The Sugar Game

  Being a housewife isn't all glitz and glamour.  Sometimes it can be a little boring-there are only so many ways to vacuum and dust the place.  Plus there is little variation in the daily routine.  I'd like to say my daily life was like what you see on T.V., however the only thing in common I have with "Desperate Housewives" is the title, there are no cute gardeners at my place, we don't even have a backyard.  While I'd like to claim that I'm like Peggy Bundy, I can't bring myself to eating bon-bons all day and tease my hair like that, although both are acceptable in Maple Ridge. 
   Sometimes I have to invent ways to occupy oneself for entertainment and to starve off insanity.  The last week I've been playing a self-made game called "The Sugar Game".  It is the ultimate in passive aggressive laziness.  The rules are simple and the objective is the same as the other games I create to keep me going-annoy your husband very subtly and see how long it takes him to realize what's going on.
  I'll break the game down-basically we have a sugar dish and the goal is to never refill it.  Timing is everything in this game.  You want to make sure that when it is empty or near empty to put it back and make your unsuspecting partner fills it up.  Make sure that everything else in the surrounding area is always stocked full, that way this small mundane task sticks out.  You get the biggest points if your husband asks you about it.  I started growing impatient so I asked him today if he noticed anything about having to fill up the sugar dish.  He said he was starting to wonder.....should have kept it up for another week.

Oh well, next week I'll stop re-filling the Keurig water tank.

Perfect-All ready for Dave's cup of coffee

Fright Night

Dave and I went out for dinner at the Keg tonight for a "Date Night".  We have had a gift certificate sitting around our house for almost a year, however we never got around to using it.  This is because we are still in the honeymoon faze of our parenting career where we are still okay with not having a social life outside our child-I think it's called the denial phase or maybe Stockholm syndrome.
          We left Lily at our parents and went, yes you have the right date, we chose Monday for a date night.  To be honest Dave had a short work day today and we weren't exhausted so we thought now or never.  We got the honor of sharing the restaurant with the Willowbrook Senior Center...I guess they have date nights on Mondays as well.
           You may ask if we missed Lily while we were at dinner.  The answer is no, the women a few tables down was nice enough to bring her toddler with her and let her run around the restaurant.  Contrary to popular belief when you leave your kid at home you are more aware of other kids and how annoying they are.  I know we're not suppose to judge but judging is so easy (and fun!), however when you go out to get away from your kid the last thing you want to see is another person's.  I know the Keg is no longer considered the pinnacle of fine dining but honestly leave the kid at home or go to Red Robins.
          Anyways the Keg was hosting a "Dine out Vancouver" special that for $40 you got an appy, entree and dessert.  Many restaurants around Vancouver take part in this promotion.  If I wasn't so lazy I'd google so I could explain the promotion....but I am so lazy.  At the restaurant I tried to think past the pregnancy fog to remember back in the days were I actually sat down at a restaurant.  My roaring (early) 20s when I had a social life, a job and pretended like I was an actual Vancouverite and not a Maple Ridgian.  "It's a sampler sized smaller menu meant to let you have a taste of the restaurant's favourite menu items" I claimed.  For some reason yet to be determined, Dave took my word for it even thought the only time I eat at a restaurant is when we order pizza or I get a happy meal from McDonalds.  "We should order another appy because I think we'll still be hungry" I continued.  Just for the the record, if you find yourself at the Keg and going to order off this special, it is not sampler size, please take my word for it.  We ended up ordering 3 appys, 2 entrees and 2 desserts and were quite shocked at the food orgy the waitress brought to our table-Supersize my butt please!  I am happy to report that we did manage to eat all the food and as a result probably consumed this and next week's calories in one sitting.  By the time our check came I couldn't tell if I wanted to puke or crap my pants.
            That pretty much was the cap of our date night-it's hard to be romantic when your bowels are full of $100 worth of steak, dairy and who knows what else.  Dave went straight to bed and as soon as Lily is asleep I'm going to pass out or perhaps hug the toilet for dear life-my gluttony has gotten the best of me tonight.
   ..........Yes, all is quiet in the McRoberts' household. time to consume half a bottle of tums and then pass out in a food coma. 

How I feel at the moment

PS-If you Google images for "Food Coma" you get a lot of pictures of skinny chicks pretending to have eaten something.

Don't Wake Daddy

       I am in day 5 of the great search for kid friendly fridge magnets.  Now before you say it, I already have the kiddie alphabet ones, however I am not a fan of having to do the "J thrust" as my daughter chokes on a "J" piece.  I have searched all the best places in Maple Ridge (Read: Superstore and Winners) and have come up empty handed.  I then decided to check out "Toys R Us".  I'm not a fan of any store that thinks butchering the English language is cute by replacing a real word with a letter-R instead of are for all you twitter folks who probably think R is actually the correct oxford dictionary spelling.  To me it's just as aggravating as replacing the first letter of the word with something similar sounding (Kute Kuts I'm looking at you). I finally broke down and did some online shopping because I am running out of ideas.

Anyways as I was searching their website, I came across an ad for a board game "Don't Wake Daddy".  Apparently this is a game that you can buy.  I can and by extension you can play this game already for free without dishing out $19.99 and spare yourself the pain of stepping on all the mini pieces that it probably comes with.

"It's the middle of the night. You're in bed. You're starving! You'll have to creep from the house to the fridge. But can you do it without setting off Daddy's alarm clock!" 

This is the description on the box.  For anyone who lives with someone working shift work, this sounds familiar, like I don't know....reality.  Half my day is trying to keep Dave asleep, whether it is the cat, Lily or myself interfering with this goal. Night shifts are the worse by far.  The only way to do it is to just leave the house during the day.  Two weeks ago when we got snowed in it was terrible.  In case you have never been to my apartment (someone other than my mom might check this blog out) it is a single floor open plan small space, which means it is very hard not to hear everything that is going on.

