Josephine's Sweet Potato Romance

My friend Marla is a lot of things. For the most part, she's absolutely insane. The kind of crazy that will make her pop into your brain in the middle of the day and have you giggling about something she said, while in meeting with your VP. Things like, "The only thing separating my episiotomy from my anus was a hemmeroid."

Or, "You may want to rethink your VBAC, because I know how much you like your sex life. Don't forget that I had a vaginal birth and frankly, some days it's like pulling a sled over a speed bump."

She's also the type of friend that would knock on your door, hand you some beef stew and WARM cookies and then drive away. She will invite you to her cosy cowboy kitsch home and serve you American beer in vintage glasses, while you lay on her couch like a log. Then she will make a meal your picky kid cannot say no to and feed you last night's chili to the sounds of Loretta Lynn, while she offers to ghost write your freelance work because you are too tired to do it yourself and it's silently killing her.

In short, I am truly blessed to have her as a friend.

Marla sent me the hilarious links to Josephine's sweet potato affair. Here they are for those interested.

http://hellojosephine.blogspot.com/2006/02/turkey-is-in-eye-of-beholder.html

http://hellojosephine.blogspot.com/2006/02/love-can-be-pitts_07.html

http://hellojosephine.blogspot.com/2006/02/if-you-love-something.html

http://hellojosephine.blogspot.com/2006/02/trs-jolie.html

The Sweater -- continued...

Well it's been 48 hours and the sweater continues to be worn. I shit you not. He's being much less of an asshole, but only when the sweater is not touched. We did manage to give him a bath last night, but he took it to the next level afterwards, when he asked to sleep with the sweater. He slept with it under his head. If he takes it off briefly, he wants to walk around hugging it and dancing with it.

The sweater in question is an acrylic/wool combo with a cotton lining. I bought it at Old Navy because it reminded me of the nerdy Norwegian sweaters my husband wore as a child. It is a motherfucking hot sweater and causes him to wake up in a nasty sweat. The sweater is starting to smell like a sherpa.

I know that Josephine was briefly in love with a sweet potato last year, but that's my only recollection of reading something similar online. Anyone else have this experience with a child becoming attached to a piece of clothing?

Be afraid, be very facking afraid

I have spent a large part of my day hiding. Hiding from the terror within. I haven't been this afraid to be in the same house with someone since I lived with my sister.

I have no idea what it will be that sets off the fury, but the fury is ever present. Lurking. Taunting. Rattling my nerves. I am officially in an abusive relationship.

We dropped Daddy Dog off to work at 4pm. The second Daddy left the car, all hell broke loose. "Daddy! I want my daddy!" Violent kicking of the back of the car seat. I managed to convince him to suck his thumb until we got home. We got in the door. That pissed him off. I offered to take off his hat and boots. That made him irate. Then I removed his coat and extra hooded sweater he had on for warmth. That's when things got really ugly.

It was as though he read one of the comments someone left me about a toddler wanting to wear his sweater and have it off at the same time. He rocked and shook with rage. He screamed and cried, as though I stick shish kebob skewers through his eyeballs. How dare I take off the sweater? How dare I put it back on?

How could he eat if he didn't have his sweater? NO! It couldn't be on the chair in front of his high chair. It had to be on his high chair table so he could hug it. After all, it was HIS sweater. And I'm just the chick who scrapes fully intact pomegranate seeds off his shitty ass.

Holy fucknuts. What have I signed up for here people? Remind me why I want to do this again? Talk about taking on too much.

You know when I said, "This would totally happen to me?"

Yeah, so this totally happened to me.

As I was getting dressed the other morning, I let Nate occupy himself my bedroom. He mostly likes to push the buttons on my alarm clock. You know, so I wake up at 3 am thinking it's 7 and I've hit snooze one too many times?

Then, as I pulled my sweater over my head I heard, "Hahahahaha. Look at diss Mama! Look at diss! Diss funny!"

And I turned around to see him with my friend, Pinky Tuscadero, vibrating in his hand.

What to do, what to do? Well, I did what anyone would do. I burst out laughing (of embarrassment) and quickly snatched it -- forgive me -- grabbed it out of his hands. He laughed back mischievously.

"Um, that's mummy's special toy. Just for mama OK?"

"Oh-kay," he replied, disappointed.

The light of day made me see some things I wish I didn't -- so I gave that bad boy a good washing. Then I hid it, which means I'll never remember where the fuck I put it at 4 am. So long cheerleaders.

