That's not just a clever title. There was no previous post entitled Potty Training #1. This post is about poo. Let's just get that out in the open right now. And I promise you, I'm holding nothing back. This was a big day in our family and I feel the need to share. Read on if you dare, you have been warned.
Picture it: Vancouver, this afternoon. Costco seasonal furniture aisle. The little man begins to walk a bit funny, and Mr. Awesome inquires if he has to go pee. He claims he does, so Mr. Awesome grabs the folding potty seat and the boy and marches off to the restroom. The little miss and I continue our wandering, heading over to the produce section. I get a text message from my darling husband with only two words, but these two words would cause crippling panic in any parent alive.
CODE BROWN!!!
Before we go any further into this tale, let me provide a little background. The little man has been pretty successfully peeing on the potty for a couple of months now with a few accidents here and there. He has, however, refused to poo in the potty. He would prefer to drop a grenade in his underpants and then pretend it hasn't happened until we notice the bulge or smell the aroma. We diligently explain to him that poop should go in the potty, dump it in and let him flush, but the message just wasn't getting through. The good news was that they were always fairly solid and dropped into the toilet with very little mess.
Until yesterday.
For the first time ever, the little man had what Mr. Awesome refers to as "soup bum". I didn't include this tidbit in yesterday's post, but God Bless Nang Nang yet again, my mum must have changed him five times in the course of the two hours he was at her house.
We thought the tide had turned and didn't even hesitate as we set out on our bi-weekly (I'll admit it, sometimes weekly) trip to Costco.
So, given the events of yesterday, CODE BROWN took on a whole new meaning. Given that Mr. Awesome had gone equipped with only the toilet seat, he had already done his part in cleaning up the mess. It was then my job to take the little man back to the bathroom to put on his new underpants.
Fast forward a little. Mr. Awesome and I have now each made TWO trips into the Costco bathroom, the little man is in new underpants AND pants, and we have not actually had anything happen IN the toilet. We are now trying to finish our trip as fast as humanly possible, weaving in and out through the shopping cart traffic jam that is Costco on a Saturday.
We're now in frozen foods. Once again, the panicked expression crossed the little man's face. Mr. Awesome was done by this point and flat-out refused to go a third time. It was my turn and I was up to the challenge.
Given the inactivity on the toilet so far and the repeated false starts, I was pretty sure if I waited long enough we would see some action. My little man perched on his Diego folding potty seat and we waited. I offered lots of encouragement and we discussed the situation in as much detail as you can with an almost three year old.
I am sure the woman in the stall next to us was silently dying inside. This is what she would have heard:
"That's it buddy, you can do it!"
"Come on sweetie, just try and get it out."
"Oh! There you go, that's right, you can do it!"
"I can see it sweetie, come on, get it out!"
"That's so awesome buddy, I'll show you when you're done!"
"YEAH! Buddy, you did it! You pooped on the potty!"
(I was reminded of the Austin Powers scene in the bathroom where Austin says "Who does #2 work for?" and Tom Arnold cheers him on with "That's right Buddy, you show that turd who's boss!")
My little man pooped on the potty today and yes, maybe I've set my standards lower over the last three years, but man was I proud. He repeated the miracle when we got home, and seems to get just how much better it is than the trouser bombs he usually manufactures.
Never one to count my chickens before they've hatched, I will not assume we have now turned a corner in the potty training saga. We will see what happens tomorrow.
Saturday, March 27, 2010
Friday, March 26, 2010
A Toddler Free Day, or God Bless Nang Nang
The little man and my mom had one of their "dates" this afternoon, which included a trip to McD's and then play time at Nang Nang's. (She was originally going to be Nan, but this is what he came up with and it stuck. Our daughter won't get a choice, as Nang Nang will be Nang Nang forever.)
I needed this day. The little man and I have spent far too much time together. He's fine as soon as he's away from me, but while he's here he's clingy, whiny, screamy...I don't know how to add a "y" to "cry", but yes, he's that too. I love him more than life itself, but I think some occasional distance is healthy for both of us. Plus our house was a DISASTER.
When our house is messy, I'm able to let it go for a while. (I have to, or I would be driven to drink by trying to keep this place clean.) I do try to keep up with the tidying and "maintenance" cleaning, but every once in a while it all gets to be too much. Just walking in my front door stresses me out. I reached this point about a week ago but haven't had a chance to get it done. My stress level has been slowly rising with every toy he brings out of his room, or that I put away again and again.
My mom had given me a gift. The promise of three full hours in which I might actually be able to get something done. Thank you Nang Nang!
I made a plan. I wrote a task list. The little miss cooperated perfectly and went down for a 2.5hr nap right when I needed her to. I put away toys, I did dishes, laundry, I vacuumed, I mopped the hardwood that covers most of our house, I cleaned counters, sinks, mirrors, appliances, I scrubbed the shower floor...I did not stop until it was done.
Half-way through my spree, my mom came in with the little man. I panicked. I wasn't ready to stop! I wasn't ready for toys to be spread from here to kingdom come again! My panicking turned out to be unnecessary, they were just picking up some movies to take to her house (next door). Phew! My frenzy continued.
When all was said and done, I felt a weight had been lifted off my shoulders. When he finally came home and the inevitable whining and crying resumed, I was able (for the most part) to deal with it calmly and lovingly. We had a fairly stress-free dinner, bath and bedtime and he was asleep by 7pm. I AM SUPER MOM!
It's amazing what a clean house can do for my stress level. I am without a doubt a nicer person and a better mom when the house is clean. You'd better believe, when I'm back and work (i.e. full salary), we are getting house cleaners in to deal with this place at least twice a month. It will never get done otherwise, and Mr. Awesome doesn't get a say in this matter. (He reads this blog, so this is my way of breaking the news.) A cleaning service is cheaper than therapy.
Until that time, God Bless Nang Nang.
On a totally unrelated matter...
Today was my weekly weigh-in with Weight Watchers. I lost 4.4lbs! That's like Biggest Loser weight loss! The thing is, I have no idea what made this week any different than any other week. Same workouts, same food tracking, same, same, same. Does it matter? Nope. I am now only 20.8lbs from my goal!! WOO HOO!
I needed this day. The little man and I have spent far too much time together. He's fine as soon as he's away from me, but while he's here he's clingy, whiny, screamy...I don't know how to add a "y" to "cry", but yes, he's that too. I love him more than life itself, but I think some occasional distance is healthy for both of us. Plus our house was a DISASTER.
When our house is messy, I'm able to let it go for a while. (I have to, or I would be driven to drink by trying to keep this place clean.) I do try to keep up with the tidying and "maintenance" cleaning, but every once in a while it all gets to be too much. Just walking in my front door stresses me out. I reached this point about a week ago but haven't had a chance to get it done. My stress level has been slowly rising with every toy he brings out of his room, or that I put away again and again.
