Toilet troubles

To the person who visited the bathroom cubicle before me:

I am guessing that if it was too much trouble to flush, washing your hands was out of the question.

Now I get it!

Now I get why Tim Horton's is so popular. It's not the mediocre coffee or the low price, it's the fact that you need utter only a few words to order one, like "Large, black" or Medium double-double". Just like that it appears in your hand.

Have you been to Starbucks lately or Second Cup? They pepper you with questions - "room for cream? medium? bold? mild? regular milk? skim?" and "do you need a lid? a sleeve?" Wah?

God, just give me an FN coffee! You see, I need one in order to answer your questions!!

And who decided that a small is actually a medium and that a medium is actually a large? And why can't I buy a small? Or better yet that a venti is a...what is a venti? A large? or a medium? See, I don't even know. Speak English to me. And what's wrong with just calling the coffee mild, medium, and dark? Why, why do they need exotic names I can't pronounce? It's coffee!

A dude in line in front of me this morning - who turned out to actually be a regular at Timmies - was so confused by all of the questions he was being asked that when he finally got a coffee in his hands he turned and went off to doctor it without paying. The Barista had treated him like he wasn't a native English speaker as he stumbled through her questions. I paid for his coffee to spare him the humiliation of having to come back to the till.

Don't look, see!

So I am strolling up the avenue on my way back from my lunch break. Along the way as per usual are various and sundry folks asking for change. I arrive at the corner just behind three women – two with gray hair – only to hear one say “You know, I love my city, I pay taxes to keep it clean and orderly, I don’t need to see that. That shouldn’t be allowed.”

The “that” she was talking about was a homeless guy sitting on the corner holding up a cup for spare change.

She was actually offended that the man was right there in plain view. Where would she have him go? At least this way the “problem” is visible.

Then again, if we don’t see it, then maybe it doesn’t exist.

ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ

I recently realized that I am no longer a university student who can go without sleep for days on end. In order for my brain to fully function I need lots of sleep. Some examples: The other night when girl child started crying I laid in bed whispering "shhhh" for what must have been quite a while before becoming fully conscious and realizing I actually needed to get out of bed and go to her room to deal with her issue of the night.

Another recent incident occurred when I leapt out of bed one night to see what was going on with girl child only to slam my entire body into our closed bedroom door. I kid you not.

I am my own Gong Show.

Combine sleep deprivation with forgetting to put on my glasses when I get out of bed and most mornings I am bound to come to some self harm.

Not sure I should be back at work

After two days off sick, I stopped to use the bank machine on my way to work this morning. I went to punch in my PIN and drew a complete blank. Who does that?

I also poured a cup of coffee down the front of my pajamas. Dang waste of good java.

God help me if I get behind the wheel of a car.

more things I learned on vacation

The hips of full grown women do not fit between booster chairs in the back of an economy car. That fact combined with 80% humidity and a seat belt that pinned me to the back seat like a butterfly specimen did not make for happy car travels.

And did you know?

Moms are also substitute snot rags, toilet paper, hand towels, and garbage cans.

Things I did on my summer vacation

A snapshot of our first family vacation:

For those who don't know - Cathedral Grove is an amazing old growth forest on the coast of British Columbia - towering trees with wispy moss wings that have looked on us for hundreds of years oh so wisely - and the quiet - absolutely awe inspiring - until the car alarm on our rental went off and we couldn't figure out how to turn it off...girl child trying to make a number two – me running in and out of the outhouse with her, the wife and I melting down, and boy child sitting in the back seat repeating over and over again, "Get me out of this God damn car!"

Gee, I wonder who he learned that from?

To cope with my day

I just came back from buying the biggest chocolate bar I could find. I am chasing it with a six-pack of the biggest bottles of Coke I could find because I am not allowed to consume alcohol at work - even if it would improve my performance.

Whatever.

Sing, sing a song

I love music. There is little I enjoy more than driving around on a sunny day, windows down, stereo blasting, singing along to the radio.

I was in this state of ecstasy the other day, can’t remember who I was singing along to (probably Raffi), all I know is I was groovin’ it. Then through the waves of mellifluousness I hear a pained, perhaps even pitying little voice say “Mama, please don’t sing.”

And so ends my rock and roll fantasy.

don't matter if it's not good enough for anyone else to hearrrrrr, just sing, sing a sooooong...

Luddites unite!