Now entering Twoson, Assholezona

You fuckers. You lied to me. You gave me a false sense of security.

"Nate is so sweet. Even his worst days are like my child's best days."

I just spent three hours with a manic depressive.

"NOOOO! I wanted my spaceship shi-i-i-wt. Waaaah! Spaceship shiwt." (That's shirt for those who don't speak toddler)

"Your spaceship shirt is dirty. You smeared yogurt all over it. On purpose."

"But I want spaceship shiwt. Maaaaaa!"

"Fine, here's your spaceship shirt. You can look at it while I get your jammies on."

"Waaaaah! Hahahahahaha! Spaceship shiwt! Hahahahaha. NO! No Mommy! NO Jammies! Hahahahaha! Spaceship shiwt!"

What. The. Fuck.

How the Fack Does She Do It?

I am dying today. Yesterday was so ridiculously busy that I am paying for it in strides today. So fucking exhausted. There are no words for how exhausted I am. I had to skip out on a family outing to the AGO so that I could nap for a few hours. Now Blogging Baby work is staring me in the face and all I want to do is sleep more before the boys get home.

I saw "the secret" yesterday. I have been so non-chalant this time around that I didn't realize how it would effect me. I was so emotional, so amazed at the miracle of the whole thing. It truly is amazing. Between human biology and scientific advancement, what we are able to do, to see -- wow. I am carrying something the size of a grape tomato. It has a little head and hands and a tail? Feet? Couldn't make that out. I saw a heart beating faster than a German techno song.

And then the technician saw a cyst.

I don't like hearing the word cyst. My brain immediately tries to figure out which is the bad term, malignant or benign. Thankfully, I am on some fabulous homeopathic remedy that made me shrug it off. "Not gonna worry until they tell me I have something to worry about," I told myself.

My body makes a lot of cysts. I have them on my eyelids, in my breast, on my labia. If I get a zit, it sometimes becomes a cyst. They are tiny, but annoying. I know this is common in pregnancy, I know I said I wouldn't worry, but it's kinda there in the back of my mind. Gonna try to push the thoughts back down for now. Too tired to worry or stress.

Anyway, after all that dildofication at the ultrasound clinic, I ran back east to get Nate from Marla. They were at a drop in centre. I hadn't been to one in so long, I forgot how fun they can be. Then we headed to Marla's for lunch. Nate's eating troubles have been totally erased by the new daycare. It's awesome. He ate everything she made. It helps that she's a fantastic cook.

We had to eat and run as I had to meet a fellow volunteer from the Children's Own Museum. Remember that place? It used to be in the Planetarium. Well they've been looking for a new spot for the last three years, and I've recently gotten involved with them because we need more dedicated play places in Toronto. More to come on that.

Then I had to get Nate to the doctor. He still weighs under 25 pounds -- can you believe it? "Well he's not huge, but he never has been," the doctor said. "But he's still within the normal range so don't worry." Then we raced to get Daddy Dog from work and headed to his folks for dinner. OMG! Am I insane booking so much into one day? Yes. That kind of day would be difficult for someone with all their strength and faculties, let alone someone with an active toddler and a grape tomato. I need to learn to say no. Seriously.

Of course a visit to the doctor's isn't complete without bringing home a cold as a souvenir. Nate is super snotty today, but thankfully he's on the Dog's watch while I read Jane Austen's Persuasion for my book club and nap on and off. ZZzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.........

Please tell me this exhaustion stops.

Mourning Sickness

mourning sickness
The feeling of sadness you get because you didn't feel like barfing today, which in your hypochondriac, hysterical mind means you must not have "a secret" anymore.

This week was a disaster. I passed out on the couch watching the Golden Globes and awoke, freezing cold at 3 am. Wide awake again. Went upstairs to bed and it kinda felt good to be snuggled up against the Dog, so I woke him up and shagged him. Just as that came to a conclusion, Nate woke up screaming for Mommy. The Dog has forbidden me from bringing him into our bed. He's been sleeping through the night since we stopped this practice. I think he was forcing himself awake just to have a cuddle. He was also not eating because we kept giving him a giant bottle of milk to get him to go back to sleep.

So I went to Nate in his room, rocked him a bit and then placed him in his crib. He immediately started screaming and would only stop if I sat on the floor with my head pressed against the crib rails. Crib rail marks on your head are hard to explain at the office.