Come to think of it, we actually match the people on the box. I'm the blonde girl because obviously I'm a natural blonde.

    The first obstacle is the cat.  Oh Shadow (shakes fist at shadow), the dumb animal can't decide if he wants in or out of the room. It's tragic, if he stays outside of the room he can't get his filthy paws all over my bedsheets or teabag my pillow but if he chooses to stay inside the room he is isolated from his litterbox and food.  The cat can't tell his head from his butt but in the last few months he has figured out how to open the door to get in. If the door is open a crack he tries to open the door from inside the room only to slam it shut.  If for some reason he can't get in or out himself, he scratches, claws and howls at the door.  This means that every 10mins he is opening and slamming the door shut (or howling).  A familiar sight in the McRoberts' household is Dave opening the door half asleep handing me the cat.     
           If the cat doesn't get him, Lily surely will.  She's not even one, I don't think I can legally muzzle her unless she was a pitbull.  She lately discovered her own voice but her inside voice is as hidden as the fountain of youth (she doesn't get that from my side of the family).  She also likes to put her toys on the coffee table and then knock them off just to hear the sound it makes.  Also she will bang on the bedroom door screaming like she's dying.  A few times Dave has come running out of the bedroom to see what appendage she lost only to discover she is having a temper tantrum because I wouldn't let her hit me with a back scratcher.  Tonight when Dave went to bed early(working early mornings) she managed to figure out how to open the door as well. She then crawled up to Dave's bed and tried to stick her fingers up his nose-a variation of hitting him with the remote control when he is napping on the couch.
       Finally in our triage of disruption is me.  I don't have a quiet mode, an hour after Dave finally gets to bed is the time I decide to empty the dishwasher or move furniture.  I also realize that I cannot live another minute unless I grab something from the bedroom like a sweater or a hair elastic.  I also have a bad habit of not retaining vital information so a few times I'll go running into the room going "what time are you suppose to be up?" and Dave will bolt up thinking he slept through his alarm.
    Of course you add in external phone calls, watching TV or having the lights on (apparently it shines in the crack in the door) into the mix and there is a reason why my husband sometimes looks like an extra from "The Walking Dead"...
If you still want to go out and buy this game. I'll make you a deal:  Come over, hand me a twenty.  If you can make it the whole day without waking up Daddy  you're far better than us (and maybe Dave can come sleep at your house).

Clean Sweep

    Do you hear that faint noise in the distance? That is the sound of Al Gore crying.  Why is that? It's time for me to clean our apartment and I'm breaking out the heavy duty cleaners.  Sorry dolphins, my place needs to be squeaky clean, however consider this some free highlights, so you're welcome..well if you had hair you may appreciate it more.
    I try to keep my apartment a consistent level of clean but with a husband and a kid it seems to be in a consistent level of despair.  Lily will quite often follow behind me knocking over her toy boxes and Dave will organise his stuff in neat little clumps which I have termed "Dave Piles" and call it put away.  They say if you want the whole family to participate make cleaning into a game, but it already is-an obstacle course and if this was "Wipeout" they would be the people throwing foam blocks at me as I navigate the sea of Lego. 
     I don't think we're messy on purpose, I think it is a result of living in a tight space with lots of stuff.  Even vacuuming 900square feet has become an hour long job by the time you move all the furniture around (and complain and threaten to make the cat into a patio cat).  We have a Roomba but it had a mental breakdown-it just vacuums around in circles and once in a while coughs up black dirt.  It drives me insane-I hate clutter, I defriended it on facebook and yet it has some how moved into our apartment and is living on our couch (maybe it's because I married its distant cousin..).  If I had my way we would get rid of all our furniture and just sit on the floor and stare at each other, however I expect a revolt from the masses if I ever tried to implement this.  My goal has now been to cleverly hide clutter in boxes and bins.
   I never use to be so weird (read: anal), when I was growing up I was a messy kid.  This held true even to adulthood, ask my mom, for the longest time we never knew what the colour of the carpet in my room was.  I think a lot of it was that my mom was super clean.  Sure my room was ground zero for hurricane Kali but once I shut that door and went into the rest of the house...pristine show room clean.  I could be a slob and not have to live in it.  I could have my cake and eat it too, and we know how much I love cake.  When I moved into my own place I wanted to be able to have that same neat space, however my mom doesn't do house calls so I had to learn to clean up after myself.    Just as I probably drove my mom crazy, my housemates do the same.  The number one argument in our marriage? When is it time to do another Sally Ann/Dump run.
So today's game plan? Fed my husband a nice greasy brunch (bacon and cheese quiche) and sat him in front of his Playstation game "Assassin's Creed"-which BTW I do not get, you're playing a video game of a man playing a video game....  It is always best to clean when your man's defences are down.
Now let the cleaning and throwing away of stuff begin!

