Troll Ants

     
I know I haven't blogged in a while.  3 months actually.

Seems to be the issue in my life at the moment is consistency.  Ask me about my fitness routine, painting, blogging..Actually don't ask me because I haven't done anything in a while, but don't worry, I'll do all of it really well for a week before I get distracted *cough* Candy Crush! *cough*

The only thing I've kept up on is Voyager. I'm on the last season now and part of me is going to miss Kate Mulgrew's acting skills which more and more seem resemble her trying to hold in farts.  The other part of me hates myself for sticking through all 8 seasons in hope it gets better.  It doesn't.  At the end even the actors seem ready to wrap things up and hit the caterer's tent.
Anyways, this isn't a post about Voyager, it's about something more annoying.

Ants.

Yes, ants.

You see, D and I have become renters.  The only difference I can see so far between owning a house and renting is when the kids destroy or dent things I can laugh and say "It's not my place".  I'm pretty sure there are many benefits to home-ownership, however when you live with toddlers it's nice to know that as long as the damage stays below the damage deposit value, you're fine.  However when we moved in, the landlords forgot to mention our roomates..the ants.

Do you know that there are over 12,000 species of ants (I can't remember if this is a true fact or if I just made it up but for the sake of this blog just work with me).  However our place is populated by a unique type of ant.  I have given it a new species name, I guess I should go update wikipedia for those busy scientists who will no doubt want to award me a noble peace prize, and maybe a catered lunch.  I dub thee: Troll Ants.

What is a troll ant? Well first of all let us define troll via urban dictionary

    "One who posts a deliberately provocative message to a newsgroup or message board with the intention of causing maximum disruption and argument"

This is exactly what I have on my hands.  But instead of living in message boards or comment sections on the internet, these ants live in my cupboards and possibly my dishwasher.

So why would I call these ants trolls?

Because they are not bound by the normal laws of ant physics which is: see sugar-->eat sugar-->march around a picnic blanket.  No. Instead they feed off my sanity because nothing is sweeter than my sanity.  Seriously, I've bleached and cleaned my kitchen so there is nothing that the ants could possibly want.  It is so clean that I could almost claim that you could eat off them, but that would only be applicable if you were a contestant on fear factor and required to eat ants.  Meanwhile just across the tile in crumb paradise is millions of pulverized cheerios, because a toddler seem to sweat crushed Cheerios (maybe it's their version of pixie dust?).  D has spray foamed and sealed all the cupboards and cracks in the entire kitchen, these ants determined to stop at nothing in order to invade my kitchen just to watch me lose it.  They couldn't have done a better job, even if they had ant sized t-shirts that read "you're just a fangirl".
At first I didn't want to use traditional pest control measures since I've grown rather attached to the bigger pests in my household (the kids).  I spent two weeks trying every recommended natural ant repellant that "Yahoo Answers" had to offer (including mini signs saying no ants allowed, a suggestion probably made by a real troll).  Armed with cinnamon and vinegar I waged battle. Well not really a battle, it started getting into looney tunes territory.  I felt a bit like the wily-e-coyote as I mixed my homemade any spray-which I've dubbed "Kalitov Cocktail". At this rate, I'll be receiving packages from Acme...actually, an anvil may just solve my ant problem.. Vinegar just made the ants more angry and they found their way into my dishwasher, earning our rental at least 3.5 pitchforks in hell's travel guide.  It got so bad that once in a while my dishwasher just turns it's self on and does the dishes. Either the ants have gotten into the electrical or we are haunted by a ghost with higher cleaning standards than me. Either way I can't ask if they used dishwashing soap without hiring a medium or dr. Doolittle.  One morning after leaving out a wet rag-not dirty, WET-hang to dry is reason enough to celebrate. I woke up to antapolooza happening in my sink. After deciding that cinnamon and vinegar was not enough to break up the party, I ended up squishing 40 ants.  It was time for chemicals.

The troll ants just laughed.  I was feeding them all the attention they needed. Wherever I put powder down, they would just find a new place to enter the kitchen, making a home in my coffee cups and silverware so I would spend the rest of the day worrying about accidentally, indirectly poisoning myself.

Eventually I placed down a few ant traps and ignored them.  I forgot about the cardinal internet rule of "don't feed the trolls".
They actually disappeared for a few weeks.  I guess you can only torment someone for so long until you get bored, plus the neighbors decided to leave their garbage outside and most trolls love an easy target.  Just as I was getting use to living in a place where you couldn't tell if that speck was dirt of insect based, I opened up the dishwasher and was greeted by 20 ants.  Turned the dishwasher on high heat.  Apparently they like jacuzzis because they're back there today.

Okay so who put these ants up to this? You can come forward now.

Candy Crushed

After spending most of February and some of March being a productive member of society, I decided to take a break and spend some time just consuming oxygen and catching up on TV.  Sure I could have ridden that wave of productivity to get a job, volunteer, clean...but I decided to get off, park my surf board and have an ice cream.
So what Have I been doing? Obviously not blogging, painting or looking for gainful emplyment.  Nope, I made a grave mistake: I took advice from Facebook and downloaded a mindless, highly addictive and slightly aggravating game.  I should have started recreational drinking, at least they have rehab for that.  What's this mindless game that seems to have consumed everyone on Facebook?  It's called "Candy Crush"
  Chances are you have seen this game pop up on your local newsfeed.  Normally I block all Facebook based game, because quite frankly I've never dreamed of being a farmer and quite enjoy watching my real-life plants die from neglect on my patio.  The premise is quite simple: try to get three of the same candies in a row to remove them from blocking your objective: whether it be bringing down ingredients or removing jelly.  I should explain further since chances are that you've never played the game because if you have, chances are is that you wouldn't be reading this blog, or showering, or doing anything besides looking at your device of choice screaming "somone send me a life for crying out loud!!!". AKA My Friday night.

I know.  Apparently people can give me as many Candy Crush lives as I need but no one can give me an actual life.

I'm currently waiting for my next batch of lives (you only get 5 at a time then have to wait in 30 minute increments), and that is why I am actually writing, and job searching.  When I close my eyes I see little pieces of candy floating down in unity, creating stripped candy, color bombs clearing jelly and busting through chocolate...ahem... sorry.
   The other draw back? Makes me crave candy.  Ask me about eating a kilo of jelly beans.  I was practicing real life candy crush, and let me tell you...I cleared that level.  After a long day of playing I told my husband I was making cake for breakfast.  He laughed, until he asked what was for dinner and I placed a cake on the table.  Obviously he thought I was joking....
  I introduced the game recently with my husband.  He is now glued to his Iphone.  In fact, fights have occurred over choice I Phone plug locations-the winner gets the couch, the loser? the barstool facing the fridge.  It reminds me of that Star Trek TNG episode where Riker brings that game aboard ship. Dave and I sit on the couch asking each other what level we're on. Friendships have been placed in jepardy over promptness to send tickets to unlock new levels. 
   Anyways, once we have surrendered to our new overloads: aka the Candy Crush designers who decide to withhold all future levels until you shave your head and join the Candy Crush compound-I figure life will be just a bit simpler... after all, anyone who bases a game on candy can't be all that bad?

Real Estate Reality

  
D and I decided to sell our apartment.
           As I was madly scrubbing the place clean, I came to the realization that trying to sell an apartment is a lot like dating. You spend the whole time trying to convince someone that you are a perfect fit for their lifestyle.  Yes, just as I spent hours curling my hair, putting on makeup, cramming my muffin top into my bra and posing in front of the mirror; I was shoving junk into closets, scrubbing finger prints off the mirrors and slaying dust bunnies.  Just as I appeared to be witty, charming and never sarcastic, I had to make my house look like it was flawless, that despite having 2 toddlers, my house was spacious and not some cramped camper heading towards insanityville .  I can do this.  I did this before.  When we met, D didn't know that eating pop tarts while watching star trek was considered a hobby in my books until it was too late, not to mention too expensive to run for the hills.  Oh please let my potential buyer specialize in bad decisions.
      Don't get me wrong, it's not like there is anything bad about our apartment.  However, there is nothing special about it that would set it apart, or make the toddler-caused damage seem enduring.  It lacks, character.  I'd consider it 2D because it's lacking depth.  We also haven't done anything to it: white walls, white...er...whitish...er grey carpets and not really decorated.  What can I say?  We don't own nice stuff, we have toddlers.  So my solution?  Make it as clean as possible.
         So here I am, scrubbing the walls in a desperate attempt to impress some stranger and not land myself on a demo tape for Hoarders.  I've been cleaning for three hours.  Sure, my place doesn't look spotless, but at least you won't be wondering if you'll be left with a rash when you leave.  Come to think about it, it looks almost the same as I began.  I just hope no one tries to open a cupboard, I may be hit with a potential lawsuit when a potential buyer gets buried in 2 weeks worth of laundry.  I've renamed the task "Operation Beer Goggles".  Oh please let my potential buyer specialize in bad decisions.  Now the waiting game....