Other than tired, the barfiness has subsided a bit thanks to a visit to the homeopath. You know, my homey? Yeah, she gave me some fancy tiny pills that seem to be working. I feel a bit like Jack coming home with those magic beans sometimes. The Dog will be like, "How much did THAT cost you?" Whatevs dude -- it's SO worth it. I feel dramatically better. I even cooked us dinner this week!

But of course that had me freaking and checking my underwear obsessively for bad omens. I didn't relax until I went to the doctor for the routine tests. I got the resident and oh my God he was HAWT! Big brown eyes, beautiful brown skin, great hair -- he was like a Bollywood film star.

I was shocked to find myself flirting with hi. (OK, maybe not shocked. More like, "Scarb, you're such a loser. Here you are talking about how you couldn't possibly have anymore HCG in your blood and you're imagining getting naked on the table with this young man.") The whoremones are kicking in, clearly.

Anyway, the McSteamy and I negotiated blood tests. Very unsexy. "Do you want an HIV test?"

I hate this question.

How many years before you can stop worrying about your stupid, young, whoring past? "Um, do I need to? I haven't had sex with a stranger for like 11 years now." Of course as soon as I said that, I found myself thinking, "Damn! 26 was way too young to get married." ELEVEN years? 9 years of the same dick, and the two year dry spell that preceded it. (I lived with my folks in the burbs OK!)

So I gave up 8 vials of blood and three cups of pee. I'm having a placing ultrasound today. (Yes, I know. I know. Some secret. Just don't tell my boss. I love her. I know she'd be happy for me. I just don't want to get passed up for projects, you know? She won't intentionally do it, but she'll want to look out for her own needs and I'll be treated like I've got a disability or something.)

It looks like my uterus is serious about all this. I'd better bring my ugly pants up from the basement.

Attention Bloor Street Shoppers

I just got sent this prayer from a coworker. I've read it before but it always makes me giggle. It's like the Lord' s and Taylor's Prayer. Heh.

(FYI, for those who don't know: Holts is like the Harrod's or the Bon Marche or the Barney's of Canada. The flagship store AKA the mothership is on Bloor Street W on our version of Millionaire's Mile.)

Armani
Who art in Holts
Hallowed be thy shoes
Thy Prada come
Thy shopping done
On Bloor Street
As it is in Paris
Give us this day, our Visa Gold
And forgive us our balance
As we forgive those who charge us interest
Lead us not into Wal-Mart
And deliver us from Sears
For thine is the Chanel
The Gaultier, and the Versace,
For Dolce and Gabbana
Amex.

Ah, ain't it inspirational? It's making me want to do a post on my obsession with designer clothes I can't afford... Maybe I'll draft a meme for fashionistas. Stay tuned.

Not Smart

Whenever I would pull a bonehead move growing up, my dad would just shake his head and say, "Not smart."

I feel like that today after something deep inside me made me finish the rotting carcass of a Thai take-out lunch that I barely enjoyed the first time around. Then to wash out the over-ripe, sitting out too long mango salad taste, I decided to finish my chai latte from this morning. Ugh.

Not smart.

It's amazing how my desire to eat overtakes the common sense that putting certain things in your mouth is risky.

Can I get a side of REM with that?

So over a period of 48 hours starting at 11 pm Friday night, I got about 24 hours sleep. That's right. I slept through half of the weekend. I forgot how un-fucking-believably tiring this "secret" can be.

Then last night, I hit a sleeping wall.
I tried sleeping under the crook of the Dog's arm -- my surefire position, with lulling hairy heartbeat to coax even the most anxious of insomniacs.
I tried the half-spoon position, where I am still tucked under the Dog's furry, ripped arm, but with my back to his flat body.
Nope.
I tried full-spoon, with the Dog's fuzzy beard and warm breath on the nape of my neck, secure as can be.
No dice.
I turned the blazing green numbers of the clock radio away from me.
I got up to pee several times.
I checked on the babe and changed his diaper in his sleep.
I locked the whining cat in the basement.
I drank some milk.
I slept a bit but with freakish dreams.
I beat up the pillow. Fought with the blankets. Wrestled with the crappy Ikea sheets.
I awoke. Fully awoke at 3:30 am.
I lay awake for 30 minutes before deciding to reach into my naughty drawer.
Surely my battery-operated friend would get me to sleepyland.
I thought of a cheerleader gang bang, had an unsatisfactory, silicone-assisted orgasm and then lay awake some more.
Drifted off to sleep. Dreamt fucked up dreams about Paris and vampires and having to stay in a different apartment every night in sucky arrondisements. Fought with the bedding some more. Joints aching. Could not get comfortable. How many more weeks of this shit?