My mom had given me a gift. The promise of three full hours in which I might actually be able to get something done. Thank you Nang Nang!
I made a plan. I wrote a task list. The little miss cooperated perfectly and went down for a 2.5hr nap right when I needed her to. I put away toys, I did dishes, laundry, I vacuumed, I mopped the hardwood that covers most of our house, I cleaned counters, sinks, mirrors, appliances, I scrubbed the shower floor...I did not stop until it was done.
Half-way through my spree, my mom came in with the little man. I panicked. I wasn't ready to stop! I wasn't ready for toys to be spread from here to kingdom come again! My panicking turned out to be unnecessary, they were just picking up some movies to take to her house (next door). Phew! My frenzy continued.
When all was said and done, I felt a weight had been lifted off my shoulders. When he finally came home and the inevitable whining and crying resumed, I was able (for the most part) to deal with it calmly and lovingly. We had a fairly stress-free dinner, bath and bedtime and he was asleep by 7pm. I AM SUPER MOM!
It's amazing what a clean house can do for my stress level. I am without a doubt a nicer person and a better mom when the house is clean. You'd better believe, when I'm back and work (i.e. full salary), we are getting house cleaners in to deal with this place at least twice a month. It will never get done otherwise, and Mr. Awesome doesn't get a say in this matter. (He reads this blog, so this is my way of breaking the news.) A cleaning service is cheaper than therapy.
Until that time, God Bless Nang Nang.
On a totally unrelated matter...
Today was my weekly weigh-in with Weight Watchers. I lost 4.4lbs! That's like Biggest Loser weight loss! The thing is, I have no idea what made this week any different than any other week. Same workouts, same food tracking, same, same, same. Does it matter? Nope. I am now only 20.8lbs from my goal!! WOO HOO!
Monday, March 22, 2010
I Need to Buy a Plane
I need to buy a plane. This is the only way I can figure that we will be able to transport everything we need for our upcoming trip to Maui. With a five month old and a three year old we are in a challenging "stuff" phase. Luckily our timeshare provides a playpen for the little miss to sleep in and the little man sleeps fine in a full sized bed, but we do need a large assortment of items - everything from play mat to potty seat.
Not to mention Mr. Awesome's snorkeling gear. Last time we were in Hawaii he "invested" in some pretty decent gear, rationalized by the cost of rentals multiplied by the number of trips to snorkel-friendly destinations over our lifetime. Savings - 1. Room in my suitcase - 0.
The last time we went to Hawaii was when the little man was 14 months old. This was also the last time he was on a plane. We figured we were "blessed" by the fact that he wasn't yet walking, making his desire to roam significantly more manageable. If only that had been the issue. Our departure was delayed by about 45 minutes, and for some reason they didn't turn on the air conditioning as we sat in the stuffy plane waiting to leave. The little man's cheeks got rosier by the minute. He had a bottle as we took off to help alleviate the pressure on his ears. He then downed a large jar of toddler mush. We figured we were home free and envisioned a nice, relaxing flight while he lay in his food-induced coma.
Not quite. He did indeed fall asleep pretty much immediately after take-off. One hour into the six hour flight, it became quickly apparent that all was not well. Fast forward 20 minutes. All three of us are covered in regurgitated toddler mush and spreading a foul smell throughout the cabin. I got the worst of it and Mr. Awesome escaped fairly unscathed. Being the good parents we were, we had packed a change of clothes for our little darling. But for ourselves? Nothing. I was covered in vomit and I DID NOT HAVE A CHANGE OF CLOTHES. I completely rinsed my shirt, but had nothing to change into. I was stuck in a smelly and soaking wet ensemble for another five hours. The flight attendant, adhering to the fantastic customer service that Air Canada is famous for, stood by and did nothing. Not even the offer of a $6 blanket.
Needless to say, we will be traveling with extra clothing for all of us. This will take some creativity, because with all the air travel restrictions being implemented daily, carry-on allowances have been reduced (literally) to the size of a piece of paper. We're pretty much screwed. I have to figure out a way to fit diapers, wipes, receiving blankets, cloths, baby toys, toddler toys, snacks, netbook loaded with movies, colouring books, clothing for four people, and, and, and, and, and, and...
This is why I need to buy a plane. All our stuff will fit, and I won't get the pitying/annoyed/disgusted looks for filling the economy section with noxious fumes.
Really, it's the perfect plan. It's foolproof.
Not to mention Mr. Awesome's snorkeling gear. Last time we were in Hawaii he "invested" in some pretty decent gear, rationalized by the cost of rentals multiplied by the number of trips to snorkel-friendly destinations over our lifetime. Savings - 1. Room in my suitcase - 0.
The last time we went to Hawaii was when the little man was 14 months old. This was also the last time he was on a plane. We figured we were "blessed" by the fact that he wasn't yet walking, making his desire to roam significantly more manageable. If only that had been the issue. Our departure was delayed by about 45 minutes, and for some reason they didn't turn on the air conditioning as we sat in the stuffy plane waiting to leave. The little man's cheeks got rosier by the minute. He had a bottle as we took off to help alleviate the pressure on his ears. He then downed a large jar of toddler mush. We figured we were home free and envisioned a nice, relaxing flight while he lay in his food-induced coma.
Not quite. He did indeed fall asleep pretty much immediately after take-off. One hour into the six hour flight, it became quickly apparent that all was not well. Fast forward 20 minutes. All three of us are covered in regurgitated toddler mush and spreading a foul smell throughout the cabin. I got the worst of it and Mr. Awesome escaped fairly unscathed. Being the good parents we were, we had packed a change of clothes for our little darling. But for ourselves? Nothing. I was covered in vomit and I DID NOT HAVE A CHANGE OF CLOTHES. I completely rinsed my shirt, but had nothing to change into. I was stuck in a smelly and soaking wet ensemble for another five hours. The flight attendant, adhering to the fantastic customer service that Air Canada is famous for, stood by and did nothing. Not even the offer of a $6 blanket.
Needless to say, we will be traveling with extra clothing for all of us. This will take some creativity, because with all the air travel restrictions being implemented daily, carry-on allowances have been reduced (literally) to the size of a piece of paper. We're pretty much screwed. I have to figure out a way to fit diapers, wipes, receiving blankets, cloths, baby toys, toddler toys, snacks, netbook loaded with movies, colouring books, clothing for four people, and, and, and, and, and, and...
This is why I need to buy a plane. All our stuff will fit, and I won't get the pitying/annoyed/disgusted looks for filling the economy section with noxious fumes.
Really, it's the perfect plan. It's foolproof.
The Envelope, Please...
Wow! I've been honoured with TWO awards! A fellow Canadian, Tracy at The Daily Mom Diaries has chosen to bestow upon me the "One Lovely Blog" and "Beautiful Blogger" awards. I'm so touched, and happy to know someone likes reading these random musings about my life!