Welcome to Real Estate hell...

 Enter the apartment showings....

    

     We had a showing today, which was the main reason for my renewed interest in housework.  Matter of fact, I consider this the Housewife Olympics. I had a days notice to pull this together.  At the time I was told of the showing, my daughter discovered that if you empty all the contents of the dresser drawers onto the floor, you have a nice soft landing when you try to jump off the bed.  Now it's a personal challenge: can I scrub the place clean before the next person comes to see the place?  I may be a pro cleaner but my toddlers are well schooled in the arts of mess and destruction.  Oh please let my potential buyer specialize in bad decisions.
Apartment living brings its own obstacles.  For example, it's just not you, oh no.  You have to hope and hope AND hope that your neighbors will be on the best behavior for that moment.  Yes. that lady that likes to talk about how impressive it is that Strata has managed to fit its head up its arse, given the massive stick already up there...she's probably in the elevator.  That person who lets his dog crap in the hallway, yup probably in the elevator.  In fact they are the Welcoming committee, ready to greet the buyer.  I also have a sneaking suspicion that our neighbors downstairs who are also trying to sell are choosing this exact moment to seek revenge for our kids screaming through their showings by deciding to take up  the bagpipes. Oh please let my potential buyer specialize in bad decisions.
     Anyways, as mentioned I cleaned for 3 hours straight, in hopes that maybe, just maybe, they would be blinded by the shiny chrome and not notice that the white carpet is lepoard print...or that my son just dragged his arse across it sans diaper moments before.  The realtor estate agent and buyer took 3 minutes to check out the place.  Which is a long time considering you can stand at the entrance and turn 360 degrees in place to get the full tour.  They mumbled something in another language that must of meant "I'm not that desperate yet" before leaving.  They didn't even check behind the oven.  I scrubbed that clean!  Scrubbed that clean!!
      Maybe next time.  Maybe next time Mr. Right will come along.  Oh please let my potential buyer specialize in bad decisions.

Technology Time-out

I have a confession to make. I'm in love with my IPhone.  It's the first thing I see when I wake up and the last thing I see when I go to bed.  It tells me the weather, the time, makes me laugh, makes me cry, it's like having a good friend without the fear of having to answer if its butt looks big in those jeans.

I discovered that I have a problem.

I first figured it out when my cell phone battery died and I had to drive home.  I started panicking...what would I do if something happened, like mysteriously I ran out of gas or that William Riker was finally going to propose to me? Then it dawned on me, I didn't have a cell phone until I was 18, I was pretty sure I would survive the 5 minute drive home. Sure enough, when I plugged in the IPhone, no one had phoned and nothing happened on Facebook.

I had become completely reliant on my phone.  Like Lassie, it was an enabler (really do you think Timmy would keep falling in wells and stuff if he didn't know Lassie would just bail him out?).  The worse thing is that I was on the phone instead of interacting with my children.

So I decided to scale back the use of my phone.  Reluctantly.

I had already started a few months ago by putting my phone away while visiting my friends or at Strong Start.  It drove me crazy when in public that so many people's noses were buried deep in their phones instead of interacting with each other (myself included).  I figured that leaving it in my jacket pocket would work best because one moment I would check the time and BAM there I was on Facebook.  Out of reach, out of mind.  Now I don't mean to toot my own horn... it's easy to show manners in a public space, I also don't go into someone else's house and drag my butt across the carpet (it's called class people!).  However I still had the issue of being on my phone surfing the net while at home or at my parents.  As soon as I got home I would be back on the phone.

Not only was I missing out on my kids (or letting them run around wild), I was setting a bad example.  It dawned on me, raising children is a bit like dating-you have to be like the person you want to date, or in this case the person you want your children to become.  Right now I was on a one way train to sulky-teenager-always on the phone-ville. 

Now I'm not going cold turkey and I will still answer calls and texts.  I don't believe in just throwing out the phone or going back to the Nokia brick phone with no data plan is the solution.  Like everything else moderation is the key.  Yes I can shelter my kids from phones but showing them how to use a phone responsibly and not like an air tank would benefit them most.  You can keep your children away from McDonalds, but one day they will trip and fall on a french fry!  There had to be a solution.

I only allow Lily one movie a day (after the dreaded lets watch Cars three times in a row incident), wouldn't it only be fair if I was subject to the same rules?  So I created the Technology Time out box (boy is my husband going to like this along with the introduction of tofu Tuesday).  The concept is simple, the phone goes in the box, I can check Facebook in the morning and evening.  Sounds simple, but oh, so difficult in reality.

It's hard not checking Facebook multiple times a day.  The whole world is online and it moves so fast that I think we all begin to develop a fear of being left behind.  I once read a study (on my phone) that said Facebook users report feeling depressed when checking Facebook because they assume that everyone is having fun except for them.  I'd believe this since most of the time I'm sitting on my couch eating poptarts and watching Star Trek....okay never-mind that's a great evening! Most of the time when I'm watching Thomas for the millionth time..  Think about it, except for that one person who just posts photos of what they're eating (sorry to my sister who posted a picture of her dinner tonight, but in fairness to me I wrote these notes a few days ago), people posts photos when they are out and doing something.  I know for a fact I only post pictures of myself when I'm dressed up and actually wearing pants and brushed my hair.

So it's a work in progress, and I'm really trying hard on this one.  Once Lily is able to draw more than random scribbles and does a portrait of her mom, I would like it not to have my phone attached to my face.

Let me paint you a picture

As many of you know, I am on another Davecation.  As with the many Davecations that have come before it, I am stuck at home at night and have plenty of spare time from not having to do laundry or make lunches.  It's like I'm a teenager again with an 8 o clock curfew. Lily turns into a pumpkin if not in bed before 8:30.  Okay change pumpkin into Tasmanian toy hurling she-devil....

So what do I do? TV gets old fairly fast, even with TLC's line up of reality TV shows.  I mean, I've already watched most of Honey Boo Boo's family fart through all the major holidays.  I have decided to take up painting.  Something that will make me sane after a full day of debating the merits of pants with a toddler.  Apparently Lily thinks I should wear them when I'm at home.  Like with all my hobbies, I have little faith my interest will continue past a few weeks so there is a chance all my supplies will end up beside my unfinished sewing and music instruments.  I bought the best paint that the dollar store could provide, which means I have about 5 colours to choose from.  They say you can make any colour you want if you have the primary colours, but don't listen to them, all I am able to make is brown.

I've been posting my pictures on Facebook.  The beauty of social networking is that you can subject others to whatever crazy you can take a picture of.  Plus there is only a like button so nobody is a critic.  So far I believe that I am doing fairly well, in fact my husband commented that he didn't know I could paint.  I'm not surprised, I also hid the fact that I was a trekkie and now he gets to spend the rest of his married life watching Star Trek TNG reruns...

Betcha didn't know that the actor that played Scotty lost his middle finger during World War 2 and they hid it in most of the shots...
or that Worf's forehead prosthetic changed appearance in season 2 because the original one was stolen...
or that originally Counsellor Troi was suppose to be a four breasted alien before Gene Roddenberry's wife shot down the idea (moral of the story: a happy wife is a happy life)..

you're welcome, it's a pleasure to educate you.