Argh. Am not a happy camper today.

Unveil yourselves -- it's National De-Lurking Week

Well, maybe it was last week, but humour me. I tried this last year and found all kinds of cool people. Like THE Lurker. I presume that my absense from blogging at the end of last year, including my lack of reading and commenting, has lead many of these people away from MFM and onto sites where the writer actually acknowledges the presence of new readers. Or maybe the fact that I don't comment has given readers a break from feeling like they have to. Whatevs. I'd be doing this regardless.

But I like to take this time of year to get to know who's hiding in the wings. Maybe you always wanted to say Hi but were too shy. Maybe you think I'm an asshole and come back for more fodder to use at your next brunch date. Either way, take a second to leave a comment this week. I'd like to know who's reading my tales of self-flagellation.

Voiture Verité

As Nate gets older, I often forget how much he absorbs and understands of the conversations I have with his father. It's scary in fact. The worst place for this is the car, where I subconsciously imagine a shield between front and back seats. Increasingly, Little Man Nate brings me back to reality.

Case in point, this morning on my way to work, I dropped the boys off at the school. The Dog has a few days off and will spend time with Nate to get him settled, and then walk home while I drive to the suburbs. This morning's conversation focussed on the fact that we will all have the day off Friday and therefore should plan an activity for "Family Day."

The Dog: (excited) "Yay! We can go to the Science Centre and go to that Marvel Comic exhibit!"
Me: (wince) "Um, it might be tight. I have to squeeze some work in there somehow. Oh and I'm supposed to having a meeting about that thing..."
The Dog: (passive aggressive) "What thing?"
Me: (distracted) "You know, um that thing, I told you about it. Anyway, I have a meeting."

Then, from the back seat, a voice is repeating something, growing louder, demanding to be heard.

Me: (appeasing) What's that Natey?
Nate: (irate -- imagine cute, angry, furrowed uni-brow) No meet Mommy! No meet!

sigh * You know you're a workaholic mommy when your kid picks out "meeting" as a bad word.

10 Things That Done Been Goin' On Lately

My Holidays in Reverse

10. Armenian Christmas/Nate's Second Birthday Party
You thought your holidays were stuffed to the tits? Unless you're in a cross-religious relationship that's more cross-religious than our sorta Protestant/sorta Orthodox combo, you don't know from busy, stressed out holidays. To top it all off, my kid had to be born gob smack in the middle of it.
We had a small party in my sister's apartment building party room for our immediate families and a teeny handful of Nate's kiddie friends. Nate had a blast. The theme was Cars. The menu was pizza, chips, Armenian food and cupcakes with sugared Cars characters on top. (Thanks Yaya and Tante!) The guest of honour wore his new Burberry ensemble (a gift from his fashionista Tante -- lord knows I can't afford that kinda gitch.) and spent most of his time mingling with guests by rolling around on the floor and allowing them to smooch him as they liked. The soundtrack was Jack Johnson/Curious George, the Nate Mix off our iTunes, (which includes his all-time favourite song, Cars by Gary Numan) and a bit of Kanye, Gnarls Barkley, Postal Service thrown in.

Afterwards, I vegged on my sister's couch, too tired to attend my aunt's Armenian Christmas festivities. But my mom took Nate there anyway and I didn't complain because I got a fucking break. Playing Good Mommy these past 6 weeks has taken some getting used to.

9. The Blonde Glamazons come for dinner
Oh my dear Blondie and Suzy Q. They are so stunning and I so, well, green these days. My physical opposites came over for Thai and chit chat. And I so needed a night like that. My son wasted no time charming the pants off them and taking turns making out with both of them. Auntie Blondie's gift (a monster puppet) scared the crap out of Nate though, which was really funny until he woke up at 3:30 am and would not go back to sleep until 5:30 am. Heh.

8. The Break-up
We broke up with our care provider. There were so many amazing things about her and it merits another post to debate the pros and cons of home daycares vs pre-school setting care. But in the end, we weren't totally happy there. I was offered to work more days and I saw it as a chance to jump ship and try something new. Of course, as soon as we made the decision over a month ago, Nate suddenly became very fond of her and I started to panic about the switch.