Here's the deal:
For the "One Lovely Blog Award" you need to:
* Thank & link to the person that gave you the award.
* Pass this award on to 15 fantastic bloggers you’ve recently discovered.
* Contact said Blogs and let them know they’ve won
For the "Beautiful Blogger" award you need to:
* Thank & link to the person that gave you the award.
* Pass this award on to 15 fantastic bloggers you’ve recently discovered.
* Contact said Blogs and let them know they’ve won.
* State 7 things about yourself.
Here are the 15 bloggers I am passing these awards on to. Check them out when you have a chance!
Here's the deal:
For the "One Lovely Blog Award" you need to:
* Thank & link to the person that gave you the award.
* Pass this award on to 15 fantastic bloggers you’ve recently discovered.
* Contact said Blogs and let them know they’ve won
For the "Beautiful Blogger" award you need to:
* Thank & link to the person that gave you the award.
* Pass this award on to 15 fantastic bloggers you’ve recently discovered.
* Contact said Blogs and let them know they’ve won.
* State 7 things about yourself.
Here are the 15 bloggers I am passing these awards on to. Check them out when you have a chance!
- Adventuroo
- Life of a Modern Mom
- Losing My Behind
- Motherhood Uncensored
- Prior Fat Girl
- Mama Still Wears Gucci
- Pampers and Pinot
- Ironic Mom
- Cheaper Than Therapy
- Honoring Health
- Letters from Crazyville (a mom on the edge)
- Healthy Loser Gal
- Workout Mommy
- Smart Ass Mom
- Bored Mommy
- I watched High School Musical 3 last night. I secretly (not so secret now) enjoy the entire HSM series.
- I saw the movie "Newsies" 4 times in the theatre. I was dealing with a minor Christian Bale obsession at the time.
- If you haven't noticed by my spelling, I am Canadian. I will always put a "u" in humour, colour, honour...and probably many more words I can't think of right now.
- I am slightly addicted to Skinny Cow ice cream sandwiches. It was almost grounds for divorce when I thought Mr. Awesome had eaten the last one.
- Sometimes I go and buy clothes just because I'm feeling overwhelmed by the pile of laundry.
- I used to work for a restaurant chain in their marketing department. This was only partly to blame for the 53lbs I am now working to shed.
- I secretly believe I have the power to will stuff to happen. I was actually surprised the other night when we didn't win the 50/50 draw at the Canucks game. I have no basis whatsoever for this belief, but maybe one day it will work...
Friday, March 19, 2010
This Lawn Will Be My Bitch
A year and a half ago, we gutted and reno'd my mum's rancher-style house. She now has a one bedroom plus den suite at one end and we have the other end. It's a fantastic situation which we are eternally grateful for, as it has us living in a beautiful home in a wonderful neighbourhood for the cost of a condo. It's also great for my mum as she was getting nervous about managing the entire property herself, not to mention she's now right next door to her grandkids!
With this beautiful home comes a big, beautiful yard. Landscaping took a backseat to the hard core renos, so we're still in the process of getting the yard the way we want it. We pretty much split the yard to our side/her side, and on our side of the front yard is a fairly sizable lawn.
This lawn was my dad's nemesis. New seed, new sod, nothing seemed to produce the lush, gorgeous lawn he dreamed of. Some of my clearest memories as a child are of "helping" my dad mow the lawn. He would be out there all summer, tirelessly mowing, watering, mowing again.
His lawn was a bloody golf course compared to the pitiful patchy mess I gaze out on each day. Months of excavators, garbage bins and dump trucks decimated the once mediocre lawn to a mud pit full of rocks and various chunks of debris.
We have since had it cleaned up, soiled and re-seeded. With one of the mildest winters on record, we actually have some growth showing through. Patchy growth. Very, very patchy. This is partially due to poor drainage and partially due to our municipality digging up the seeded area along the edge to replace the curb without telling us. I recently reseeded the patchiest areas, and am patiently waiting for my little seeds to take root. I got out there today with our sparkly new manual lawnmower to mow the new growth. I felt absolutely ridiculous. There is probably more patch than there is lawn, but there I was mowing away.
I had the little man out there with me as I worked and I was struck by the parallels with my own childhood. My dad left us with so many blessings and wonderful memories when he passed away almost eight years ago, but I haven't felt this close to him in ages. I feel that I owe it to him to make this lawn beautiful, come hell or high water. I will put my heart and soul into it, just as he did.
Our lawn will be lush and full by the end of the summer, mark my words. It will bend to my will, flourish under my love and nurturing. It WILL grow and it WILL be beautiful.
This lawn will be my bitch.
With this beautiful home comes a big, beautiful yard. Landscaping took a backseat to the hard core renos, so we're still in the process of getting the yard the way we want it. We pretty much split the yard to our side/her side, and on our side of the front yard is a fairly sizable lawn.
This lawn was my dad's nemesis. New seed, new sod, nothing seemed to produce the lush, gorgeous lawn he dreamed of. Some of my clearest memories as a child are of "helping" my dad mow the lawn. He would be out there all summer, tirelessly mowing, watering, mowing again.
His lawn was a bloody golf course compared to the pitiful patchy mess I gaze out on each day. Months of excavators, garbage bins and dump trucks decimated the once mediocre lawn to a mud pit full of rocks and various chunks of debris.
We have since had it cleaned up, soiled and re-seeded. With one of the mildest winters on record, we actually have some growth showing through. Patchy growth. Very, very patchy. This is partially due to poor drainage and partially due to our municipality digging up the seeded area along the edge to replace the curb without telling us. I recently reseeded the patchiest areas, and am patiently waiting for my little seeds to take root. I got out there today with our sparkly new manual lawnmower to mow the new growth. I felt absolutely ridiculous. There is probably more patch than there is lawn, but there I was mowing away.
I had the little man out there with me as I worked and I was struck by the parallels with my own childhood. My dad left us with so many blessings and wonderful memories when he passed away almost eight years ago, but I haven't felt this close to him in ages. I feel that I owe it to him to make this lawn beautiful, come hell or high water. I will put my heart and soul into it, just as he did.
Our lawn will be lush and full by the end of the summer, mark my words. It will bend to my will, flourish under my love and nurturing. It WILL grow and it WILL be beautiful.
This lawn will be my bitch.
Thursday, March 18, 2010
The Terrible Truth About Naps
Naps eventually stop.
I hate to be the one to break this to you, but your darling offspring will reach a point in their development where they no longer take naps. It will sneak up on you like an evil shadow, lurking and threatening to interrupt your 3 o'clock happy hour. It starts with one day, and then the next, and you blame it on any variety of schedule disruptions - the grandparents came to visit, he's getting a cold, the renovation next door was too noisy... but no. The nap is slowly disappearing.
