parents for the Christmassy chaos that is wrought by eight young children hopped up on candy and drunk on presents.

-Dec. 27 : 7 years from the day I met Adam. Did nothing, said nothing, but it was.

-Dec. 28 : Went to my aunts for the last of the family Christmases and missed my Grandma so much it hurt. This was my first Christmas without her. My resolution for the new year is to try to be more like her when dealing with my kids; no child should have to grow up without my Grandma around.

-Dec. 31 : Went out to celebrate New Years hampered by sucky friends calling in sick and living in a small town with only one bar. Wound up playing board games with Adam's parents rather than dancing in a club but had a pretty good time all the same.

-Jan. 1 : Spent the entire day sorting through the toy room to make room for the new stuff. OK, so I'm a lazy ass and still hadn't entirely unpacked it from when we moved in 3 months ago. But now it's done. You can even see the carpet in spots.


-Jan. 2 : The holiday aftermath has arrived in full force with a full compliment of screwed up eating and sleeping patterns, boredom, whining and fighting. What the hell day of the week is it anyway? Can I send Goober back to school yet?

The elusive holiday card photo

-Oh, you girls look so cute! Go stand in front of the Christmas tree for a minute so I can take your picture.

-Please? Just for a second.

-Do it and I'll give you ice cream?

-Look over here.

-Hi, Eden! Look at Mommy, Baby! Moochie, Moochie! BABABABABA, wheeeehooo! (blow raspberry) say cheese!

-No, just hold still for one second, please?

-Thumb out of your mouth.

-Come on, please?

-Get your fingers out of her nose!

-Please stop crying?

-Look! Look! See the pretty bell?

-Santa's not bringing any presents unless you quit whining!

-Ah, Fuck it.

Merry Christmas to All!

Shit, how do I turn it right side up?

Meh, you get the idea.

Christmas give-away = free junk for anyone willing to brave the Cave of Doom to dig it out.

A couple of months ago we moved from a reasonable sized house to a small apartment. In order to make this work we took multiple loads of junk to the dump, filled an entire moving truck with slightly less junky junk to donate, and rented a good sized storage shed. Still, I knew that having a family of four in this space would require a strict regime of tidiness and organization. Sadly, I suck at both of those things.

We have this tiny bedroom that we decided to use as a walk-in closet, since the master bedroom has no closet at all (it was taken out to extend the bathroom) But as we continued to open boxes, look into them and think -where the hell am I going to put that? More and more stuff has ended up in my fabulously huge closet. Today it looks like this:

Ya, there is no walking-in to this closet. There is also no door to hide this behind. There is simply a wall to wall, floor to ceiling, avalanche prone, black hole of stuff. I believe new life forms may be evolving in the sub-levels. Now, while this is irritating for many reasons, the most pressing one is that fact that in this room is a wooden wardrobe (see it there in the far left hand corner? No, didn't think so) and in this wardrobe are the Christmas presents. Of course by "in" I mean "in the general vicinity of" because as the room got more and more stuffed I eventually ended up standing in the doorway and simply heaving my lovingly selected gifts towards the wardrobe one by one as I brought them home, counting on the sheer magnitude of the disarray to camouflage them from sight. This system has worked remarkably well, until this morning when.. I snarled with a sneer; next week is Christmas. It's practically here! DAMMIT!

Not only does this mean I have a hell of a lot of digging to do, it also illustrates how disgustingly bogged down with material things we have become. We tried to purge ourselves when we moved, really we did, but still we are quite literally up to our necks in stuff and here comes Christmas to bury us completely. Spirit of giving, Good will towards men, Peace on Earth and so on and so forth are all well and good, but I simply haven't been able to tell my kids that Santa's not bringing any toys this year because Mommy has no freaking place to put them!

So, to anybody out there still looking for a last minute gift for us : Send money, we need a bigger house.

I'm thankful for...

Every other blogger has a post up about Thanksgiving, well I'm not feeling tremendously creative just now so I'm going to write about how I spent my Thanksgiving, here in Canada, a couple of months ago.