Hurricane Lily 

Embrace Change

If you don't live in Maple Ridge, maybe you are not aware, however I am pretty sure something similar is happening in your neighborhood as well. Maple Ridge is in the middle of one of its biggest crisis in history-Tim Hortons has changed its cup size. I don't know if this is a sign of the beginning of the Apocalypse/end of the world or if it is just a mini test but either way we have failed. People are just not coping well, you mess with a person's coffee or daily morning routine and you will have a lot of caffeine deprived people who don't function quite as well. Have you been to a Tim Hortons the last week? Chances are you have, I am willing to bet that every single person in the world crosses through those doors at least once. If the CIA put a surveillance camera and monitored each one- Bin Laden would have been caught during his first coffee run the first week (okay maybe a bit of an exaggeration but you get my drift). Anyways the line ups have been out the door lately and general panic ensues. The biggest conversation in the line-up is not world politics or even celebrity gossip, it's what coffee size am I?? (You know it has really caught people off guard if it eclipses the Hedi/Seal divorce).
Today I got a prime viewing of what change does to a person. I was at my local Timmy's waiting in line for about 5minutes, the man in front of me got up to the till and went on a 10minute tirade about how Tim Hortons was screwing with him and trying to rip him off. Even more bizarre was he waited all that time and after his rant didn't buy anything, not even a doughnut, he..just..left. Chest puffed like he accomplished something. Maybe we were the fools, maybe he knew that the owner of Tim Horton's just happened to be at the till in Maple Ridge dressed up as a minimum wage employee who quite frankly even if they had the power to change something probably couldn't care less to do so. Kudos go to the girl at the till, who listened to the man, nodded a few times and then brushed him off. My first thought was: This woman must have a wack load of kids. A mom knows what its like to be blamed for something totally out of her control. I got my first taste of this the other day when Lily tripped and fell, picked herself up pointed at me and started screaming-it was obviously my fault. This lady brushed him off like he was a toddler having a temper tantrum.
Anyways I'm pretty sure the last week has been hell for anyone working at Tim Hortons so here is my public service announcement: It's not that hard, just order one size smaller than you use to. I'm a medium steeped tea now? See? deep breath, it's going to be okay.

I attached this chart because I care about your sanity

Please don't use your local Tim Horton's employee as an outlet to vent your fear of change, they're not trained psychiatrists.

PS-I will be offering a Tim Hortons:Know your order seminar for only $400 next week. I will also be at select Tim Horton locations and for $5 I will order your drink for you..just kidding...well unless there is a demand for it, then I'm all over this...

Get Her to the Playgroup

Today I attempted the impossible: Leave the house before 9am. Seems pretty simple right? Not really. Children are like those Chinese finger traps-the more your pull and try to force them to do something, the more difficult they become. Just like they sense weakness and fear, they also sense urgency and react by trying to MESS YOUR CALCULATED PLANS UP.
Have you ever seen the movie "Get him to the Greek"? It's about a record company intern trying to get an unpredictable rock star to his concert in time. Of course since the rock star is unpredictable, the main character (played by Jonah Hill) spends the whole movie chasing after a star whom just does whatever he pleases without a care about the consequences. I feel for this Jonah Hill character because that is exactly what my morning felt like, except we were trying to get to a play group in time. Lily is like that rock star, she doesn't care that the play group starts at 9am and you can't reason with her and you most certainly can't slip her a Jeffery...
Every mom knows that trying to get a child anywhere in a timely matter is near impossible. The ones who say it is easy have just gotten use to it or are in denial. For a new mom, the concept of being on time becomes unrealistic-I call it the Lily time warp and it's roughly an additional 15mins on-top of whatever time I said I'll be somewhere. In 2008BC (Before Children) it was easy to get ready, all I had to do was roll out of bed, comb my hair and be out of the house in 15mins time. Even when I was pregnant it was slightly more difficult but still easy. The only reason why it was difficult was because over night it would seem like my butt would double in size and nothing would fit. Plus even thought I have been pregnant for 3 years straight, I lack a collection of maternity clothes because I always throw them out declaring "I'm never having another kid" between the month of having one and being pregnant again. I swear me throwing away my maternity clothes is a sign that I'm ovulating (who needs OPKs?).
To make things easier, here is what I deal with in the 45mins I had to get her out of the house:

• naturally Lily slept in past 8am, luckily I had the insight to set my alarm and get myself ready. On days we have nothing scheduled she wakes up at 7am.
• Put her down for two mins to prep her bottle and she dumps all her toys out on the floor then has a crying fit when I try to feed her a bottle.
• Peed herself AFTER I lifted her out of the bath but BEFORE I got a diaper on her warrenting another dunk in the tub.
• Lily decided that this morning her tights were an issue (I put tights under her jeans instead of socks because she just rips them off) and had a melt down when she couldn't remove them.
• Decided in no uncertain terms that the breakfast she has had every single morning for the last month was no good, had to scramble around to see what else I could make her.
• Puked on clean shirt
• 5mins left before I had to leave I went to put the dishes away in the dishwasher and discovered that the dishwasher hadn't been unloaded yet so me being me decided to unload it quickly. Discovered that Dave had put his dirty breakfast dishes in with the clean so had to sort that and take an additional 3mins to text him about how much he sucks.

At 9am exactly I had her in her stroller, in her rain gear about to turn off the lights and go....and...she...crapped...her...pants. Back inside the house we go...

On a side note I was trying to pick out a box of hair dye today at the grocery store and trying to decide what shade to use(so many non-grammar issues in that sentence). Naturally Lily decided at that moment to have a freak out and the louder she cried the more my thoughts shifted from "sensible brown" to "Hedi Montag Blonde" to "Goth Black" to "Miranda Hobbes aka Kool-aide red" is a GREAT color. In the end I'm not sure what color I grabbed, but if my hair looks horrid, it is so her fault.

Finding Hobby

I'm trying to find myself a new hobby.  Something that I can call my own and tell people about without their eyes glazing over.  Being a housewife is not the most exciting career and there are only so many cat stories that leave people wanting more.  I use to be a well balanced person, that is if you included drinking and clubbing well balanced-but hey at least I was getting out and doing something. Plus it would be nice to have something to do when Dave is working nights and I'm stuck at home watching reruns of the Bob Newhart Show.  
I've been struggling to figure out what to do, what would really speak to me.  I've always been a person who knows what she hates but has no idea what she likes (a career counsellor's nightmare) and I have the added bonus of being mediocre at everything.  Seriously, my talent is being a solid C.  I went to my husband to ask his sage advice because that is apparently what you do when you're married.  He suggested that I collect my farts in a jar (I wish this statement was exaggerated for comic relief but sadly this is a direct quote).  I am not about to do that so I did some soul searching to figure out what I might like.  After that ended up as a bust I did the next best thing-I googled "How to find a hobby" on my IPhone and luckily didn't get porn.  Instead I stumbled upon a few pages that listed hobbies that I could do:

• Collect Stamps-The neat freak in me would never allow for any type of hobby that involves collecting.  Sure it starts off as a stamp collection but next thing you know you're on TLC's Horders explaining why your living room is full of doll heads and cats.  To be honest I would get more pleasure in throwing out my collections behind my back (just like my favourite couple activity called "throw out Dave's crap").
• Woodworking-A very useful skill, especially considering I live with a 24lbs termite and all our furniture has matching bite marks.  However I enjoy having 10 fingers and anything that involves the possibility of changing that number is out of the question.  Not only that but I live in an apartment, how many bird houses do I really need?
• Dance-Now I actually enjoy dance and have taken many types in the past.  However, in my current condition I can't allow any activity that would require me to wear spandex: Someone has got to think of the children...
• Learning a second Language- It has taken me 28years (and counting) to fully master my first.  When I run spell check on my blog the computer grinds and the Internet slows down to a near halt and when your light flickers at 10PM every evening? That's me trying to run my grammar check. 
• Renaissance Fairs- I'd rather collect my farts in a jar thankyouverymuch.
• Knitting-I bought myself a "teach yourself kit" a few weeks ago.  Opened the first page of the booklet and it looked like advance algebra.  I got stuck on the part where it asked me to make a slipknot.  The only Slipknot I know is that band from the 90s and its not my type of music.  Needless to say, the kit, yarn and needles have been sitting in the back of my closet ever since.
• Beading: out of the question with a 11month old unless they also include a first aid course.  The kid eats everything on the carpet, I caught her trying to eat Styrofoam the other day (WTF? Why?).  Plus I live in Maple Ridge, its bad enough already without beading my velour tracksuit and crocs.
• Crochet- Looks and sounds too much like crotch, and when you've been as pregnant for as long as I have you don't want to set yourself up for any running jokes.
• DIY- I'm sure Dave would lllooovvee this, first project: knock down all the walls in the apartment. On the plus side I could get myself an appearance on Holmes on Homes.
• pyrography- Emo for beginners (first burning holes in woods, up next, your arms!)

Anyways, this site had 101 hobby ideas and I managed to find a reason why I hated each one of them.  The search continues... 

PS-Anyone have any glass jars I can borrow?

Breaking Boundaries

This morning the unspeakable happened-before I could stop it Dave opened the door while I was in the..umm.. bathroom (I'm a prude so I'm not going to go into details, use your imagination..well actually please don't).  Our eyes locked for a brief second before I shrieked and slammed the door in his face. 
I'm a firm believer in boundaries and all relationships should have them.  Mine happens to be a white partial board door, for me it is the divider between a healthy relationship and one where you can't look your partner in the eyes.  A shut bathroom door shouldn't need explanation and unless I am a heart surgeon with a critical patient, Hedi Klum's divorce lawyer or in the middle of a big business merger no one should EVER burst in.  I don't believe in even knocking on the door and asking questions-this isn't facebook, you don't need a status update.  The McRoberts kingdom will not collapse while the queen is on her throne.  If the door is shut I'm busy and it can wait thankyouverymuch.
Now I obviously have to remember to lock the doors every time or maybe I should just implement a sign system like below:

Yes, that will do nicely.

FML if this post goes viral.

Censoring the toys

Whenever I go to McDonalds I always get a Happy Meal for myself so that Lily can get a toy and I can spare my butt from another 600calories (okay fine I want to relive my childhood memories..ok fine I still like getting toys with my food). Usually I can rely on McDonalds in giving me the appropriate gender role toy-one time I did get some dumb dinosaur, which was apparently a "My Little Pony"...My Little Pony my ass. Today I got Barbie...score! Except I realized it was a career barbie, a doctor barbie. The feminist agenda has invaded my happy meal! Thanks McDonalds... If I have to shell out money for med school I'll be annoyed.

Even Lily's happy meal toy isn't safe from the feminist agenda

However luckily they gave me some other props so with the correct adjustments, problem solved. Phew!

Much better...Problem solved

Spoiled Rotten

I'm slowly coming to terms that we may have spoiled Lily.  My mom has a well worn saying "You can't spoil a baby" which may be true for a 4month old but I think at 11months we are more into toddlerhood.  I didn't quite realise that we were spoiling her until one day I was sitting at my parents.  My dad was pushing her in her princess car as she hit the horn and waved to her adoring minions (that would be us).  My dad would stop on account of his back starting to hurt and she would shriek in protest, always earning her another lap around the living room.
  More evidence comes from the birthday party we have been planning for her.  She will be turning one in February and it has become sort of a big deal.  It started off as a small, causal affair and it has now turned into a huge event with 15kids invited and I don't even know how many adults(and I'm pretty sure I've left people out, its like my wedding guest list all over again).  So now I have a birthday party to plan and quite frankly I am in way over my head.  People who know me know that planning has never been my strong suit.  If I was left to plan my own wedding it would have consisted of a bowl of punch, a bag of chips and the Wii set up so people could bowl.  The last birthday party I planned was my 22nd birthday party.  That involved strippers.  Last time I checked strippers are not appropriate entertainment at first birthday parties.  I've pretty much sent out the invites (hand made because I am whipped) however the more I plan the more I realise: I AM DOING THIS WRONG.  My most fatal flaw is that I've supplied the kids with plastic wands and swords.  I have given kids basically sticks, am going to jack them up with candy and then stick them in the same room-there is no way they are NOT going to hit each other.  Also there is a mix of older kids so while I can stick the babies in the "baby pit" and let them battle it out I'm scared I'm going to bore the older ones to death-So if anyone is reading this and can think of a few toddler games (between 1-5yrs) please let me know.  My mom who is usually the voice of reason, the reason things like my wedding took place is just as bad when it comes to Lily.  Just ask her how much baking she did the other day (hint:over four dozen cupcakes are sitting in our freezer).  I'm pretty sure I'll blog more about her birthday as it gets closer, since I'm worried people are going to think it sucks (neurosis yes please!)