Once in a while he will drop off to sleep and you'll (quietly) cheer and thank the gods of sleep for returning naps to your life. But it's a cruel joke. These moments of beauty are few and far between. They are the exception, not the rule.
After naps disappeared in our house, our lovely little man went through a period where he would request a DVD in the afternoon, and then fall asleep on the couch practically during the opening credits. It was pure bliss. Naps were back, and I didn't care if I had to watch Cars or UP for the 327th time. But this happiness also came to an end. We tried to get them back. Every day after lunch we would say "Hey Buddy, do you want to watch (insert Disney/Pixar title here)? Come on, let's sit on the couch and watch a movie." We'd even get so far as to have the DVD playing, munchkin on the couch under his blanket, getting his pre-sleep zone on, and then all of a sudden the spirit would grab him and he's off the couch and looking for some new mischief to get into. Let me tell you, it is mentally and emotionally exhausting to get SO close to a nap and have your efforts thwarted like that.
I don't know if it's a phase, as we are still in the no-napping portion of the toddler years. Naps may one day return to our lives. I'm sure when he's 14 he'll be only too happy to pass out whenever and wherever he can.
Only 11 years to go.
I hate to be the one to break this to you, but your darling offspring will reach a point in their development where they no longer take naps. It will sneak up on you like an evil shadow, lurking and threatening to interrupt your 3 o'clock happy hour. It starts with one day, and then the next, and you blame it on any variety of schedule disruptions - the grandparents came to visit, he's getting a cold, the renovation next door was too noisy... but no. The nap is slowly disappearing.
Once in a while he will drop off to sleep and you'll (quietly) cheer and thank the gods of sleep for returning naps to your life. But it's a cruel joke. These moments of beauty are few and far between. They are the exception, not the rule.
After naps disappeared in our house, our lovely little man went through a period where he would request a DVD in the afternoon, and then fall asleep on the couch practically during the opening credits. It was pure bliss. Naps were back, and I didn't care if I had to watch Cars or UP for the 327th time. But this happiness also came to an end. We tried to get them back. Every day after lunch we would say "Hey Buddy, do you want to watch (insert Disney/Pixar title here)? Come on, let's sit on the couch and watch a movie." We'd even get so far as to have the DVD playing, munchkin on the couch under his blanket, getting his pre-sleep zone on, and then all of a sudden the spirit would grab him and he's off the couch and looking for some new mischief to get into. Let me tell you, it is mentally and emotionally exhausting to get SO close to a nap and have your efforts thwarted like that.
I don't know if it's a phase, as we are still in the no-napping portion of the toddler years. Naps may one day return to our lives. I'm sure when he's 14 he'll be only too happy to pass out whenever and wherever he can.
Only 11 years to go.
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
I want my baby back, baby back, baby back...
My little man turns 3 in a couple of weeks. He entered the "twos" late, and the last few months have been trying, to say the least. The whining is only outdone by the crying that ensues when he doesn't get what he wants. Some days he has been an absolute monster, surviving by the skin of his teeth by showing me a few minutes of loveliness in an otherwise horrible day.
As I'm on mat leave right now, he and I have been together almost all day, every day. This, although counter-intuitive, has led to his being VERY clingy. "Mummymummymummymummymummy" is a common whine in our house, as I've written about before.
I'm being slowly worn down. The whining grates on my last nerve every day and I think my teeth will be smooth nubs from gritting them by the time we're out of this phase. I was explaining my frustration to Mr. Awesome a few days ago and he said "Remember, one day he'll go through a phase where he doesn't want you around AT ALL. Just try and keep that in mind."
Ouch.
One day my little boy will be a pre-man, filled with teen angst, hormones and attitude. I like to live in a dream world and tell myself he and I will have the ideal mother-son relationship where he can talk to me about anything (within reason). I know that this will likely not be the case, at least for some of those years. I hate this knowledge. The thought of it makes me cry.
And that is why I take a deep breath and tell him one more time WHY it's not okay to slap mummy, or climb the bookshelf, or eat Shreddies for dinner, or climb into the warming drawer. And that is why when he's clinging to me and screaming for me so loud that I can't hear the timer go off to say dinner is ready, I tell him that I love him and that it's okay.
Because one day I will long for that level of need and one day it won't be there.
Yes, the thought of a 20 year old man clinging to his mother is more than a little disturbing. But for now, I just want my little cling-on.
(Remind me of this when he's screaming at 6am tomorrow morning.)
As I'm on mat leave right now, he and I have been together almost all day, every day. This, although counter-intuitive, has led to his being VERY clingy. "Mummymummymummymummymummy" is a common whine in our house, as I've written about before.
I'm being slowly worn down. The whining grates on my last nerve every day and I think my teeth will be smooth nubs from gritting them by the time we're out of this phase. I was explaining my frustration to Mr. Awesome a few days ago and he said "Remember, one day he'll go through a phase where he doesn't want you around AT ALL. Just try and keep that in mind."
Ouch.
One day my little boy will be a pre-man, filled with teen angst, hormones and attitude. I like to live in a dream world and tell myself he and I will have the ideal mother-son relationship where he can talk to me about anything (within reason). I know that this will likely not be the case, at least for some of those years. I hate this knowledge. The thought of it makes me cry.
And that is why I take a deep breath and tell him one more time WHY it's not okay to slap mummy, or climb the bookshelf, or eat Shreddies for dinner, or climb into the warming drawer. And that is why when he's clinging to me and screaming for me so loud that I can't hear the timer go off to say dinner is ready, I tell him that I love him and that it's okay.
Because one day I will long for that level of need and one day it won't be there.
Yes, the thought of a 20 year old man clinging to his mother is more than a little disturbing. But for now, I just want my little cling-on.
(Remind me of this when he's screaming at 6am tomorrow morning.)
Saturday, March 13, 2010
Breastfeeding, I Am Sorry.
Note to any male readers: I am going to talk about breasts in this post. Either deal with it, glaze over now and start dreaming of Pamela Anderson, or stop reading.
I owe breastfeeding an apology.
When I got pregnant with our son I always assumed I would breastfeed, and I assumed it would come naturally. We'd gotten pregnant just by THINKING about trying (a fact Mr. Awesome was very proud of, telling anyone he could that his "boys could swim"), the pregnancy had been a breeze, why would there be any problems with feeding? From about 6 months pregnant it was looking like I was made to feed babies, with my breasts leaking what I can only assume was some sort of "pre-milk" night and day.
The little man had some issues with the initial latching, and the nurses in the maternity ward were bound and determined to make it work before we went home. Having never done it before, I didn't know what a good latch felt like. I was sleep deprived after having been in labour for 31 hours, felt like I'd shat out a 9lb 11oz watermelon, and didn't know what the hell was going on. Every time the nurses came in the room they would try and force him on, happy with ANY latch, not caring if it was "good" or not. This led to some pretty painful feeds with very little recovery time. Everyone said it hurt a bit at first, so I thought maybe I had a low threshold for pain and it was normal.