7. The New Daycare
Nate has started at his new daycare in a preschool setting. By all reports he's been fine, but I got some conflicting information at the end of the first day that left me with a bad taste in my mouth. The supervisor claimed he had napped, the caregiver claimed he did not. Argh. So much for strength in numbers and accountability factor. Today we got scolded because Nate wasn't dressed properly for outside time. (I told the Dog to pack the warmer gloves!) He saw me at 5 and the first thing he said was, "Mommy. I'm hungwee." In the bigger environment there lacks the personal touch of someone adding milk to your food to make you eat it.

6. Nate's Actual Birth Date Day
His actual second birthday was celebrated by the Dog and I fighting over whether it was worth it to drive 30 minutes to Kennedy and 401 to attempt a Thomas the Tank Engine theme at Party Packagers. We settled on the Cars stuff at the far, but not as far, Superstore. Then we gave Natester his gift: a shiny red tricycle, complete with handlebar in the back for adult steering. His feet don't reach the pedals yet, but hopefully by spring they will. That didn't stop him from wanting to ride it though. Thankfully it was a picture perfect global warming day. He learned to steer, though his dad did most of the work, and ring the bell. He kept saying, "Whee! This is FUN!"

He rode it the entire way to his old daycare, where we had a brief visit for cupcakes and goodbyes.

5. Staying up 'till midnight New Year's Eve.
We spent NYE with my deranged but loveable relatives out in Pickering (a suburb of Toronto). In Armo tradition, Father New Year brings the gifts and it's the biggest night in my family's social calendar. We couldn't find the Santa suit, which was OK because "Santa" was probably out in the car with his new "model" girlfriend doing lines. Nate stayed up until midnight, which is insane and yes we did pay for it moderately over the next few days, but it was worth it to ring in the New Year with both my men.

4. The First Ring-Bearer Performance
Didn't try the suit on until the day of the wedding. Was a bit small, but whatevs. It was on super sale at the Bay. Great photo op.

3. Holidays Tante Stylee
My sister is a lover of fine things. She is also a lover of giving. Thankfully our broke asses enjoy receiving. We all got gifts from her gift "checking" job at Holt Renfrew this year. Who knew a man could get so much joy from a hot pink box? (Wait. Don't answer that.)

2. The First Salon Haircut
My boys like balls. I wrote about the actual haircut milestone on Blogging Baby, but I didn't write about the ball room. All I kept thinking as I looked at those dirty balls was, "My God! No one has ever cleaned those balls! Think of all the hands that have touched those balls!"

Before you become a mother, you have all these ideas about what's acceptable. Then you become a mother and you lower those expectations a bit to survive. But every now and then, something completely out of your control makes you have to lower your standards past the threshold of your comfort zone. And you feel like, "Oh man. Do I HAVE to go there? Do I have to go that low?" Yes friends, sometimes you just do.

1. The Elephant in the Room
So I have a secret. (Which some of you have already caught onto.) Shhh. Yeah, I suck at secrets. Nothing worse than a big mouth with a secret, except other big mouths with your own secret. Nothing is official, but you know, Kate just dropped off a donut for me. At 10 PM. I feel like, um, an asshole in a bathhouse. But I am happy at the prospect and excited. I want to wait until I'm sure it sticks before I make any announcements. Especially as far as work is concerned, because I really like like it there and I don't want to fuck that up.

Blogging has its limitations. When I first started documenting my life here two and a half years ago, no one was reading me. I had a secret then too, but I wanted to keep notes here for those who would follow in my fallopian tubes. Now my everyone from relatives to neighbours to coworkers read me. I have felt so stifled to not be able to write about what's been going on inside my head, inside my body. I've had to revert back to *gasp* a JOURNAL! Journals don't leave comments people!

So forgive my cryptic posts and my absence from blogging. I love you guys. I just don't trust you motherfuckers to keep your mouths shut.

I see London, I see France

Well, for the most part I'm satisfied with my snazzy new look -- for now. It'll have to do. I'm sure I'll play around with it a bunch. The thing that absolutely fucking sucks about New Blogger is that if fuck around with your template in Blogger, it immediately publishes your changes, before you're ready to share them with the world. I felt like my underwear was showing all weekend. I did find an awesome new site called Beta Blogger for Dummies, if you need some help on your end.

Argh

So I'm trying to upgrade to Blogger Beta, (I wanted the new bells and whistles) but it's making me crazy. Please bear with me while I try to get my site up to its former glory.