We did brunch with my family in the morning, then headed straight to Adam's family's place for dinner. Our callous disregard for nap time in between actually paid off when Mooch slept through dinner and I was able to eat without her squirming on my knee, throwing food off the table, whining to get down, or any of the other joys that come when dining with toddlers. We spent the rest of the day attempting to take one photograph of 8 children, no mean feat when the eldest is 8 and the rest include 2 babies, 3 three year-olds, a sick 6 year old, and Goober.

If you came here looking for sweet stories about my kids, or if you are my mother, please stop reading now.

We recently moved back to the town where I grew up. The house where I grew up, in fact, and where my mom still lives, because we are failures. The up side to this arrangement is that Grandma is always handy and perfectly willing to babysit...if the children are sleeping.

Another nice feature is the proximity to the nature trail. The main trail was once a train track and small walking trails have webbed out from it over the years to cover a good chunk of land featuring pretty hills, bush and streams which makes a lovely setting for ... uum..."becoming one with nature" if you get my meaning. This is where I had my first kiss, when I was 16 ( yes sixteen, and it was with Adam too, sad I know). We followed it up with another big first out there several months later. So, we decided to make use of the unusually warm evening to welcome ourselves back to the old place.

We asked my mom to listen for the girls and were about to head out for a "walk" when Adam told me to wait, he had a present for me. Yay presents! I like presents. Was it chocolate? No, it was not. It was purple and rubbery and shaped like a dolphin and it had straps and a remote. Now, having been with the same guy for 7 years and 2 kids, I'm not about to turn my back on a new experience, so I put on some loose pants and strapped the thing to my thighs and off we went. Once we were on the trail Adam flicked the ON switch and...nothing happened. Bit of a disappointment really, Stag Shop return policies being what they are and all. But we continued walking, resigned to entertaining ourselves the old fashioned way.

There was a bright full moon, but we decided to be unusually bold and make use of a bench quite near the main trail. Operations were well under way when I heard the crackling. We paused to listen but decided it was probably the dry fall leaves rustling in the Indian summer breeze and went about our business. Then I heard it again. This time definitely not wind, someone was coming. There followed a silent flurry of activity in the darkness as we tried to get ourselves decent (pants, pants, where are my PANTS!) But we were sitting nonchalantly side by side on the bench when our visitor appeared. A deer. A big beautiful deer walked within 10 feet of us, shimmering silver in the moonlight. She stood still and stared at us for several minutes as we tried not to make a sound and startle her away. At that moment the damned dolphin (which was still in place) decided to come to life, scaring the bejesus out of me and causing me to jump. The deer snapped out of her trance and went on her way, followed by a friend or fawn. We finished up and walked home, having passed a very pleasant Thanksgiving all around.

T'is the season to realize your significant other is a humongous bone head.

We did some Christmas shopping today while Goober was at Kindergarten. The plan here was, obviously, to buy gifts without her knowing. So how could Adam possibly have thought it would be appropriate to bring those gifts right into the god damned house after we picked her up? I mean WTF? Idiot!
"Well, weren't those ones mostly for Mooch anyway?"
Seriously? Like at 5 years old Goober won't notice if Santa brings Mooch the same freaking gifts she saw Daddy carrying a month ago? Guess those ones are from Mommy and Daddy now, huh? Forward your Christmas bonus to the North Pole, Genius.
P.S. I love you and I'd really like an ipod or a new camera for Christmas, thx.

T'is the season to make really stupid decisions

So I have just about come to terms with the fact that we will never be healthy again, and if I continue to stay home and rest until we're all feeling better we will never again leave the house and by God this house is just too small to allow that to happen. So yesterday when my cousin called me up and asked us to come spend the night at her place so we could take our kids to see the Santa Claus Parade in the morning and threw in a few hours of babysitting so Adam and I could get out for a bit, I agreed.

I called Adam at work to ask/tell him about the arrangement and then I began the monumental task of preparing for a night away from home.

"Goober, want to go have a sleepover at K's house?"
"YEAH!!!!"
"OK. Then go pack up some clothes and jammies."