Day 2 and my milk came in. Boy, did it ever. I could probably have rested my chin on my boobs. My arms couldn't sit comfortably at my sides. One nurse in particular felt it was her personal mission from God to get the boy to feed successfully, at any cost. I was so engorged she said she needed to express some milk. This, I believe, is where it all went very, very wrong. She had thumbs of steel and used these Vise Grips to knead my breasts to within an inch of their lives. I am not exaggerating when I say I had purple and brown boobs for THREE WEEKS. Needless to say, this was just a little bit traumatic.
So, put together sore nipples that wouldn't know a good latch if it hit them in the face, purple boobs that shied away from the light of day, a 9lb 11oz baby boy who was ravenous all the time, and you have a pretty upsetting welcome to breastfeeding. Every single feed was excrutiatingly painful and both my baby and I were crying non-stop, me from the pain and him from (I assume) not getting enough milk from our atrocious latching abilities.
Why didn't I see a lactation consultant, you ask? Let me remind you, the last person that had tried to "help" me with breastfeeding had manhandled me to the point of near-permanent damage. In my mind, a lactation consultant would be just another "tit terrorist," doing whatever it took to force me to endure this agony until my little darling went off to college.
We started supplementing with formula (pumping was far too painful) when he was three weeks old. We had to. By 10pm each night, my breasts were throbbing in pain and my ducts were dry. Once he got a taste of that sweet nectar with its on-demand flow, our breastfeeding days were numbered. I stuck with it during the days until he was eight weeks old, when my doctor told me I should stop. He said that it was more important to be able to hold my baby without crying in pain, that I was not a failure and that our son would be just fine with formula. It was like a cloud lifted and the sun smiled at me. Finally I could hold my baby just to hold my baby - no tears, no dread, just love.
When we got pregnant with our daughter, I decided that I wasn't going to stress about feeding. Breastfeeding had a very negative association for me, but I wanted to give it one more shot. If it worked, it worked. If it didn't, I would see a lactation consultant (I had since warmed to the idea), but I wouldn't be made to feel guilty or pressured. One glimpse of a tit terrorist or a "lactivist" and I was ready to head for the hills.
Well, it worked. It just worked. She latched within 10 minutes of birth and has been doing great ever since. I did actually see a consultant when after one not-so-good latch I started to feel that old familiar pain, but it was nipped in the bud immediately.
I used to dread feeding time with my son, starting to cry even before he was in my arms because I still hurt from the last feed. I now get it. I get how breastfeeding can be a beautiful thing. I couldn't have said that two years ago, but I get it. Breastfeeding isn't the devil and when it works it can be wonderful.
But for anyone having issues, just know - you are not a failure. Get whatever help you are comfortable getting. Breast milk or formula, in the end it is far more important to just love your baby and enjoy the life you've just brought into the world.
Breastfeeding, I Am Sorry. Nurse Ratched and your evil thumbs of steel - Step away from the boob.
I owe breastfeeding an apology.
When I got pregnant with our son I always assumed I would breastfeed, and I assumed it would come naturally. We'd gotten pregnant just by THINKING about trying (a fact Mr. Awesome was very proud of, telling anyone he could that his "boys could swim"), the pregnancy had been a breeze, why would there be any problems with feeding? From about 6 months pregnant it was looking like I was made to feed babies, with my breasts leaking what I can only assume was some sort of "pre-milk" night and day.
The little man had some issues with the initial latching, and the nurses in the maternity ward were bound and determined to make it work before we went home. Having never done it before, I didn't know what a good latch felt like. I was sleep deprived after having been in labour for 31 hours, felt like I'd shat out a 9lb 11oz watermelon, and didn't know what the hell was going on. Every time the nurses came in the room they would try and force him on, happy with ANY latch, not caring if it was "good" or not. This led to some pretty painful feeds with very little recovery time. Everyone said it hurt a bit at first, so I thought maybe I had a low threshold for pain and it was normal.
Day 2 and my milk came in. Boy, did it ever. I could probably have rested my chin on my boobs. My arms couldn't sit comfortably at my sides. One nurse in particular felt it was her personal mission from God to get the boy to feed successfully, at any cost. I was so engorged she said she needed to express some milk. This, I believe, is where it all went very, very wrong. She had thumbs of steel and used these Vise Grips to knead my breasts to within an inch of their lives. I am not exaggerating when I say I had purple and brown boobs for THREE WEEKS. Needless to say, this was just a little bit traumatic.
So, put together sore nipples that wouldn't know a good latch if it hit them in the face, purple boobs that shied away from the light of day, a 9lb 11oz baby boy who was ravenous all the time, and you have a pretty upsetting welcome to breastfeeding. Every single feed was excrutiatingly painful and both my baby and I were crying non-stop, me from the pain and him from (I assume) not getting enough milk from our atrocious latching abilities.
Why didn't I see a lactation consultant, you ask? Let me remind you, the last person that had tried to "help" me with breastfeeding had manhandled me to the point of near-permanent damage. In my mind, a lactation consultant would be just another "tit terrorist," doing whatever it took to force me to endure this agony until my little darling went off to college.
We started supplementing with formula (pumping was far too painful) when he was three weeks old. We had to. By 10pm each night, my breasts were throbbing in pain and my ducts were dry. Once he got a taste of that sweet nectar with its on-demand flow, our breastfeeding days were numbered. I stuck with it during the days until he was eight weeks old, when my doctor told me I should stop. He said that it was more important to be able to hold my baby without crying in pain, that I was not a failure and that our son would be just fine with formula. It was like a cloud lifted and the sun smiled at me. Finally I could hold my baby just to hold my baby - no tears, no dread, just love.
When we got pregnant with our daughter, I decided that I wasn't going to stress about feeding. Breastfeeding had a very negative association for me, but I wanted to give it one more shot. If it worked, it worked. If it didn't, I would see a lactation consultant (I had since warmed to the idea), but I wouldn't be made to feel guilty or pressured. One glimpse of a tit terrorist or a "lactivist" and I was ready to head for the hills.
Well, it worked. It just worked. She latched within 10 minutes of birth and has been doing great ever since. I did actually see a consultant when after one not-so-good latch I started to feel that old familiar pain, but it was nipped in the bud immediately.
I used to dread feeding time with my son, starting to cry even before he was in my arms because I still hurt from the last feed. I now get it. I get how breastfeeding can be a beautiful thing. I couldn't have said that two years ago, but I get it. Breastfeeding isn't the devil and when it works it can be wonderful.
But for anyone having issues, just know - you are not a failure. Get whatever help you are comfortable getting. Breast milk or formula, in the end it is far more important to just love your baby and enjoy the life you've just brought into the world.