Exhibit A:My first attempt at anything crafty-Lily's invite for the prince and princess party.

 Need more? Take our house and also my parent's house.  Once very adult and sophisticated looking, both residences have become monuments to Lily.  Her toys have slowly leaked out of her toy box and now are a dominant focal point in the room.  I swear, kids are like the Borg- resistance is futile.  One day your house is all modern contemporary with all the best Ikea can offer and then BAM it looks like a toy store has taken a dump in your living room.

Exhibit B: My parent's former living room. It use to be modern contemporary

 It dawned on me, maybe Lily isn't the spoiled one, I mean she's spoiled but it may be some overflow from the generation before her.  When my mom uses the phrase "you can't spoil a baby" at work I don't think she means Lily, I think she's referring to me.

Houselife

     I was cleaning the bathrooms this morning when from behind me I heard clapping.  I turned around and saw Lily starring intensely at me like I was all sorts of awesome applauding me for a job well done.  Being a housewife, I usually don't get a lot of feedback (unless I don't do something) so it was pretty flattering to have a fan. I HAVE A FAN!
    I wish I could tell you I am living the dream, that as I hurtle towards the big 3-0 I'm doing exactly what I expected, doing exactly what I dreamed of-however I just can't get that excited about scrubbing toilets.  Don't get me wrong, having the choice of staying at home and having a full year of maternity leave is such a blessing and I love the time I have with Lily, however scrubbing toilets, playing name that stain on the carpet and praying to the hygienic gods that the stain on my shirt is CHOCOLATE sometimes wears on a person.
The longer I am a housewife the more I realise that it is like any other job.  There are days where you get up, work your butt off and am truly satisfied with a job well done.  Then there are other days where you just sit on your butt and google your own name to see if anything interesting comes up.  Being a housewife is sort of like being a stunt double.  You do all the messy, behind the scenes work while the main guy sits in his trailer, signs autographs and eats catered lunches. 

So here is  an idea of what I do in a day:

• 4AM-Hear rustling and a bit of shuffling on the baby monitor.  Check clock-I chose not to live in a world where 4AM exists, roll over and promptly go back to sleep.
• 6AM-Hear a little bit of whining. Check clock.  Sorry Lily my shift doesn't begin until at least 8AM. May also include turning off the baby monitor, I'm not paid for on-call.
• 8AM-Someone better be dead for all that racket.  Get out of bed, mumble and shuffle to Lily's room.  Say a quick prayer that the store brand diaper has survived the night and will not end up stripping the sheets and hosing the baby down in the sink,
• 9AM-Make coffee, drink it while watching Lily terrorise the cat, knock over paper and generally destroy the house. I'm on coffee break, not my issue.
• 930AM-Inspect carpet to figure out how dirty it really is.  Try to recall the original colour. Spend 3minutes trying to come up with an excuse not to vacuum today.  Mine: I prefer the grey colour rather then the white colour-feel free to reuse it, you're welcome.
• 1030AM-Do minor grunt work like make husband's lunch and baby prep stuff.  Realise that its been 30mins since I've last seen the baby and go find her in the other room eating paper, emptying out the laundry baskets or making chewing motions.  Decide if really want to know what she just ate.
• 11AM-Surf the Internet, forums and Facebook.  Make sure you bless the world with your opinion on EVERYTHING.
• NOON: Remove cat food out of Lily's mouth. Realise that it might be time to feed her some lunch.
• 1PM: Survey house and determine the least possible work it will take to make it appear like you've been cleaning all day.  Move furniture to cover carpet stains, close doors to hid messy bathroom and throw sheet over bed in lieu of making it.
• 115PM-Coffee Break.
• 2PM-Inspect house, after being satisfied with days work walk to parents house to proceed to eat food, trash living room.  It feels nice to dirty up a place you don't have to clean...
• 5PM-bum dinner, if that fails go back home and check freezer for leftovers. Scrape off any freezer burn and pass it off like you just made it, we all know the dishes are still in the sink from when you did...
• 8PM-Exclaim to husband what a day you've had and how tired you are.

And that? Is how it's done. Like a boss.

The curse of the photo shoot

So I'm posting again today.  Mostly because it has been a snowy and cold day and I haven't been able to leave the apartment-I've been bored out of my mind.  According to the weather network there is an "arctic outflow warning" and while I have no idea what the heck that means I don't want to risk being eaten by a polar bear anytime soon.  Luckily Dave is going to rescue me from my 900 square foot veal pen tomorrow because we have something very important scheduled:  Lily's photo session.  Yes we are celebrating her first year by getting some photos done by Sears (actually the truth is I found a coupon).  The only problem is that we are cursed when it comes to photos.  Cursed as in whenever we try to get a nice picture done Lily hits her head, gets a cold or does something so that when 20yrs from now when we show her photos she'll think we beat her.  It happened before for our Santa photos:  Lily decided to kiss the coffee table head first 2 days beforehand giving herself a bruise of epic proportions.  She has crawled by that coffee table many times but was drawn by the curse.  We scheduled this photoshoot about a week ago.  Since then she's been tripping and falling and coming very close to hitting her head.  But then it happened...two days ago she was pulling on a shelf and fell forward giving herself a bruise IN THE SAME SPOT (do you think we can lie and say it is a birth mark?).  Luckily its not as bad as the last time but I've spent the rest of the last few days protecting her head, I've even considered fitting her with a hat made out of bubble wrap (but then wrapping your kid's head in plastic seems unsafe...).  I was almost in the clear...7PM the night before, I just had to keep her from any further injury until 10am the next day when I notice she was sneezing...with a runny nose...and then wiped said runny nose with her hand and then wiped it into her eye...great! Knowing my luck she'll have pink eye tomorrow!