Now where were I?  I use to draw all the time. I was a geek before the hipsters, before all the "geeks are cool movies", before people realised that would need geeks to set up their wireless routers.  I had a lot of time on my hand, since my social life was as dead as crocs in the fashion world, so I use to draw.  Sure it was mostly random anime and me marrying Willam Riker (I know, I know, it would never work, him being in space and all) but I found a lot of enjoyment from drawing and became pretty good at sketching.  Anyways once I hit university I become fairly social and stopped drawing and watching star trek (which is why Johnathan Franks went on to marry an opera singer and got old).

Anyways enough of my teenage angst.

I've been painting almost every night.  I finished a painting of a unicorn punching a dolphin, because as you also know, I am the only person on the planet that hates dolphins.  PS-try explaining to a lady at Strong Start that you enjoy painting and you mostly paint pictures of dolphins hitting things and NOT sound like a psycho.  I've also painted the same unicorn kicking a sea-turtle because he is a badass and for all you non mythical beings out there, it is thousands of dollars worth of fines if you try.  As soon as I post this, PETA will probably be banging on my door any minute.  Good thing I keep a batch of panda pate for unexpected guests.  I've also painted pictures of my son that passed away.  I've found it fairly therapeutic, also I feel like I get to relearn what his face looked like, by sketching him, I've discovered facial traits I didn't know he had. I have also drawn my beloved Star Trek-but no marriage photos, I have enough laundry as it is.

Anyways I'm off to think of my next painting.  Hopefully I'll find something else to blog about of interest.

Year in Review

Well it's that time of year again. 
   As you may have already discovered, Christmas season always brings the annual Christmas newsletters.  They show up in the mail (on time no less) showcasing a picture of a photo perfect, smiling family and each paragraph boasts more successful ventures then the last.  For some reason their toddler doesn't decide to stick her finger up her nose in EVERY photo!  Usually when reading about how little Timmy has mastered quadratic equations is the same time I notice that my daughter has used her hair as a napkin (you try not to freak out when her head is covered in red ketchup and you mistake it for blood)..
    I've always wanted to start a newsletter tradition of my own, however, I've been waiting for some boast worthy news.  This year I decided to try to work with what I got.  So far it hasn't gone as planned.  For starters my newsletter is already late: I aim for Christmas and I'll be lucky to get one out by February.  Second of all, I don't plan on mailing it, just putting it out there in blog form.  While trying to come up content, my first gut reaction was to grab a newsletter from a more successful family and pass it off as mine.  After all, one cannot brag about ones ability to double fist frozen cookiedough and chocolate chips while breastfeeding.....

So here is a summary of 2012 for the McRidout family:

Arrival of Jo Jo: 

We welcomed our third child this April.  He hasn't done anything amazing such as create cold fusion or win a peace prize but he is sitting up on his own and boasts a total of 3 teeth.  He's got such a sweet smile that I'm sure he'll charm the creator of cold fusion into giving him credit hence earning me a spot in a nice retirement home.  He is my precious son, hence I have spoiled him rotten (I regret nothing!).  He's sure cute now but I'm sure it won't be when he's a toddler.  His real name is Joseph however, we decided that we should give him a girly nickname that should follow him well into university (Jo Jo isn't that bad, I use to call Lily gummi bear because she had no teeth).   

Oh yes he's cute now....

however at 2am in the morning when he's screaming because he hates his crib, its not so cute!

Arrival of the BAT (Big ass truck)

Oh yes, the truck.  As mentioned in previous blogs, much to my delight, my husband traded in our zippy Jetta for a Big Ass Truck.  Now I know how Jack's mother felt when Jack came home with magic beans.  Apparently a reasonable size truck meant big enough to house a family of four in the back to my husband.  This monster of a vehicle has pretty much condemned me to being a pedestrian since I can barley manoeuvre my stroller without crashing it into a wall (just the other day I ran over someone's foot in the mall, I'm pretty sure I'd get more then an eyeful of stinkeye if I did that with the truck).  The other issue is it is wedged between a fancy sportscar and a pole in our parcade which pretty much wife-proofs it.  It took me so long to figure out how to get it out of our underground parkade, that I forgot where I was going in the first place. Glug glug glug..what's that? I can't hear you over the sound of my truck.  Just watch your feet, I don't want to crush it with my carbon footprint! 
For more BAT chaos click here.

Sorry kids, I spent your college tuition on driving to the supermarket!

Lily turned 1:

It was a year of firsts for Lily. We threw a huge party to celebrate the occasion in February.  However once she hit that landmark she found out that getting old sucks (enter the arrival of her younger brother).  2012 brought the discovery of walking, which lead to running which lead to jumping which has lead to many time outs.  She also started to talk and, well hasn't ceased since.  She now speaks in full sentences and seems to be full of sass just like her mother.  It has created our nightly Mario games that much harder (have you ever tried to play Mario without using colourful language?-ask Dave what S word she learnt tonight).  We started going to Strong Start this September which has provided her plenty of opportunity to terrorise others in a new setting.

Here is Lily at her first birthday party

It's amazing how much they change in that year! here is her in Dec

Lily and Jo Jo

 Lily loves her new brother very much as long as he's not playing with any of her toys, interacting with any of her people or breathing in her general direction.  We constantly have to remind her that she has to respect Joe's right to exist.  Jo Jo adores Lily and finds everything she does hysterical.  In fact I overheard them laughing while I was putting my contacts in only to discover that she had coloured his face using a ball point pen.  While we were playing Mario tonight, we looked over and there was Lily, feeding JoJo water from the dog's dish while he was jumping in his jolly jumper (sure glad I spent all that time and effort sterilising his bottles..).  Lily also enjoys the opportunity to use JoJo as a scapegoat.  Quite often whenever Lily is being bad, her first cry of protest is: "Jo Jo did it!".

The Dynamic Duo

I SO will be employing this technique.  My only concern is that it makes it easier for Lily to distribute JoJo beats

Elijah turned 2

It's been two years since Elijah passed away.  We spent his birthday with my family and had a nice day at Squamish.  We decorated his grave site for Christmas.  As always he remains a big part of our family.  Miss you baby boy!

 

Sister got engaged

After finding this picture on google, it makes my romantic plane ride proposal suck

 Yes, I know it's not really my news but I'm running out of material.  Bottom line is that I got a new brother-in-law to torment.  I've been taking lessons from Lily and anticipating mastering the art of swirlies any day now.  They seem very much in love, which makes sense since she hasn't realised that husbands come with plenty of laundry.  Anyways there's a rumour of maybe a fly by night Vegas wedding so I've been searching the web trying to find her a mullet dress for the occasion.    


It's not class unless its in the form of a mullet

Dave got a new job

Dave started a new job that involves him working out of town for long periods of time.  We miss him while he is away but I don't miss the laundry and dishes that follow him.  Plus we fight way less with a province to buffer us.

Job Search

I've been trying to help out financially, especially since Dave was laid off for a few weeks in December.  I am still trying to find freelance writing jobs but so far no one has found me that funny.  I did however try to venture back in the land of the working and was able to land a job but wasn't able to make it worth my while (turns out people charge money for childcare, my kid's company isn't payment enough).  I have been adding extra income and exploring my hobby of getting rid of stuff by selling it on bidding wars.  I was able to fund most of our Christmas costs this way.  Yay me!!  My husband isn't that impressed that random things go missing in our house and he secretly fears he'll return home one day and there will be nothing but two pillows and a lamp left.

Running

I decided to get back in shape and since I have a complicated relationship with both time and money, running seemed to be the cheapest and easiest method to do so..  Up to December, I was running 10-15km twice a week.  I've done two races: the 10km Terry Fox run and the 10Km 5 peaks run.  Since December however I haven't been out running because Dave is working out of town but as I guiltily opened a bunch of running related gifts over Christmas, it's time to get back into it.  I'm hoping 2013 will bring some new races. 

and finally the biggest change of 2012:

I'm NOT pregnant.

How many just read the I'm and p-word (too scared to put the two together incase that's what causes it) and almost peed themselves.  I'm happy to announce the completion of the McRidout family.  In case anyone is interested, this is the longest period of time in our marriage where I haven't been pregnant.  I'm excited to try out normal people activities such as snowboarding, seeing my feet and eating lunch meat.