Breastfeeding, I Am Sorry. Nurse Ratched and your evil thumbs of steel - Step away from the boob.
Thursday, March 11, 2010
We're Gonna Roll Around the Block Tonight
I think I'm paralyzed by blog envy. I haven't written since Monday and I have no idea what to write about.
In my efforts to understand the blogosphere (I learned a new word!) I have been reading and following tons of blogs. I discovered Google Reader and now have an average of 400 unread posts at any one time. I have read some absolutely fantastic posts in the last three weeks and I keep getting directed to more.
How can I even call myself a blogger (and do I?) when there are so many more accomplished people out there? I know they all had to start somewhere and I think I've done pretty well in my first month, but I've hit the wall.
I read a great post tonight at www.dutchblitz.net and loved the message - Write like no one is reading. I really enjoy writing this blog, even if it's never seen by another living soul. I feel a sense of accomplishment every time I click on "Publish Post" and then go straight to view it in all its live glory.
Even though this is for myself, this evening I was feeling pressure to write something, anything. I drew a blank. I was minutes away from panic because I didn't want this to be another diary I abandoned after the first few pages.
And then my 4 month old daughter rolled over for the first time. I cheered like a maniac and clapped and laughed and she stared up at me with a big goofy grin, showing me her other new favourite discovery, her tongue.
And my blog didn't matter.
I'm sure tomorrow I will be struck with inspiration and be back at it, but for now it doesn't matter as much as that drooly little bundle of love.
Now if only she would go to bed before 11pm...
In my efforts to understand the blogosphere (I learned a new word!) I have been reading and following tons of blogs. I discovered Google Reader and now have an average of 400 unread posts at any one time. I have read some absolutely fantastic posts in the last three weeks and I keep getting directed to more.
How can I even call myself a blogger (and do I?) when there are so many more accomplished people out there? I know they all had to start somewhere and I think I've done pretty well in my first month, but I've hit the wall.
I read a great post tonight at www.dutchblitz.net and loved the message - Write like no one is reading. I really enjoy writing this blog, even if it's never seen by another living soul. I feel a sense of accomplishment every time I click on "Publish Post" and then go straight to view it in all its live glory.
Even though this is for myself, this evening I was feeling pressure to write something, anything. I drew a blank. I was minutes away from panic because I didn't want this to be another diary I abandoned after the first few pages.
And then my 4 month old daughter rolled over for the first time. I cheered like a maniac and clapped and laughed and she stared up at me with a big goofy grin, showing me her other new favourite discovery, her tongue.
And my blog didn't matter.
I'm sure tomorrow I will be struck with inspiration and be back at it, but for now it doesn't matter as much as that drooly little bundle of love.
Now if only she would go to bed before 11pm...
Monday, March 8, 2010
Getting Some Perspective on the Small Stuff
I've been on mat leave for 5 months (oh my God, already?!) now, and some funny things are happening. I realized this when Mr. Awesome and I had a big argument over seemingly nothing. I now know what caused it. It was me.
When working, I am the marketing manager for a non-profit organization. I love my job and it keeps me very busy...most of the time too busy, but it usually stays within that 9-5 time frame. My door is almost always open and I'm called upon to make a lot of decisions each day, some little and some important, but most fast and action-oriented.
While on leave, my decision making power has been fairly limited to menu planning, taking diaper inventory, potty training our 2yr old and of course, anything to do with the gym or Weight Watchers. When working, I make all of these decisions ON TOP of the decisions I have to make at work. My brain is pretty full most of the time. And yes, I'm a bit of a control freak.
A couple of months ago we had a tree transplanted from Mr. Awesome's parents' place to our house. This seems pretty simple, right? Their house had been sold and the closing date had come and gone and we still needed to get the tree moved. Yes, there were some weather issues that delayed the gardeners, but soon the weather was fine and still...nothing. Mr. Awesome had been the main contact for the gardeners, so I was leaving it up to him to get it done. This started to slowly kill me, one sunny day at a time. It began to consume me. How hard a concept was it? Pick up the phone and arrange it. They didn't call back? Call them again. They didn't show when they said they would? Call them again. The project manager in me was screaming out for action and yes, that may have resulted in a wee bit of nagging. I may have complained once or twice (a day) that they STILL hadn't shown up and WHEN was he going to call them?
I didn't fully realize what I was doing, I assume because I was all-consumed by the frustrating inactivity and not having any power to make something happen. Yes, I could have called the gardeners myself, but I didn't want them toknow think I was a nagging bitch. That privilege was reserved for my husband until the day he blew up at me and let me in on the little secret. No, he didn't call me a nagging bitch, but he did point out just how stressed I was getting over a TREE.
Ooooh, can't pass this one up: I couldn't see the forest for the tree. Wow, my brain really is turning to mush. I digress.
I have since learned to let go (a little) of my need to occupy my brain with plans and decisions 100% of the time. I do worry a little about when the time comes to return to work, but I'm not going to let that worry consume me. Yet.
When working, I am the marketing manager for a non-profit organization. I love my job and it keeps me very busy...most of the time too busy, but it usually stays within that 9-5 time frame. My door is almost always open and I'm called upon to make a lot of decisions each day, some little and some important, but most fast and action-oriented.
While on leave, my decision making power has been fairly limited to menu planning, taking diaper inventory, potty training our 2yr old and of course, anything to do with the gym or Weight Watchers. When working, I make all of these decisions ON TOP of the decisions I have to make at work. My brain is pretty full most of the time. And yes, I'm a bit of a control freak.
A couple of months ago we had a tree transplanted from Mr. Awesome's parents' place to our house. This seems pretty simple, right? Their house had been sold and the closing date had come and gone and we still needed to get the tree moved. Yes, there were some weather issues that delayed the gardeners, but soon the weather was fine and still...nothing. Mr. Awesome had been the main contact for the gardeners, so I was leaving it up to him to get it done. This started to slowly kill me, one sunny day at a time. It began to consume me. How hard a concept was it? Pick up the phone and arrange it. They didn't call back? Call them again. They didn't show when they said they would? Call them again. The project manager in me was screaming out for action and yes, that may have resulted in a wee bit of nagging. I may have complained once or twice (a day) that they STILL hadn't shown up and WHEN was he going to call them?
I didn't fully realize what I was doing, I assume because I was all-consumed by the frustrating inactivity and not having any power to make something happen. Yes, I could have called the gardeners myself, but I didn't want them to
Ooooh, can't pass this one up: I couldn't see the forest for the tree. Wow, my brain really is turning to mush. I digress.
I have since learned to let go (a little) of my need to occupy my brain with plans and decisions 100% of the time. I do worry a little about when the time comes to return to work, but I'm not going to let that worry consume me. Yet.