Wish me luck!

Also I decided to tame the brows so I'm pretty sure I'll have a shocked expression regardless how the day turns out.  If you live in Vancouver watch out for polar bears!

Legend of Zel-duh

I started playing Legend of Zelda and the Skyword Sword-I've logged in 6hours and I've just gotten past the tutorial part.  When I was younger I use to love video games, I played Sonic and Mario and have even beaten a few of them.  I stopped playing them when the consoles introduced a 4th button on their controllers followed by even newer controllers that put scientific calculators to shame.  Before I realised it, games had evolved into complex organisms and my favourite classics were the equivalent of the slime that crawled out of the ocean.
       About 3 or 4 years ago I bought my parents a Wii system for Christmas.  After the novelty of being able to stand and bowl and virtually play tennis wore off, I downloaded all my classics and stuck to that.  I never expanded further into the possibility of modern gaming.  Well that's a bit of a lie, I tried.  However I couldn't muster the co-ordination required to play the games:  now you had to hold two controllers, point at the screen, move a joystick and shake the other controller around like a baton.  I would always end up in a tangled mess or looking like Elaine dancing from Seinfeld (yes I know I need to update my cultural references, if you have cable invite me over to watch it).  How I never accidentally chucked the controller into my parent's TV or given myself a black eye is a miracle.  My other stumbling block was the move to 3D.  I have terrible eyesight so I would find myself closing one eye to try to see better.  Its the same argument I have with my husband over buying high definition items-whats the point of having high def if your eyes don't support it (my eyes are still like the tube TVs so why spend the extra money?).  For the last few years I have dedicated myself to being the videogame wingman.  It combines some of my many talents: backseat driving and nagging.  I watch my husband/mom play and try to solve the puzzles and tell them how not to die.  My husband doesn't seem to mind my help so either I'm really good or he knows that if he nods and agrees with what I say I'll let him play his game for a few hours longer before making him move heavy furniture around in my own personal game:apartment tetris.
     Back to Zelda-I AM actually enjoying the game.  It has cute graphics that won't scare people like me who have vivid imaginations and husbands who work nights (hence why I use my husband's play station as a paperweight-here there be zombies). It also starts off easy and slowly increases its difficulty to keep people like me who die easy and are sore losers from getting discouraged and going back to the safety of spider solitaire.
     However, I have a few issues so far with the game.  The first is with the flying, you have to hold the controller horizontal then move your arm up and down in a flapping motion.  This is like doing resistance free weights, it hurts, I get tired and then I crash.  The second is my parent's coffee table.  Yes I know technically this isn't a game interface issue and more of a home decor one but when I have to get up to do my big boss battles I hate bumping my shins.  The main boss guy also has a horrendous haircut, his bangs are over his eyes and the game doesn't even account for the fact he should be bad at depth perception since one eye is always covered.  Which brings me to the other question-how does Link's hat stay on?
         I'm hoping that maybe I will eventually finish the game or at the very least get past the first world.  All this videogame wingman talk has made me hungry for some wings...mmm wings.

Butterscotch Tears

  Well it is finally time.  Time for my gestational diabetes test.  I've been putting it off for a week now but I realise that I have to go in and get it over with soon.  When my doctor wrote me up the lab request it was like the hammer falling-*boom* playtime over. My mom tells me to be positive, maybe I WON'T have it this time around, what I don't tell her is how I had chocolate chips for breakfast, and those chocolate covered macadamia nuts?  Dave didn't eat the whole box..I did.  Truth be told, I do not need to take a test, they do not have to take a sample, I can tell them the answer they need to know.  In fact I'm pretty sure if they tried to draw blood, they would draw buttercream icing instead.  How do I know for sure? I was there for Christmas, I saw the candy carnage.  Let's just say when I exercise my sweat smells like gingerbread cookies.  Next year Santa will be sitting on MY lap telling me what HE wants for Christmas.  I am armed with a sweet tooth and ready to use it.
  The worst thing about gestational diabetes is the diet.  First of all the fridge is my siren and pantry is the jagged rocks I crash on.  I enjoy eating, its sorta my hobby.  Not only this but the diabetic diet makes no sense.  I have been on many diets in my lifetime and most focus on calories in, calories out and eat less and exercise more and you'll lose weight.  The diabetic diet is all about carbs and sugar and you know what? Everything has carbs and sugar and sometimes the go-to-healthy foods have the most in it!  I can put butter on my whole plate of pork chops and be fine but heaven forbid I have a whole banana or more then 12 grapes.
  The second issue is that I live with a man, my husband.  Like most men he will revolt if there is nothing but healthy "diet" food in the house.  The problem is that he brings it home, puts it in his designated candy dish and promptly forgets about it.  Unfortunately I have a photographic memory when it comes to sweets and I remember every little shred of junk food that is in that dish and very slowly I start eating it.  After Christmas was done I had to put our candy dish in front of him and make him finish it after my pants attempted to garrote me.  Dave doesn't understand why a mars bar and I cannot co-exist in the same house but that would be like putting a lion and a zebra in a 900 square foot apartment and tell them to behave-not going to happen.
   I could go into the other downsides of gestational diabetes like jabbing yourself with needles but really if I could choose between chocolate and needles? Jab away! So wish me luck, if I do test positive again I will guarantee that I will cry sweet butterscotch tears of sorrow but on the flip side body parts other then my stomach will thank me when I'm not delivering a 20lbs baby.