2009-2012, long journey but done!

Hope you enjoyed reading my year in review!

State of Davecation

As most of you know, I am flying solo until March.  Dave has followed the gravy train and it has lead him to Alberta.  I swear, he was running towards work and not away from having to deal with the family 24/7.  He's going to be gone for weeks at a time, so it's only natural that I announced our home to be in a state of Davecation.

*Yes, I am aware that I just announced that I'm home alone to the internet.  BUT I have a very large viscous cat and sleep with a very realistic model phaser under my pillow (not toy, after you turn 25 you call them models)*

So what does this mean?  Clothes in the hamper (not beside it), dishes in the dishwasher (not the sink and table) and less laundry (the man takes out a different dish towel for every spill..).  I tend to do less around the house as well since noone is coming home and asking me: "what have YOU done all day"- because I was in the same spot when he left the house (Spoiler alert: in my PJ's eating nachos).  Cooking and cleaning get reduced to minimal operations.  This is the closest to a vacation that a mom gets so I'll take it!

This is how I feel when I don't have to vacuum every other day

This is not the first time he's been away.  But all my Davecations have only been short.  I do miss my husband but I must say, the best times of our marriage is when we have a city or two to buffer us.

Last time I was on Davecation I spent most of my nights staying up late, watching Star Trek and eating nachos (since we have an abundance of salsa, see post on grocery shopping).  I also filled up my Iphone memory downloading Picard memes.
  I also embarked on a little hobby, because after the second night of memes I was getting a little stir crazy.
 I painted Lil and JoJo's second hand train set which I had bought for Christmas.  It was such a good deal but it had looked like it went through toddlergetan-apparently its last owner enjoyed smashing the trains against the wall.  I sanded the trains down and gave Thomas a sex change-hope he likes pink!  The first night of operation jazzify trains was a complete disaster.  Since the toddler was in bed, I assumed that I could leave my painting mess on the table.  I apparently forgot I own a cat. Day 2 of Davecation involved scrubbing acrylic cat paws off our new bedsheets.  The second day of operation "Jazzify Trains" resulted in an acrylic trail around the house. I'd blame the cat however the stronghold of the trail is on the fridge handle. On I side note: I love nachos.
The last day, I realized that I should really vacuum, at least once.  It ended up being an educational day:I learnt how to change a vacuum bag. I learnt that Dave bought the wrong bag size. I learnt you can't force a bag to fit:not with scissors, not with tape-Nope macgyvering a vacuum bag will get you a bigger mess than you began with.
Lets not forgot about my constant state of throwing away things or selling them on bidding wars for a dollar...

I'm surprised that he trusts me home alone or at least isn't a bit scared to come home.

So now I have full reign of the house.  I already decorated the house for Christmas, sold a few of Dave's items, but now...now I'm bored.
I could vacuum...
look for a job...
cook dinner...
be a mother to my kids...

NAW!

I think it's time for a prank.  Before Dave left for Alberta he was a bit down.  He temporaily forgot how terrible the kids behave (or is in a state of denial) and was a little worried about missing them.  Actually he was acting like he was leaving forever, moping about as I danced jigs around him...In fact, the kids were being utter thugs at the dinner table when he told me he was all sad that he got to eat at restaurants and would miss dinner time.  Really? Can I go instead? 

So I was thinking I should do something like in the movies where the hero returns to Earth from Space after a long journey only to discover that things are not at all like when he left.  Like the world has been taken over by bugs.  Something completely bizzare like when he comes home we're vegetarians...or worse Vegans.  So I have another few weeks to convince my family that vegetables are more then a way to layer meat...oh forget it, it would be easier to convince bugs to take over the world...

So I intend to enjoy my Davecation, or at least until the place becomes downright hairy with cat fur and I get tired of eating canned chili over the sink (or my parents get tired of myself and the kids).

Safety and Starfleet

 The following entry is a possible submission sample for a science fiction blog.  I'm still debating on submitting it.

I was doing my usual nightly routine of eating Ritz Sandwiches and watching Star Trek, because, honestly, when you have kids that is what your life gets reduced to.  Not that I'm complaining, without children I would be doing the same thing except I wouldn't have to pause the PVR every two minutes to make sure the kids aren't sticking anything into electrical outlets-we kind of let them run feral...However, my two year old can tell the difference between a Romulan and a Vulcan, so I consider my job as a parent complete.

Anyways, we have been watching a lot of Star Trek TNG and Voyager since that is what the Space Channel is playing (and NO we don't have Netflixs because we live like cavemen).  We started to notice a pattern, of the 'Safety First' variety.

Does Starfleet not have a Workers Compensation Board or some sort of safety committee keeping a tab on them?  Do Safety regulations and fines not exist in the future? I'm seriously starting to doubt if they have any safety protocol in place at all.  If the WCB that we have in Canada was alive and kicking in the 23rd century, they would be having a field day.  Maybe they still exist in the future but are too busy chasing after roofers to put on safety harnesses to bother with the star fleet, but has anyone stopped and thought maybe there is a reason why ensigns with no name tags are always in such high demand?

For those not aware, Workers Compensation board sets up safety regulations in order to reduce workplace injury, create a healthy and safe environment and to protect those injured while at work.  A lot of the practices on the Enterprise would not meet up to present day standards.
First, let's look at The Bridge:  there is always at least one officer standing.  Take Worf for example-the Chief Security Officer is standing at his station, they don't even provide him with a swivel chair! I've seen some grocery stores where the cashiers get swivel chairs.  Maybe they have a better union?  I'm not sure about you, but if I was in a battle the last thing I would want is the person in charge of lasers and shields to be ass over feet.  Also, have you seen the size of Worf's cranium? Would you really want to risk that flying into the back of your head at warp speed?

It seems like in every episode at least one person is getting thrown around on the bridge whether regular, guest star or doomed ensign.  In "Evolution", Dr. Stubbs takes a piece of furniture in the face when the ship is rocked by an explosion.  Why wouldn't there be some regulation that everyone has to sit at their post during turbulence or at least strap Worf in with a safety harness?  There is also a clear lack of seat belts, not only just on the bridge, but in engineering.  You'd think a starship's "Red Alert" would be akin to an airplane's "Fasten Seatbelts")  (maybe they have the same logic as being on a bus-why do you need something to strap you in when there are 30 people in front of you to break your fall?).

Don't get me started on Wesley Crusher, I had to wait until I was 16 to drive my parents' shaky old K-Car.  He gets to drive a galaxy class space ship with a crew of 1,000 and no one bats an eye.



Now the uniforms, I have never understood them.  Maybe I missed the episode where they explained it but, from what I understand, there is nothing special about them.  I'm not sure about the rest of the Trekkie community, but in my household this is a hotly debated topic usually sparked by any episode involving an away team.  You would think that with all the technology in the Star Trek Universe, they would have wonder-suits.  Maybe it's because I don't have HDTV, but from my end it looks like they are made from pretty standard material.  Not only that, but they can't be comfortable-I have invented a drinking game:  drink every time Riker has to adjust his uniform.  Don't even get me started on how skin-tight they are, many-a-time I have been hypnotized by their moobs bouncing up and down during a corridor walking scene.

On Away Missions, I've always thought that they should be wearing a HAZMAT suit or at least gloves.  I remember when I was a Vulcan for Halloween one year, my mom made me wear a jacket under (yes UNDER) my Star Trek pajamas-apparently the officers have more faith in their uniforms shielding them from the elements than my mom did.

Back on topic, how come they aren't better equipped?  Yes, you can roll your eyes at me and tell me they have sensors and tricorders to warn them but I have seen enough episodes where their sensors have failed to pick up the giant hole in the middle of the path.  For example, in "Shades of Grey", Riker got stung by a thorn and almost died.  He was wearing his standard shoes while wading through a bog-why the heck wasn't he wearing hip waders?  You couldn't pay me to walk through alien sludge without a few inches of heavy duty plastic protecting me.  Also, look at the Voyager episode "Parturition".  Here they are going to some alien planet where they know the atmosphere is an extreme skin irritant and they are not even wearing HAZMAT suits.  You'd think they'd pack a space suit or some head gear just in case something happens, like they crash (spoiler alert-they do!).