Sunday, March 7, 2010
The Slippery Slope
I have been away from the gym for more than a week. Last Sunday Mr. Awesome and I walked all over downtown Vancouver experiencing the last day of the Olympics, and I did the Biggest Loser's Last Chance Workout DVD on Tuesday, but that's it for exercise for the week. This is the first time I haven't had at least 4 days of exercise/week since starting Weight Watchers on December 18.
(Let me pump myself up just a little by explaining that the reason I've been off is because I've had a knock-down, drag 'em out sore throat and cold for over a week. I didn't feel able to do ANYTHING most days, let alone work out.)
Now I'm scared. In the past I have slipped a little, then a lot, then abandoned all efforts completely. Things feel different this time, but I'm still scared. I absolutely HAVE TO go to the gym tomorrow. And I have to make it a good workout, because there are always a few signs that I'm starting to lose momentum and a "cheat" workout is one of them. One cheat workout leads to another, and so on and so on.
I guess I'm writing about it here to make it real, and to ensure I actually do get back on track. I'm back at the gym as of 9am tomorrow morning and this week will be just a blip. A big scary blip that I will not let win. 26.2 lbs down and I'm not stopping now!
(Let me pump myself up just a little by explaining that the reason I've been off is because I've had a knock-down, drag 'em out sore throat and cold for over a week. I didn't feel able to do ANYTHING most days, let alone work out.)
Now I'm scared. In the past I have slipped a little, then a lot, then abandoned all efforts completely. Things feel different this time, but I'm still scared. I absolutely HAVE TO go to the gym tomorrow. And I have to make it a good workout, because there are always a few signs that I'm starting to lose momentum and a "cheat" workout is one of them. One cheat workout leads to another, and so on and so on.
I guess I'm writing about it here to make it real, and to ensure I actually do get back on track. I'm back at the gym as of 9am tomorrow morning and this week will be just a blip. A big scary blip that I will not let win. 26.2 lbs down and I'm not stopping now!
Saturday, March 6, 2010
Hug Everyone You Know. Right Now.
It has not been a good day for news. Today I found out that a co-worker living with breast cancer finally succumbed to the disease, a friend's grandfather had a massive stroke, and another friend's husband was killed in a motorcycle accident. This last piece of news rocked me to the core. We've only just reconnected but our lives since high school have a number of parallels, including us both having had our second child within the last few months.
I cannot process the thought of losing a member of my little family. I really don't know what I would do. I do know that I would have to keep living, somehow. You can't just shut down. Temporarily, maybe, but not permanently. With two little ones at home temporarily is even out of the question. You have to find a way to carry on, but OH MY GOD I don't know how people do it.
I asked my husband tonight if we could just stay in our house for the rest of our lives, where we know it's safe. I was only half joking. He just smiled and said "But then we wouldn't have any fun." He's right, but the thought is still very tempting.
I never got to meet my friend's husband, but today was the most glorious sunny day and he must have loved being on his bike. He was out living life, not hiding from it.
So please, hug everyone you care about right now. Even if we all live to be 100 and die of natural causes, life is still short and we all have to say goodbye to someone at some point. It's important to live life to the fullest, whatever that means to you. Tonight, to me, it means sitting on the couch with my husband. It's not very exciting, and tonight that's just fine.
The Dash
by Linda Ellis
I read of a man who stood to speak
At a funeral of a friend.
He referred to the dates on her tombstone
From the beginning...to the end.
He noted that first came her date of birth
And spoke the following date with tears,
But he said what mattered most of all
Was the dash between those years. (1934-1998)
For that dash represents all the time
That she spent alive on earth...
And now only those who loved her
Know what that little line is worth.
For it matters not, how much we own
The cars...the house...the cash,
What matters most is how we live and love
And how we spend our dash.
So think about this long and hard...
Are there things you'd like to change?
For you never know how much time is left,
That can still be rearranged.
If we could just slow down enough
To consider what's true and real,
And always try to understand
The way other people feel.
And be less quick to anger,
And show appreciation more
And love the people in our lives
Like we've never loved before.
If we treat each other with respect,
And more often wear a smile...
Remembering that this special dash,
Might only last a little while.
So, when your eulogy's being read
With your life's actions to rehash...
Would you be proud of the things they say
About how we spend our dash?
I cannot process the thought of losing a member of my little family. I really don't know what I would do. I do know that I would have to keep living, somehow. You can't just shut down. Temporarily, maybe, but not permanently. With two little ones at home temporarily is even out of the question. You have to find a way to carry on, but OH MY GOD I don't know how people do it.
I asked my husband tonight if we could just stay in our house for the rest of our lives, where we know it's safe. I was only half joking. He just smiled and said "But then we wouldn't have any fun." He's right, but the thought is still very tempting.
I never got to meet my friend's husband, but today was the most glorious sunny day and he must have loved being on his bike. He was out living life, not hiding from it.
So please, hug everyone you care about right now. Even if we all live to be 100 and die of natural causes, life is still short and we all have to say goodbye to someone at some point. It's important to live life to the fullest, whatever that means to you. Tonight, to me, it means sitting on the couch with my husband. It's not very exciting, and tonight that's just fine.
The Dash
by Linda Ellis
I read of a man who stood to speak
At a funeral of a friend.
He referred to the dates on her tombstone
From the beginning...to the end.
He noted that first came her date of birth
And spoke the following date with tears,
But he said what mattered most of all
Was the dash between those years. (1934-1998)
For that dash represents all the time
That she spent alive on earth...
And now only those who loved her
Know what that little line is worth.
For it matters not, how much we own
The cars...the house...the cash,
What matters most is how we live and love
And how we spend our dash.
So think about this long and hard...
Are there things you'd like to change?
For you never know how much time is left,
That can still be rearranged.
If we could just slow down enough
To consider what's true and real,
And always try to understand
The way other people feel.
And be less quick to anger,
And show appreciation more
And love the people in our lives
Like we've never loved before.
If we treat each other with respect,
And more often wear a smile...
Remembering that this special dash,
Might only last a little while.
So, when your eulogy's being read
With your life's actions to rehash...
Would you be proud of the things they say
About how we spend our dash?
Friday, March 5, 2010
The Packet Chef, or KISS The Cook
As I've mentioned before, I am not a cook by nature. Mr. Awesome likes cooking, so I've been lucky enough to have him cook the majority of our meals over the years. My reluctance to cook was less about actual ability, it was more lack of confidence and being scared to try anything outside my little box of the 3 recipes I had tried successfully. I don't think I've talked about this yet, but I have a rather serious fear of failure. I'd work on it, but I'm afraid to fail.