s-NO-w Day

It's dumping buckets of white powder today in Vancouver-seriously it looks like one of Charlie Sheen's sneezes out there.  Snow may not be a big deal for a lot of people, in fact people from other places of the world/country look outside and laugh but when you live in Vancouver, even a snowflake is a big deal-it's like throwing a wrench in a gear system or or replacing the soymilk in your Starbucks latte with whole milk-completely messes everything up.  When you don't drive in the snow, have a stroller with limited snow capacity and am pregnant, a snow day becomes a NO day. As in you're not doing anything at all today or the word you will be repeating over and over again to your kid because they are bored with staying at home and is getting into everything.  Being a stay at home mom is all fine and dandy until you have to abide by that name and well, stay at home... So you have to weigh your options, which one is worse: Cabin fever or a broken neck? Today I decided the risk of a broken neck was the lesser evil, since the forcast looked nasty for the next week and chances were that I probaly would have to stay in a few days and it didn't look THAT bad... That's the problem, it never looks that bad, especially when you've never had to navigate a stroller in the snow before or when you live on the 4th floor of an apartment- 'Hey the trees don't look too covered" deerrrp. I bundled Lily and myself up and decided to go to our usual Monday mom's group.  I looked Lil straight in the face and told her "there's a chance we may not make it" and then checked the bus schedule.
Oh the bus. The 701.  For those of you who are not native to maple ridge and have never experienced the wonder of the 701 consider yourself lucky.  It's like translink's dysfunctional brother.  So when I say that the 701 was NOT the most dangerous part of my trek today, that is saying a lot.  First of all, people-Shovel your sidewalks.  It's the law. It's civilized. So many people do not do it, and I always like to give them the benefit of the doubt, like maybe they are a little old lady who cannot do it or they have a disability or maybe they do night shifts and haven't been home yet. However when Speedy McArsehole comes barreling out of his driveway skidding on the ice and snow as I struggle to push my stroller on his unshoveled portion of the sidewalk at 11am in the morning a little piece of my faith in humanity dies. After dislodging myself and the stroller multiple times from snow banks and slipping a few times I made it to the bus stop.  Got on the bus and was a little concerned when I spotted the driver with a newspaper in his lap and chatting away on his cell.  As we were driving I noticed other cars were tailgating and speeding around us with apparently no regard for the white stuff covering the road.  Luckily I was in a bus-whenever you see a bus and a car in an accident the bus always wins.
Needless to say I made it there and back home safe and sound.  Dave starts working nights tonight so I will be alternating between worrying about him getting to and from work safe with the strange noises that the apartment makes at night when I'm home alone.  I'll also have to decide if the noises I am hearing are ghosts or the early onset of cabin fever.

Twitter Twat

I don't understand twitter.  Twitter is like your 14yr old nephew-from a younger, different generation with multiple piercings and nail polish.  You're sorta intimidated by it but at the same time you want it to think you are cool.  I want to be twitter's cool aunt. The one that sneaks it into inappropriate movies or let drink coffee, I want twitter to like me.  I've had a twitter account for a few months now and only have tweeted a few tweets-to be honest it just doesn't make sense.  I'm more like twitter's aunt that smells like tomato soup, have multiple cats and gives it knitted sweaters for its birthday. I'm its weird, creepy aunt.
The whole concept is foreign to me. It seems like you write something, giggle to yourself about how brilliant you are and then throw it aimlessly in cyber space hoping maybe a celebrity will notice your biting wit and follow you. Or you can choose to follow a celebrity (bbbbaaaa) and be informed on how Kim Kardashian really feels about the state of world politics or chaos theory.  To me it just seems like you're shouting random things on a busy street corner hoping someone will take notice.  You're like that homeless guy that stands on the street corner yelling obscenities, the only difference is that you have WIFI and he may get a few coin thrown his way.
What about the word count?  I find myself writing my phrase only to see that I've grossly gone over 140 characters.  So what does one do? Start chopping words and grammar, forget about grammar, that is so 1990s.  I'm worried that by the time Lily is learning to read and write she won't understand that real English words have more than 3 letters and don't contain numbers, GR8T! WTF!  Hashtags are another thing, that's apparently when you use a pound sign.  At first I thought it was when you wanted to yell or perhaps when you're really excited.  I still don't know what it is used for.  I almost think it's an apology for cutting out all spaces so that you can make your word count.  I also do not like the concept of no feedback.  Yeah people COULD retweet you but at least on Facebook people can like your status or comment so you know if you're being funny or an ahole.  I'm vapid, I need to know that I'm exactly as funny as I think I am.
Luckily I know a cool aunt, Lily's aunt Kirstin.  So next time she's in town maybe she can school me in the ways of twitter. I feel I must know-in the future I believe we will eventually all communicate via tweets.


I think my friend B. put it best that twitter allows you to shed all social responsibility, you no longer have to second guess what your friends would think about it so if you're taking a dump? Tweet about it.  Which makes me a little more than concerned... I haven't seen him tweet anything since I added him a few days ago.  Maybe I'll send him some prune juice.

Baby Proofing the beast

   My apartment is a death trap.  Apparently I was unaware of this fact until Lily started crawling and completely aware now that she's pulling herself up.  In the two years that I have lived here, I've never had a near death experience..well actually one when I was DE-bacheloring the place and learnt what single men keep in their kitchen drawers-keys, lots of random keys and matchbooks....  Anyways Lily has opened my eyes about just how dangerous we live.  In fact there is a certain game she likes to play called Darwinism-You take everyday household items, say a potato masher and try to figure out how to impale yourself on it.  Speakers no longer only play music, they are also wonderful items to pull down on top of yourself or reenact that famous Indian Jones scene with the cat by bouldering it on top of him (the cat no longer says meow but FML).  Who ever started the chicken/egg debate obviously never had kids.  Without the chicken, who would tell the egg not to roll off a cliff or not to stick its beak in an electrical socket.  Without the chicken we would have a smashed egg and no way to explain how foreign meat tastes like.
We started the task of baby proofing about three months ago.  The more we baby proof the more I realise that we're not making things safer, we're just sealing in the danger.  Fire grate? Perfect item to scale and use as a slide to get to the fireplace. Cabinet locks? Perfect for smashing tiny fingers and mommy's big dreams of having a concert pianist.  Also now it's making the place unsafe for us. That TV we wall-mounted so Lily wouldn't pull on top of herself? Countless concussions from walking into it.The closets jammed packed with stuff we can't have lying around? There's always an avalanche risk....
Not only this but our apartment has turned into a giant Rubik cube.  Need a place for the next SAW movie? Bring them over here and tell them to make it from the bedroom to the kitchen and cook something.  Need a challenge for minute to win it? Unlock my cleaning supplies cabinet. NBC if you're reading this, call me, I'll be waiting.
I guess it's not all bad thought, we're challenging Lily's brain development by making her think of creative ways to injure herself and get pass the proofing. 