My computer mouse is drunk and my monitor screen is all whacked out. I have gone through three mice this morning, finally opting for a wired one instead of the optical ones which seem to be on crack today. IT guy comes over to my desk and fixes my screen issues by wiggling the monitor cord, just like I do with my t.v. at home. Isn't specialized training great?

A word

Dear Mr. Bus Driver:

Dude, I think you need to check the strength of the coffee you drink in the morning. You are the bus driver. Your job is to stop the bus when people want to get off and open the door for them so they can get out. And remember the time you turned left when you were supposed to go straight?

Seriously, it’s getting to be a problem.

Giving in

It's amazing how when I am absolutely starving I will actually resort to eating the healthy food in my snack drawer at work.

Dried fruit mix, anyone?

A small tip for a few panhandlers I know

Keep the 'ask' short and sweet. I don't need a big long story.
Example: "Spare some change?"

Keep it honest. The more you talk, the more I know you are full of BS.
Example: "Spare some change for a drink?" Trust me, your honesty will be rewarded.

Be polite. Berating me is not the way to get what you want.

Accept my answer. Badgering me will only piss me off.

Preschooler-isms

It's a laundry hamster

I weigh twenty dollars

If God is everywhere, then He must also be in our bums (Thanks, Molly)

Thanks for letting me know

Being a parent means always having someone (actually, two someones) around to let you know that:
a) your teeth are yellow
b) your breath is stinky
c) your belly sticks out

I realize I'm no beauty, but could you go a little easy on me?

Not lovin' it here right now

I am sure the receptionist has far better things to do than clean up after you. Put your dirty dishes in the dishwasher, Lazy Ass.

Timber...

I wanted to write a giant rant about how humans are committing mass suicide via intentional stupidity but I don’t have the energy. The wind got knocked out of my sails the other day when I discovered they had hacked down the seven big beautiful 30-year-old trees down the block from where I work.

Despite resistance from city hall and outraged media reports, somehow the good folks at our local farmer’s market (!) and a big time condo developer that shared the street with the trees won. The trees were unceremoniously axed the other day. Cause money wins over nature every time – especially in oil-soaked Alberta.

Bluck!

I step off the bus and take a breath in to savour the morning freshness only to be assaulted by some body's B.O.

Cack! Cack!

How do you not know that your stink is so bad the people around you can taste it?

Please let me introduce you to a bar of soap.

Advice of the week

Take the stick out of your a** and use it to draw happy faces in the sand instead.

Whatever

I believe we were all in the room when we agreed to meet at 9 a.m. today. It’s 10:21 a.m. you just arrived, didn’t apologize for being late, nor ask if the meeting was still on. You have just loaded a holiday slide show to your computer and have been showing it to everyone who walks by.

Uh, there are three of us waiting to have a meeting with you. WTF? The words “professionalism” and “consideration” are obviously not in your vocabulary, although the term “dicking around” obviously is.

Sigh

Spare me from people who make it their life’s mission to go around stating the obvious.

“We should really be sending these publications to targeted audiences so only people who need them, get them.”

I didn’t quite get that. Could you repeat it, and only this time more slowly so I understand the concept?


Or who beat dead horses.

“We shouldn’t be sending all of our publications to everybody, just to the people who want them.”

Uh, okay…great idea.


Or who repeat the same thing over and over again.

“The way I would do it is to only send the publications to people interested in the topic. So, if it were chronic pain, I would only send it to people interested in chronic pain.”

Hmmm, could you be more specific? It is really hard for me to wrap my brain around the complexity of what you are saying.


Or who take what little knowledge they have and try to make it seem like they know more.

“Well, in my opinion, we should send everybody hard copies, because people just ignore email messages.”

Yeah, because I hang on to every piece of mail I get especially the things I haven't asked for like flyers and the Publisher’s Clearinghouse letters.

And your knowledge would be based on what?

A sign I should maybe clean the house more

"Did we get a new sink?"

Boy child upon entering the bathroom to wash his hands.

Hairy episode

There I was sitting in the bathtub the other morning, shaving various body parts. Boy child walks in and watches me carefully. We proceed to have a conversation about why I am doing what I am doing, does it hurt, etc.

When I get out of the tub and start to dry off he says to me, “Mama, you still have hair growing out of your labia (that being a part I hadn’t shaved. And yes, in our house we use the real words to talk about our bodies. And okay, perhaps I am sharing too much information in this blog entry).”