When I became a mom, I felt a responsibility to become a better cook. Not comfortable with mixing flavours on my own, I became what I call The Packet Chef. I could cook anything if a packet was involved. By this I mean the Club House seasoning packs, or any variety of pre-determined flavour packet, leaving no room for error. I trolled their website looking for new recipes and found several great ones that I would recommend and cook again, but slowly the rotation I was comfortable with grew tired (given this was pretty much all I was cooking). I really like the Slow Cooker BBQ Pork Glazed Roast Pork. It is delicious, and of course the prerequisite - SIMPLE.
For over a year now we have been having Mr. Awesome's dad over for dinner every Wednesday night. Eager to impress the in-laws and knowing my seasoning packet menu was not going to last long, I was forced to expand my repertoire. It was like a gift from the gods - Campbell's Soup!! cookwithcampbells.ca has tons of recipes, each one including a Campbell's product. We've exhausted pretty much every casserole and skillet creation on there and they are ALL good.
It used to be that I would cook maybe 1 out of every 7 dinners, and it was invariably pasta of some sort. From packet to soup can, I have slowly become a much more confident cook and now find myself cooking 6 out of 7 meals each week, with the 7th being Frozen Pizza Night. (We will have to address this imbalance when I return to work, but for now I'm fine playing Super Mom.)
Now with the Weight Watchers program, not all the packet and soup recipes fit the WW points needs so once again I have had to up the ante on my cooking skills. I follow the KISS principle when it comes to cooking, as I will invariably screw something up if there are too many ingredients or instructions. Always on the search for the easiest route possible, I discovered the Weight Watchers In 20 Minutes cookbook. Simple ingredients and quick recipes and right up my alley. (I also own their New Complete Cookbook, but I find the recipes in there too involved for my skill/comfort level.)
Would you believe, I am now cooking most of our dinners without the aid of any type of pre-mixed flavour?! That's right, I am flavouring things all on my own, cooking from SCRATCH. I've even (are you sitting down?) EXPERIMENTED away from the recipe, changing a few ingredients here and there. Who the hell do I think I am, June Cleaver?
If you're like me and not a very accomplished cook, I hope these recommendations prove helpful. If you are a whiz in the kitchen, stop gloating and invite me over for dinner.
When I became a mom, I felt a responsibility to become a better cook. Not comfortable with mixing flavours on my own, I became what I call The Packet Chef. I could cook anything if a packet was involved. By this I mean the Club House seasoning packs, or any variety of pre-determined flavour packet, leaving no room for error. I trolled their website looking for new recipes and found several great ones that I would recommend and cook again, but slowly the rotation I was comfortable with grew tired (given this was pretty much all I was cooking). I really like the Slow Cooker BBQ Pork Glazed Roast Pork. It is delicious, and of course the prerequisite - SIMPLE.
For over a year now we have been having Mr. Awesome's dad over for dinner every Wednesday night. Eager to impress the in-laws and knowing my seasoning packet menu was not going to last long, I was forced to expand my repertoire. It was like a gift from the gods - Campbell's Soup!! cookwithcampbells.ca has tons of recipes, each one including a Campbell's product. We've exhausted pretty much every casserole and skillet creation on there and they are ALL good.
It used to be that I would cook maybe 1 out of every 7 dinners, and it was invariably pasta of some sort. From packet to soup can, I have slowly become a much more confident cook and now find myself cooking 6 out of 7 meals each week, with the 7th being Frozen Pizza Night. (We will have to address this imbalance when I return to work, but for now I'm fine playing Super Mom.)
Now with the Weight Watchers program, not all the packet and soup recipes fit the WW points needs so once again I have had to up the ante on my cooking skills. I follow the KISS principle when it comes to cooking, as I will invariably screw something up if there are too many ingredients or instructions. Always on the search for the easiest route possible, I discovered the Weight Watchers In 20 Minutes cookbook. Simple ingredients and quick recipes and right up my alley. (I also own their New Complete Cookbook, but I find the recipes in there too involved for my skill/comfort level.)Would you believe, I am now cooking most of our dinners without the aid of any type of pre-mixed flavour?! That's right, I am flavouring things all on my own, cooking from SCRATCH. I've even (are you sitting down?) EXPERIMENTED away from the recipe, changing a few ingredients here and there. Who the hell do I think I am, June Cleaver?
If you're like me and not a very accomplished cook, I hope these recommendations prove helpful. If you are a whiz in the kitchen, stop gloating and invite me over for dinner.
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
I've Been Given the Honest Scrap Award!
Wow, I've been tagged with the Honest Scrap Award! I'm fairly new to the world of blogging, and to be honest (what else?!), I hadn't heard of it. I Googled it to find out what honour had been bestowed upon me by Kristy from Pampers and Pinot and this is what I found:According to a couple of sites, the Honest Scrap Award is “for bloggers who put their heart on display as they write from the depths of their soul."
As a recipient I have to list 10 honest, random and interesting things about myself, so here goes!
- I used to run my own theatre company, dedicated to providing experience for emerging women in theatre. We produced six shows over five years and never lost any money! (We never really made any either.)
- I am an Olympic convert. At first I wasn't excited about the Olympics coming to Vancouver, because I didn't know how the city could possibly handle it. It was the best thing to ever happen in Vancouver, managed brilliantly, and I was proven 100% wrong. Go Canada!
- My dad was 64 when I was born, which made my childhood a lot different than anyone else I knew. He was 26 years older than my mom. I am an only child, but according to my friends have escaped the "Weird Only Child Syndrome".
- For completely selfish reasons, I really hope my son (or daughter, for that matter) doesn't want to play hockey. Street hockey or field hockey are fine, but I REALLY don't want to deal with 4am ice times.
- In 2000, I won a grant from the Department of Foreign Affairs to work in Wellington, NZ for 6 months.
- I am a little bit addicted to TV. Specifically any Law & Order, CSI (the original & Miami, not NY), Biggest Loser and The Bachelor/ette. Plus anything else that resembles any of these...except CSI: NY. I really don't like it.
- I have met Dustin Diamond. I was working for a company doing PR for a comedy club and had to take him around town to his various interviews. We weren't supposed to talk about the fact that he was Screech from Saved by the Bell, but COME ON, he was Screech!!
- I used to reject country music because it was country music. About 10 years ago my friend set about converting me and now it's pretty much all I listen to.
- I used to work for a radio station as the "Funfinder". That's right, it was my job to find fun.
- I am extremely clumsy and quite often do really clumsy things. The large burn blister on my thumb from last night is a perfect example. I had JUST taken the skillet out of the oven and then less than a minute later tried to shift it on top of the stove by touching the scorching hot handle.
Mom vs. the Boys
The Mombshelter
im.seeking.balance
Healthy Loser Gal
Diary of a Domestically Challenged Housewife
Smart Ass Mom
And, my guilty pleasure...Blasphemous Bambi.
I also LOVE reading Pampers and Pinot, but I know that she's just received this award herself. I'm so happy to receive it from her! Thank you Kristy!
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