On another note I'm waiting for our pizza to arrive for dinner.  We're locked out of our pantry and very hungry.  I hope the delivery person understands why I'm going to answer the door without pants-I can't get into my closet.

Kitty Power Struggle

   Our cat has been dethroned.  When we were a child-free couple our cat (Shadow) WAS our baby, he was our idol, our prince.  He ruled the house.  Our friends with kids told us to wait, once the first child came the cat would no longer be the centre of attention.  Shadow not being the centre of attention? NEVER.  We swore up and down (like every person before kids) that we would be different, Shadow would not feel the effects of having a bipedal sibling.  Yeah...right.  It took a few months to realise it, but oh how the golden feline had fallen.  Just the other day I gave him a boot because he was right underfoot begging for a shred of attention and in his attempts he had almost tripped me and broke my neck.  The other morning he tried to snuggle on my pillow but I pushed him off desperate for some more sleep.  When did he become so needy? So annoying? or more importantly, when did 5mins of alone time become so important to me? when did 5 more mins of sleep become the gauge between getting my housework,dinner,errands done or balled up in the fetal position by noon? Dave (my husband) and I sat down and discussed "the cat crisis of 2011".  Apparently the cat has been very upset at Dave all week and he has noticed it as soon as he walked through the door after work.
        It then dawned on me-yes the cat had moved down a position on the totem pole, but more importantly so had I and right now I was sitting below the cat...there were no "Kali Crisis" meetings, no "why is Kali still in her PJs at 4PM"? With the arrival of baby number 3 approaching fast, the cat and I will have to jockey ourselves in the family food chain.  This could mean a power struggle of epic proportions.  This....means big trouble for me, because? I'm just not as likeable as the damn cat. I am the underdog.  Need proof?  Look at LOL cats (wait, not now, let me finish..fine open another tab I'll wait).  That site probably has billions of viewers each day. My blog? One, maybe two readers on a good day. While Shadow is all "Can I haz a cheeseburger" and "sleepy kitty needs sleep" I'm all like "Dave clean up your damn mess" and "Lily no you cannot play with the electrical plug or have a shooter of cleaning liquid". I'm clearly not as cute and maybe a bit more annoying. Plus, come to think of it, maybe Shadow wasn't trying to be under my foot for attention, maybe he really was trying to trip me...to, you know, bump off the competition.  I bet if I look at my pillow tomorrow there will be a kitty litter colada with my name on it and maybe the taunt "GAME ON".
So please, any ideas on how to one up the cat, and hurry before Dave decides to cancel my Internet and cell phone to pay for Kitty Empathy Training!!

Welcome to my blog

So yes, I have finally done it-started my very own blog.  Apparently I always had witty facebook statuses and my mom has been trying to convince me to join twitter for months.  I just can't abide by the 140 character limit-your rules, not mine twitter.  Plus I'm not a celebrity or reality star with poorly informed politcal views I feel the need to endorse.  Anyways, I've always been nervous to write- the thoughts "what if my blog sucks?, everyone will hate it" comes to mind but then I realized I'm not Adam Lambert-I'm not here for your entertainment...Yes I know, I just used a highly outdated cultural reference, but hey I'm a stay at home mom with no cable....
  In hindsight I should have been more worried about setting this blog up.  It took me almost an hour just to get my post up and don't get me started at trying to create a profile...Exhausted, I finally sat Lily (my 11month old daughter) on my lap and expected her to fix the mangled web I created.  She just mashed the keyboard with her hands and exclaimed "ba ba ba" before grabbing my husband's paperwork and throwing it on the floor-a technique I have already used but instead of my hands mashing the keyboard it was more of my face.
  So please enjoy my blog and if you hate it please don't write me asking for the 5mins of your life back or the KB you probaly used from your overly expensive data plan.
-Kali

Spider Solitare

Today Lily hit me with a backscratcher.  Apparently I wasn't paying her enough attention. I was, yes, on my IPhone.  You see I am an IPhone addict-but its not what you think-I'm addicted to spider solitare.  I wish this was a euphisim for something more bad ass or exciting, but it isn't. I AM actually taking about the card game.  I guess spider solitare is a bad ass version of solitare if you think of it-you use multiple decks-it's like solitare with a mohawk and lip piercing, but not skinny jeans...it's not hipster.  Anyways I'm always on my IPhone and always trying to improve my Spider solitare game, rocking out the two suits (on Friday when I'm feeling freaky I may try four suits but usually go running back to the comfort of two).  Yes I am well aware that I'm using a $400 piece of highly tuned equipment for something I can do with a $2 deck of cards, and yes my battery is usally dead by 5PM making me unreachable.  Maybe my abuse of technology can be cured, maybe there is an app for that...I wouldn't know, my tour of the app store ended with Spider Solitare. But hey, the apple doesn't fall far from the genetically encoded tree-my dad recently go at $600 Ipad and thinks its the sweetest radio.


-Logging off, I see Lily coming this way with a potato masher...