Besides the uniforms, it has also amazed me how unprepared they are when they beam down.  Here they are in some foreign world in some sketchy situation and they don't even have an emergency backpack with food rations and a fresh change of underwear.  Hasn't anyone ever asked "Hey what if we get stranded here? Shouldn't we at least bring some snacks so we wouldn't have to resort to eating Ensign Whatshisname on the first day?"

Shall we also look into the number of times someone has escaped via transporter or shuttle craft?  Take "Deja Q," when Q takes a shuttle craft to lead the Calamarain away from the Enterprise, he was already in the shuttle and half way from the ship before Worf noticed.  I can't even get through airport security in under an hour, yet someone who is not even a crew member can stroll into a shuttle dock and jack a shuttle?  I don't think I could even hotwire a car that fast.  Also look at "The Bonding".  How many times did the aliens try to take Jeremy to a transporter room before somebody clued in to shut it down.   Either there is a serious lack of safety protocols, or maybe Worf drinks on the job?

Anyways, with Riker consistently pulling down his uniform, Worf's cranium bashing into things and people taking shuttle crafts for pleasure rides, the safety infractions are plentiful.  If anyone wanted to make some money in the 23rd century, they should get a contract with Starfleet, offer safety inspections and start handing out those fines.

Why hasn't a Ferengi thought of this yet.

Bidding Wars

 
   So I've found myself a little hobby.  A few months ago someone invited me to a Facebook group called "bidding wars" and next thing I knew I was hooked.  Some may say it's an addiction but I disagree.  I do it socially....I can quit anytime.  That's what I tell myself and quite honestly that's what I believe.
 What is bidding wars?  Basically you post an object of mild interest for a ridiculously low price and let other addicted Facebookers fight over it.  Sometimes you get a killer deal on objects, make a little extra Christmas cash or pay $5 to take someone's trash to the Salvation army (or your consignment store of choice).  That's the thrill-will EUC (Excellent Used Condition) actually be a valid description or as realistic as a character you would find in a Dr. Seuss book-Cat's don't wear hats, everyone knows they wear boots! 
     So far I've made $100bucks selling $400 worth of objects.  Since Dave is currently laid off, I made more money than him this week.  I am the breadwinner!  Kids, this week we eat meat and not from a can at that!

So why is it addicting? 

  Part of the problem is the lure of getting a good bargain.  A lot of people are selling mainly because they want it out of their house so they will post cheap.  Sometimes you score a brand new snowsuit for $6, other times you get suckered.  A brand name dress for a starting bid of $1?  Missing a strap? no problem.  Rip down the back? minor inconvenience.  Infant poo splattered over the front?  It's a buck! it usually retails for $200!!  It's so hard to say no.  Often times I find myself bidding just because I see that it is only $1 and what could possibly go wrong? 
    Sometimes things don't stay cheap for long.  When the bidding gets hot and the prices skyrocket and all of a sudden it.is.on.  Now you realize that you cannot live another second without having an electric nail trimmer in your life.  You have been living like a caveman, a recession housewife without one, and everyone else is bidding so it must be a great bargain for the best product in the history of this planet.  Once again it is so hard to say no and all of a sudden you realize that you are about to draw blood over a "hang in there kitty" poster which evidently is now going to cost you 600 bucks.
    Now for the selling.  Equally as addicting.  It is way less aggravating then Craig's list and trust us, we need the extra cash. Dave told me his dream house was for sale and if I choked on my food and died, he could collect my insurance money and be able to buy it. Luckily living with Lily has taught me to sleep with one eye open. Regardless I'm going to make sure to cut my food up extra small until said house sells...  

   I often find myself pacing around the house mumbling "what else can I sell".  Or more importantly-what else can I sell that I won't get busted for selling.  You can tell Dave is getting a bit nervous.  As I touched in other entries, I think he's scared I am going to sell anything that isn't bolted down.  I am just waiting for the day I catch him super gluing things to the floor.

Res-dismay

So I've started hunting for a job.

My husband and I mutually decided I should go back to work.  Actually no, it was more like Visa made the decision for us.  Apparently we like to spend money.  After closely inspecting our statement with a highlighter and a look of disbelief, I realized that if we wanted to keep eating food that doesn't come out of a can and feature a picture of a dog, I would have to find a source of income.  Not only that but we have an expensive data plan to support.  Not so shockingly I also found over a hundred dollars worth of McDonalds on there.  So...Visa not only believes that we're deadbeats but have atrocious eating habits as well.....

At first I tried finding freelance writing jobs but no one seemed to think I was funny, which is weird because quite honestly I find myself quite hilarious.  I raised some money on an online Facebook page called bidding wars. I made a hundred dollars before I ran out of stuff to sell. Everything else was soon bolted down by my husband who became quite nervous that he would come home to everyone sitting on pillows because I had sold the couches.   Having no skill other than hawking junk and writing sass, I went to my fall back plan-find some peon work where it didn't matter that I have spent the last two years philosophizing if the wheels on the bus still went 'round and 'round.  (Spoiler alert: they do!!)

So cue in the great job search of 2012..more like the mediocre search of 2012.  The first few weeks involved me looking at Craig's list and deciding that most part time jobs I were looking for involved a little too much lifting.  I would look at the computer and groan because I was pretty sure I was the first mother in the history of motherhood that had to go back to work.  But my laundry would miss me!  Luckily my husband assured me that my dirty laundry mountain would still be waiting for me at the end of the day...

I have a little bid of hesitation about re-entering the workforce.  Making the switch is never easy.  I remember the first week I was off on maternity leave.  I walked around the house with a lost look on my face and a pile of blank papers that I would fax to random numbers (after Lily became a toddler soon the pages would read: help me).  I also had no idea how to time my coffee breaks since there was no work that I was trying to avoid.  Now I have to do the reverse: get use to faxing documents instead of playing name that stain (spoiler alert: it is never chocolate).  First of all, the whole wearing pants thing will be a challenge or any article of clothing devoid of baby puke.  Also as a housewife I make my own hours.  Yes my toddler often demands overtime or my baby decides that I'm working a night shift, but once again, the pants...oh the pants.  I've been off the payroll for two years busting my butt for nothing more than a sippy cup thrown at my head and being called a stinky butt.  Yes if I go back to retail it will probably be the same except with adults but maybe it would be nice to get a paycheck at the end of the day. 

The first hurtle was of course the resume.  On my first round of EI in 2010 the government made me go to this job search course that was suppose to give me a resume that would amaze potential employers and make them want to hire me on the spot.  By this they obviously meant a resume that looked like I rolled it in dirt and then threw up on it because that is exactly what I got.  In fact, I ended up with a resume that would only be good if I was applying at a mental hospital...as a patient.  I ended up just using the same resume that I created in highschool.  Then the cover letter...I always have difficulty with this one because I feel like I have to kiss butt.  I wish I could just write: I can do this job, let me be great!!!

Next roll in Craig's list.  It is hard not to get distracted by the grammatically incorrect, misspelled ads or the employers who want you to have a PHD, 10years of experience but only want to pay $2 an hour.
How could one not troll?
After wasting a few nights of writing comical cover letters to certain ads I remebered what I was actually suppose to be doing.
So I applied for a few select places, wrote a clever cover letter and sent my resume on its way.  So far I've heard nothing, but luckily there is always a spot for me here, at home, during the toddler power hour.

So wish me luck, hopefully I will find what I'm looking for.

Car-tastrophe

  It was Saturday morning and Dave decided to wake up before me and let Lily out of her cage-by that I mean I slowly kept rolling over until I pushed him off the bed.  Regularly, most mornings involve a disgruntled me releasing Lily to attack a peacefully sleeping Dave. Dave has become desensitized to Lily's regular tricks which involve bum drops to the head, however I have recently discovered the most effective method is to ask her "where is daddy's eyes?".  This immediately prompts her to poke him in the eyes-the only things that would actually wake him up.  But this morning was different, it was me that was avoiding a pre-breakfast eye gorging.  Anyways she looks at me and utters the most feared phrase in the English language "watch cars?" followed by that toddler nod which basically lets you know that this is more of a command than a question.   