And that's when things went to shit.
...
"I want this dress"
"That's a summer dress. We're going to watch a parade, you need warm clothes."
"BLLLAAAGHATE!!!!!NNNNOOOOOOO!!!!AAAAAGGGGGHH!!!"
....
"UP UP UP UP UP!"
...
"Did you pack PJ's?"
"I can't find my doggie jammies. I NEED my doggie jammies!"
"Can't you take your kangaroo jammies?"
"BBLLLLLLLAAAAGHTHATE!!!!!NNNNOOOOOOO!!!!!AAAAAAGH!"
...
"Mooch, will you eat something, please?"
"uh un! uh un! UP UP UP UP!"
...
Are the diapers in the dryer dry? No of course not. Where are the overnight bags? Buried in the storage room. Got butt wipes? Nope, have to make some.
...
"UP UP UP UP UP!"
...
Packing for Adam, boy if you could ever put your laundry in the god damned drawers. No clean socks? When the hell did I last do laundry anyway? like 3 days ago?
...
"UP UP UP UP UP UP UP!"
...
"Mommy I can't get my movie to play. Mooch broke the DVDV player."
Oh No, no no no no. How will I ever get anything done without the help of Disney?
....
Get 2 minute shower with Mooch pounding on the shower stall.
"UP UP UP UP UP UP!"
...
Packing for myself. When was the last time I bought myself clothes? Years. Broken-down jeans and paint-spattered sweatshirt it is.
...
"UP UP UP UP UP UP UP!"
...
Pack up traveling drugstore necessary to get us through the night.
...
Need snowsuits. Where are they? Do they fit? Hats? Mitts? Umbrellas? Blankets? Boots? Stroller? No, Adam fell on the stroller and cracked the bloody wheels off. Sling? over snowsuit, uuum?
...
Blankies. For the love of all that is good in the world don't forget the blankies!
...
"WAAAHHH"
"What happened?"
"Mooch was too close to me."
"What did you do to her?"
...
"UP UP UP UP UP UP UP UP!"
...
Dinner? Fuck Dinner. McDonalds in the car it is.
...
Dry Hair? Why bother? It's raining. All attempts at killing the curlfrizz will be futile anyway.
Make-up? To offset my scruff wardrobe and undone hair? Nope.
...
"UP UP UP UP UP UP UP!"
...
Change diaper, why the hell did I already pack up all the wipes, diapers, cream etc.?
...
Enough seats in the van? NO. Dig more out of the garage.
...
Feed and water cats.
...
"UP UP UP UP UP UP!"
Change Mooch's clothes upon realizing she's dumped out all the cat's water.
...
Every one in the car? Yes, Good. Shit! No baby bottles or food.
...
Answer phone. "You're pregnant?!! Are you freaking insane?!"
...
We did eventually get out the door and picked Adam up from work (2.5 hours after his shift ended, sorry!) got where we were going and even managed to convince Mooch to go to sleep in the playpen.
Then Adam and I headed out to see a movie, only to find all the theaters packed up with some James Bond shit. So we went to a bar and sat and drank and even spoke to each other a little. After a couple hours of this bliss we went back and curled up together in a single bed with a bitchen Dora canopy and attempted to sleep for a few hours next to a restless whiny baby.

Two 5 year olds decided morning had arrived long before sunrise and we started a new day.

While I was driving Adam across town to work I couldn't help but notice that it was pouring rain, but maybe it would stop before the parade? No. We told the little girls that the parade might be cancelled because of the rain.
"BBBBLLLAHNNNNNOOOOOOSANTA!!!etc."
So we grabbed umbrellas and a poncho or 2 and staked out a place to sit on a soggy blanket and tried to prevent the kids from floating their boots down the stream in the gutter for a couple hours.
"I don't want my hood up!"
"My feet are wrinkly!"
"My hands are cold!"
"But I want to eat the candy cane now!"
"Do you want to go home?" please, please,please...
"NNNOOOOO!!"
I spent the last quarter of the parade sitting in the van with Mooch, but the big girls stuck it out to the very end and returned sodden and freezing only after Santa had passed by.
The kids fell asleep in the car and I headed straight home. There to deal with crankiness, tantrums and a little vomiting, just for fun.
Remind me not to leave the house ever again.