We have made a grave mistake...

     We showed my car obsessed toddler the Disney movie Cars.... Oh yes, it was oh so cute to watch her memorized-mouth open, drooling or her panic when MacQueen gets lost.  Oh yes, we had a good chuckle.  It was actually a refreshing break from a girl whose normal morning routine involves running laps, throwing her cup off the table during breakfast and then trying to jump on my back when I bend over to pick it up.  However we then realized that what all those parenting books say are true: kids love repetition.
They love viewing the same thing again and again and again....and again and once they are done they still want to watch it again.  Lesson learned: maybe it is time to actually read those books instead of using them as coasters.... 
  The adult human brain can only handle so much...yesterday we watched the movie three times.  I now have the movie's soundtrack permanently stuck in my head.  When I go to bed at night, I don't count sheep, I count mini Lightening MacQueens running laps around the track.  I have gleefully thought of over a hundred ways that I could destroy the DVD, a hundred ways to hide my crime-however I fear the repercussion which no doubt would be Lily beats.  It has gotten to the point that whenever I see a car featured from the movie in real life, I have to resist the temptation to let the air out of its tires.  At first I found the movie witty, charming and funny.  However after a week of being on a car only diet, I now find it the equivalent to medieval torture...I often wonder why these movies don't have multiple endings, like maybe 50 of them so I could at least change it up once in a while.
  While Lily is awake, no other program is acceptable.  Don't you even think about trying to watch reality TV.  Don't ask me what happened on Extreme Cougars, it's still on my PVR,  I haven't even been able to watch Liz and Dick to make fun of it (because that is totally why I recorded it..).Our usual after dinner viewing of Star Trek has been met with protests of "NO SPACESHIP".  After 30 minutes of whining and gnashing of teeth, we finally cave thinking it would be easier just to watch the movie.  However after 5 minutes we decide that Owen Wilson's voice (which use to be sexy to me) is worse-it now makes my teeth hurt...

Zoolander is now ruined forever to me.

I won't be able to watch Wedding Crashers without cringing.

I'll never be able to stand Larry the Cable Guy...oh wait, I never was able to stand that guy.

 
    I think that's worse, when you start recognizing the voices behind the animated characters.  Watch Shrek. Now tell me if you're able to take any of Eddie Murphy's movies seriously anymore...all I picture is the donkey.  Good actors out there-please stop doing voice acting gigs, us poor parents end up having to listen to you over and over again and then when we go to watch our grown up stuff there you are again...

*ahem*

Okay Lightening MacQueen someone needs to take you to the wreckers before I finally go looney and start having conversations with Dave's Big Ass Truck.
Send help or send more DVDS.
Until then zoom zoom, around in my brain Lightening will go!

Day at Dentist

 
    I woke up this morning with the full knowledge that today was going to suck.  Why would I be so pessimistic at 7am (well beside the point optimism doesn't happen until the number on my clock ends in PM)?  Simple-I had a dentist appointment-with a dentist-involving filling my teeth-from holes created by candy (apparently they add holes to your belt as well).  Even for those cups half full people, I think they'd find it hard to spin getting cavities filled as a fun Friday activity.  Anyways, any visit to the dentist isn't a good thing-  I've turned that age where every time I go there's an issue.  And today there was an issue, well two ones.  Since the day was already a scratch I had candy for breakfast-thank you for not pointing out the fundamental flaw in this logic.  After running through a list of things I'd rather do instead (including dragging my butt across hot coals-the same feeling I get after I eat at Boston Pizza) I put on my big girl pants and dragged myself there.  Okay fine, technically it was my mom who did the dragging.  Her only comforting words were "at least it's an hour without the kids".  Seriously? Are my kids that bad...okay don't answer that question...
  So whats the back story? Besides being a mentally well adjusted person who dislikes paying good money to have that awkward flossing conversation while someone puts instruments in your mouth while asking you questions, I am nervous around dentists.  Scratch that- I am terrified CRAPLESS of dentists.  Don't get me wrong, my dentist-he's a nice guy, I just think he's a little drill happy.  I'm not sure where this fear came from, it's not like I've even had an incident where I was in a lot of pain.  I think half of it is the sound and smell and the weird sensation that while you're numb you still feel things moving and pulling.  I mean I have a pretty high threshold for pain.   I gave birth 3 times with no pain killers whatsoever.  But honestly it's a different kind of pain.  When you deliver a baby you expect to get a healthy baby after so the pain has a purpose.  The dentist? you're lucky if you get a plastic ring (I still remember the age when I got cut off from getting toys-tragic day).  Most time you're lucky to get flavored fluoride rinse before they hand you a bill which may or may not involve trading in your first born.
     So I get there and get ushered into the small examination room.  My dentist's office remains a relic from the 1970s.  I expect during one of my visits a tour group will walk by examining the history of dentistry.  The first thing the dentist asks me is "what are we doing today?".  This is sort of scary-I mean shouldn't he know this?  I didn't nap through 3 years of dental school and really? if it was up to me I'd be going to McDonalds.  So I gave him an honest answer-"I'm going to poo myself.  I hope you have a better gameplan" The dentist finally clued in that this all might be easier if he gave me an ambien-a good idea since I flinch even when they spray water in my mouth-just in case it hurts.  I took it and when he returned he asked how I was feeling to which my response was along the lines of "screw this cavity! lets hit a club".  However there are no clubs open in Maple Ridge at 11am and I still have holes in my teeth.  Anyways they leave me in the room with a mouthful of freezing and a drug that magically removes the amounts of cares I have to give. To make matters worse they turn on the ceiling TV.  At this office they always have National Geographic show playing and SURPRISE this one was all about jumping spiders! So here I am in a small examination room, a little high and now watching jumping spiders on the ceiling in HD quality.  Well I think it did the trick doctor, I forgot about my cavities for a moment.  I ended up waiting in that small room for an hour.  While I waited I got to enjoy the best magazines and celebrity gossip from the early 90s.  Naw, I'm only joking there were a few that talked about Russel Brand and Katy Perry's upcomming wedding.  Anyways I'd see ads for TV shows and get interested until I discovered they were already cancelled years ago.
  So finally after an hour the dentist comes in and by that time I've worked myself into believing he's going to remove all my teeth.  He comes in and in under 20minutes he's done.  All the while I'm listening to him complain that he hired a mechanic to fix the dental chairs and they're telling him to replace them.  Umm... these chairs looked old in the 70s, maybe the guy has a point?  Watch, next time I'll be lying on lawn chairs.
Anyways I survived and don't have to go back until April.  However my bottom teeth on the other side are having sympathy pain.

Date Night

Enjoying a drink but still thinking about my kids: not because I miss them but because I'm worried about the revenge they will have on me for not including them

Dave amd I got to do something last night we don't often get the opportunity to do: spend some time away from the kids.  Actually it's something I don't get to do often, Dave gets an 8 hour break everyday when he goes to something called work.  Anyways we had a date night, four blissful hours where I didn't have to play name that liquid on my shirt (hint:  the answer is almost always pee).  We were invited to an grown up function with grown ups at an grown up restaurant which didn't have tablecloths you could write on.
  Date nights are always risky business.  I mean they usually happen at the end of the week so we're walking the thin line between date night and fight club. 
 Before the date night can even begin there are certain hurtles that one must get through:

• Getting Ready:  Date night often comes with a dress code and men and women often have different ideas in regard to it.   I don't think I'm the only woman who can attest that their husband almost never wants to dress up.  They'd rather show up in sweats-actually if it was socially acceptable they'd probaly go out to dinner in their underwear.  Me on the other hand would prefer to wear something fancy.  This is because I don't get out often and when I do I'm usually in yoga pants that while have never have seen the gym are still quite good at stretching-around my butt of course!  Once you come to an agreement on the dress code dilemma that excludes any awkward incidents of showing up to the restaurant with you in a ballgown and your husband in cut off shorts, one must execute the act of actually getting dressed.  Trying to find something to wear is often a feat in itself.  For me I have to create an outfit using articles that have no stains on them and is not a throw back to the era before you had kids since that was around the same time you stopped buying clothes or buying them at the same place you buy your produce.  Lets not forget the toddler who is running around and the baby screaming because heaven forbid he hasn't eaten in 5minutes.  My carpet is nicely painted with my MAC eyeshadow.  Also as I was curling my hair Lily was rolling Joe down the hallway..
• Next comes the complement: Let's face it the chances of the husband getting this correct is slim to none.  In fact for the husband it's dead man walking because if he says the wrong word then date night ends early with him on the couch.  Dave has yet to mastered the simple phrase "your hair looks nice", apparently even in the face of mortal danger my husband cannot lie.  Lets give you the background story: I use to have long hair and Dave loved it.  After Joe came around I got tired of looking homeless since I barley could find the time to brush it let alone style it.  Fed up I choped it short and quite frankly I don't think Dave has forgiven me for that yet.  Anyways whle I love my short hair for the day-to-day life, I have diffculty making it look fancy.  There is only so much you can do with short hair so I'm always fishing for a complement.  The best Dave could give me last night? You look like Jamie Lee Curtis.  Really? That's the best you can do?  What's the first thing you think of when you hear her name? The bowel health yogurt. When someone asks you to name a hot actress would Jamie Lee Curtis be the first name that pops in your head?  He said from her True Lies days, okay one foot out of the grave except the fact she played a boring homely housewife.  Great, exactly the look I was going for.  I could have saved myself an hour of prep time and just went as myself.  So I told Dave he looked dashing-like Matlock.
• Finally, the kid drop off.  This is very important because you have to convince the unsuspecting grandparents that in fact your kids are not thugs.  This is an art form in itself since you have to make sure to drop them off when they're not cranky.  Of course it will be the one time when Lily actually wants to hang out with me.  The most important final step to this is turning off the cell phone, yes the restaurant is in a tunnel with no reception....

  When you finally get to your destination you feel a bit...lost.  In fact I saw something I don't usually: my bare forearm.  Infact I barley reconized it without a blankie, diaperbag or toddler drapped over it.  Once inside the restaurant, you have to relearn how to socialize at the grown up table.  It took a while to relax, with a toddler you learn to sleep with one eye open.  That and when you see someone reach across the table your kneejerk reaction is to grab any sharp cutlery away or try to stop the person from hitting the closest person because in the toddler world those are the first things you do when in a group situation.  You also don't want to talk too much about your kids either since you don't want to admit that you've become "one of those" even thought I clearly am.  However get a few drinks in me and I'm ready to jam out to the latest club track, which I'm assuming is still wheels on the bus.  Dave and I actually got to our function 30minuties early-so we had an opportunity to have some alone time.  This was spent trying to convince each other that we were still as fun and exciting as when we first met without admitting that it was 7pm and we were both ready for bed or that we were missing the latest antics of our reality shows.    
    Finally there comes the time when you have to reach that decision that it is time to go home.  It usually involves calculating when your parents have safely tucked the kids in bed.  So that was our excitement this weekend.  Seriously I barley remember life before kids, I'm assuming it's much like life before facebook-you use to go out a lot more often.

Supermom

   We live in the age of the so-called Supermom.  If size zero models are the media's way to tell us to put down the Twinkies in order to be perfect then the supermoms are the media's way of telling us how parent in order to keep CPS off our doorsteps. 
Supermoms can do it all.  It started off as being defined as: 

A mom who takes on the selfless and unconditional responsibility to nurture the emotional and physical well-being of her kids.

Which makes sense except for the selfless and unconditional responsibility part.  I mean I skipped out of Strong Start the other day so I could get coffee...but its Pumpkin Spice season, it's a seasonal flavor people!  However this definition has morphed into an even bigger monster: supermoms now are expected to cook, clean, take care of the kids, run errands, help with school projects all with get this: a smile on their face.  Not to be confused with Superdads which is basically any man that knows how to make a bottle and insert it correctly into baby.  Supermom's never roll their eyes at mother goose songs, refuse to take their child to strong start until her second cup of coffee or change the ending of four little ducks to them getting put into a happy meal (that will teach them for going over the hill and far away).  They mix education with fun and add in some organic apple sauce, handmade of course.  Their kids don't eat worms and most certainty don't dump sand on other kids in the playground and if they did she certainly wouldn't laugh and say "yeah kids will do that".  Plus I'm pretty sure they've never been recognized at the McDonald's drive thru.    
   Just like the gazelle legged model on page seven, the Supermom is pretty unrealistic.  Just Google supermom and you'll come up with scary articles about how mothers are more stressed out nowadays and are having trouble coping. Did I mention because of that Supermom comes with her sidekick Mommy Guilt?  Oh you know her, she's the one that "tsk tsks" you when you're watching Secret Princes instead of Baby Einstein or shuns you when your 20month old can say McDonald's perfectly because you've stopped for happy meals at least twice in the past week....
  To be honest, this post isn't about Supermoms, it's about her nemesis Mediocre Mom.  Step in me.  I love my kids, I love being a parent but I think its unrealistic to be expected to do everything perfectly.  Motherhood is a full time job with very bad hours.  On the 16th hour of your shift in any given job you are going to get frustrated when your toddler looks at you defiantly while dumping her dinner on the floor.  And I personally couldn't say "lets make this an educational experience and turn the spilled pasta into quadratic equations" (more like lets count mommie's eye twitches).  I honestly got exhausted when I was looking up definitions and came across this list this one lady compiled.  I'd link it, however I'm scared she would hunt me down with a homemade bow and arrow.  Lets just say it involved doing your laundry while your baby was in something called a sling! Whatever happened to good ol'fashioned days of yelling at your husband to turn his underwear inside out to get another days use out of it? And if I'm doing laundry I'm certainly not taking the little one on a magical educational journey of how a washer works, if anything we're discussing how the unpaid economy of being a housewife sorta sucks.  Did I mention that in the post, said sling was purchased on ebay? I smell a borderline hippy..My cooking isn't from scratch either.  My specialty dish comes from the frozen food asile and I couldn't let my kids cook with me because due to strong language it would be PG-13.  A subset of the supermom is the helicopter parent.  These are parents that hover over their children, ensuring they don't miss an opportunity.  These parent's are perfect if you're tired and need a nap-you just dump your child in their vicinity and pretend to concentrate real hard at the wall and POOF free childcare.  I guess I should get down to my point since I'm tired and you know I'm on call tonight-My advice to all the stressed out mommy's out there- relax, be a little more mediocre, we all know that all the organic, free-range, handblended applesauce in the world won't save your kids from being snarky teenagers. I mean we should as mothers recognise that its okay to be selfish as long as your kids are not wearing plastic bags for shoes because you spent all your money on booze and McDonalds.  And honestly its okay not to smile to "the wheels on the bus".  I don't know about you but I relish the day they invent hover cars so I don't have to listen about those wheels going round and round.


Seriously, I doubt the Supermom is part of a union, if so she would be in trouble for stealing everyone else's job..

Just checking in...

downfall of distracted parenting

 The draft of this blog was written while I was sitting on the toilet.  Yes, I'm serious, no I'm not doing...that.  Lily's having a bath and I have lifeguard duty.  I've been wanting to write a blog entry for a day or two now but nothing really out of the ordinary has happened.  Just status quo.  Yeah I've been busy but nothing really that funny has occurred and since this isn't twitter I just can't list what I ate today, since this isn't Facebook I can't tell you where I ate the food and since this isn't instagram I can't take a picture of what I ate and pass it off as an entry.  I've been going to Strong Start regularly or as I'm calling it this week "toddler fight club" but there is only so much I can touch on that subject, plus isn't one of the rules of fight club is that you can't talk about it.  I wouldn't know, I'll admit it right here that I have never seen the movie myself.  Unless it features a real housewife or a zany penguin in it, chances are I haven't seen it.
  But back to writing this:  I'm in our cramped bathroom that smells like used kitty litter and I have to pause every few seconds to remind my toddler of the dangers of standing up in the bath.  Does this count as "me" time or do I get partial credit for trying?  I mean when you have two demanding kids under 2 there is little time to stop and smell the roses before one of them stomps on them because some kid taught them that's what you do with flowers.  Finding time for yourself becomes as challenging as trying to remove your child from the swing at the park: not impossible but you have to be pretty sneaky (and have snacks, toddlers love snacks).  Being a parent is awesome but it doesn't leave much downtime, sometimes you have to sacrifice your old needs for a little while.  I've slowly begun to learn that you have to find moments in your day to claim as your own or at least share with your child.
  Some may say that I'm doing the worst thing: stealing time from my toddler and I should be dedicated to the task at hand and not my own selfish needs.  First of all, are you one of the managers I use to work with that use to lecture us on time theft? Second of all parenting, is a 16hour a day job (if you're lucky enough to have a child that sleeps) with 24/7 on-call responsibilities.  As someone who used to have a job, I know that even in a 8hour day we find little ways to claim time as our own.  So I'm writting instead of reciting alebra equations while teaching my toddler French while she has a bath, you're probaly suppose to be making me a latte but instead you're checking your facebook, same thing...
  I tried to do my blog writing after the kids went to bed.   By the time Jo-Jo was asleep, I'd have 30mins of me time because I wanted to get to bed at a decent time so that I didn't resemble a cast member of the walking dead in the morning.  So here I am multitasking. 
Now if you exuse me, I have to get back to work, Lily is trying to use the soaker tub incline as a slide.

Grocery Shocking

  I'm desperately trying to delay the inevitable but I know it all too well-it is time.  Our shelves are bare and I'm debating whether to make some rice with ketchup or pina colda mix since those are the only ingredients we have on hand.  It is time to do the chore I hate most-grocery shopping.  Being told to go grocery shopping is like when you're working and the manager tells you they just kicked a hobo out of the customer washroom and get your gloves because you better go check it out.  Yes grocery shopping, it seems like no matter how much food we buy we always end up eating it.  I'm seriously thinking we should pick up an eating disorder to cut back on the amount of times we have to do it.  Grocery shopping makes anything else seem enjoyable.  When I need to get a cavity filled, I think I will go grocery shopping first so I have something to look forward to afterwards.
     Back in the day when I was single, grocery shopping was so much simpler.  Well, since I'm being perfectly honest I lived at home until I was 25 so most of my grocery shopping was at my mom's pantry.  Actually scratch that, a bulk of my grocery shopping is STILL done at my mom's pantry (I have no idea why your Costco bill is so high mom and if you're reading this please disregard the above paragraph...).  However I still did some grocery shopping on my own, mostly because my mom didn't buy the foods a refined palate such as mine required-such as cookie crisp cereal, redbull and Doritos.  When I did go grocery shopping it was almost a novelty, it would take me under 10minutes to grab the fixings for mac and cheese and instant noodles.  I would laugh at the worn down looking mom pushing a mammoth cart with a screaming toddler hanging from her ankle as I skipped down to the cashier and paid for my diet cola and cookie dough.   
  Those days are long gone.  Grocery shopping has now mutated into a biweekly (if I can help it) ritual of torture.  Now we're feeding 3 people and I'm head of the feed-everyone-make-everyone-happy committee. I not only have to cook the meals that are different and exciting but make sure that my family is not surviving off ketchup packages.  Let me explain the process...  
    Before I can even step into the store I have to do the list.  The premise is quite simple, when you're running low on an item, you add it to the list conveniently located on the fridge.  The list is a great way to remain organized and it ensures you're never standing in the frozen food section muttering "need more frozen pizza".  In theory it works wonders, in theory.  In practice it  is a complete work of fiction made up of items you wish you had in your fridge during the midnight snack hour.  I never keep it updated and if I run out of something I end up promising myself I'll remember to add it to the list later (which is never conveniently on the fridge like it is suppose to be care of Lily).  As you can guess the items never make it to the list and I end up winging it which is why there are currently 10 bottles of BBQ sauce in our fridge.  For some unexplainable reason I think we are forever out of BBQ sauce. Dave also has a bad habit of taking the last of something and leaving the empty container in the pantry.  Which means that unless I open the box and do a count I never know for sure if we're out or running low.  Sometimes I do practice what I preach and compile a beautiful supply list.  However this list is almost always forgotten and I end up scribbling what I can remember on a crumpled up napkin on my way to the grocery store to buy some more BBQ sauce since surely we must be out.  On weeks I'm feeling really energized I compile a dinner meal plan.  The meal plan consists of me trying to get Dave to suggest meals he wants other than the standard "something good" and "whatever" fare (which he demands every week).  It also is suppose to help cut the grocery bill because you're only buying what you need, avoiding waste.  However it doesn't take in account the nights we say "screw this" and order pizza letting our good intentions go moldy at the bottom of the vegetable crisper.
  Next step is actually getting to the store.  Preferably on a Sunday (the busiest time), at night and when the kids are the most cranky or tired.  If you can't make it for Sunday our second choice appears to be Wedensday, the day before restocking so the produce is nice and spongy and the store looks like it was hit by a hurricane and then backed over by a B.A.T for good measure.  I have tried very hard to find the sweet spot to go grocery shopping.  Seriously it is a formula more complex then a quadraic equation.  It goes something like this:

• 2 Kids (wellfed+good mood) + grocery shop (quiet+sales/anyday but Sunday or Wednesday)+daytime=stress free experience

Now because I am bad at math we end up following this formula:

•  2 kids (tired+cranky*hyper)+just before bedtime+ Sunday (store busy+produce rotten+out of stock)-sanity-patience=Typical shopping experience

Regardless of how much planning I do, it always seems like we're back at the shop on Sunday trying to decide which stock of celery is less brown and if we can subsitue our usual brand of yogurt with sourcream and add chocolate quick mix to flavor it.
    Now grocery shopping is a family event.  Mostly because Dave has to be there to use his discount card and he also is the driver.  I tag along because if he went alone he'd return with ice cream, a loaf of bread and BBQ sauce because surely this time we must be out.  The kids come along because the government looks down at leaving them at the apartment under the watchful eye of the cat with a bowl of water on the ground and the TV on.  The problem with Dave coming along is he increases the price of our grocery bill.  I'm cheap, I'll buy just the basics, but Dave will go all crazy and buy things like strawberries.  Seriously I have to audit what goes in our cart.  Strawberries?  I hope you're working overtime this week!  Now you didn't forget about the children did you?  Don't think they're little cherubs sitting in the cart with their hands in their lap.  Lily is watching everything going into the cart and demanding a bite then freaking out when you try to explain the criminal code and why we can't just eat something without paying for it.  When she's not trying to open a package she's dumping items out of the cart making this whole exercise counterproductive.  She also likes to try to launch herself out of the cart or grab things as we pass by laughing hysteically as she toppels a row of canned tomatos.  Joe is will usually sleep through most of the trip only to snap away when we get to the cashir and demand to be fed resulting in me bagging my groceries with one hand.  If you don't submit to Joe's first cry he will start yelling in a pitch only heard by the CPS.  By the time the whole ordeal is over with, we are so exhausted and fed up.  I'll never forget the time we were done bagging up everything and just about to leave and Lily tossed a container of cottage cheese on the ground and it exploded everywhere.
   Because we avoid grocery shopping like the plague and only do it when the only things left are a moldy apple and BBQ sauce, we usually have a ton of groceries.  We'll fill an entire cart up and the bucket of our stroller.  When it's time to pay it will be above $200.  I am always shocked and demand Dave to explain what he bought that was so expensive because surely there is an unauthorized purchase in there somewhere...We take our cart which looks like we're stocking up for the rapture and cram it into our BAT which for once in its life is too small to fit everything,  I end up having to sit in the middle of the front seat redneck style all the way home with a stack of frozen pizza in my lap.  Now for the worst part-getting it upstairs.  Yes we have to carry everything across the parkcade, up the elevator down the hallway-with two now ballistic children singing "are we there yet" in scream-minor.  Two trips you say?  While the smart thing to do.  We end up loading our stroller and trying to carry as much as we can possible lift and pleading with Lily to please hurry up and not push the elevator help buttons.  We then get through the door only to realize that we forgot to by milk, the main reason why we went to begin with.
  As you can see I'm sitting here trying to think of all the many excuses not to go today.  I think I need to phone the dentist, I may have some teeth he needs to drill out....