To which I say to him, “Honey, one day you’ll have hair growing around your penis, too.”

He answered with a distressed shriek at a decible I had never heard before. It was as though I had just told him his little friend would eventually fall off.

I think I am speaking English

When I ask you for a low fat muffin, please don’t stare at me like I am asking for a vodka martini at the coffee shop. And then, please don’t answer me by saying that you have bran muffins. Just because a muffin has bran in it, does not mean it is low fat. They are not the same thing.

A similar misunderstanding would happen when I used to tell people I was a vegetarian. “So you don’t eat any meat?” they would sometimes say. To which I always wanted to reply, “Only the bloody, still-warm flesh of small furry animals.”

Is the world insane, or am I?

Message I sent to the HR dude at work today:

As new staff come on board it may be helpful to have more business appropriate names for printers, photocopiers, and email groups. For instance, an email group called ‘All Staff’ would be more appropriate than the current ‘Y’all’ and would indicate what it actually is to the user. For printers and photocopiers it would be helpful to have names that indicate office locations rather than vegetables.

Just some thoughts.

Appreciating the little things

Girl child gleefully erupting off her potty shouting, "IMADEAPEE!"

Boy child sternly ordering his Mumi to "Drink! Your! Wine!"

The joys of having small children

Spontaneous crafting at 6:00 a.m.

A flurry of scissors, glue, and construction paper all before coffee...I drew the line at painting...

Living dangerously

Seen on a recent weekend vacation: two gophers mating in the middle of the highway.

L: "Not a good idea to have sex in the middle of the highway!"

R: "Whoa, Nelly. They are getting a little carried away there.

L: "Yeah, it's probably the only thing that makes being a gopher interesting."

R: "At least they will die happy."

Taking aim

Boy child has been potty trained for a year or so, but learned to pee in the pot by sitting on it. Now that he goes to preschool he sees his buddies standing up when they pee. He's been checking it out with varying results.

The other day I walk into the bathroom to see what and how he is doing only to discover the entire room dripping in pee. It was like one of those vegetable misters at the grocery store had gone off. I have no idea how he did it, but it was a sight to behold.

Getting some things off my chest

Golf shirts are for golfing. Yoga clothes are for yoga. These garments are NOT business wear!

Always walk on the right side of the sidewalk (your right). I don't know who these people are that walk on the wrong side or in the middle, or better yet, stand on the sidewalk and chat up their buddies, or stop suddenly, or somehow veer widely into oncoming foot traffic particularly in crosswalks. How do these people drive?!

It's okay to hold the door open for other people. It's not a competition to see who gets inside the building first. It's just a nice thing to do for someone else.

Preschooler non sequitars

Girl child to me as I am lying in bed the other morning:
"Mama, you have a head?"

Sleepy me thinking, 'Oh, God, did it roll off my neck again?'

Girl child to me as she sits on my lap eating yogurt this early morning:
"Mama, you like cabbage?"

Me thinking, 'What? Do I smell like sauerkraut?'

Girl child to me as I am getting her dressed:
"My socks are angry."

Be glad it's not your diaper, kid.

Girl child to me as I am putting her to bed:
"I am not spaghetti."

Mm, maybe just a little around the eyes.

The things I do for you

While waiting at the cash register in Value Village

Boy child: "Mama, there's a piece of snot stuck in my nose. Can you get it out for me?"
(Mama's got super powers - yes, honey, let me get that for you.)

Anywhere and everywhere
Girl child: "Mama, kiss Wendy, hug her." - Wendy is a doll, her very favorite doll and best fwiend
(Sure, honey, Mama would love to make out with your stuffed toy.)

Things that make you go "Huh?"

I walked by a homeless guy the other day who was sitting on the sidewalk with his hand out saying in a very loud voice "Change!!"

I still don't know if he was:

a) asking me for money,

b) imploring the weather gods to stop the rain, or

c) wanting me to re-examine my life.

Grey hair number 506 & 507

The boy child is at it again. I am not even 40 and my hair is turning greyer by the day.

Scene #1:

I poke my head into the bathroom (which I am in earshot of at all times) and see the kid playing in the tub with his little bath toys. So sweet.

I poke my head into the bathroom two seconds later and the kid is now in the bathtub with two plants and a tub full of dirt/soil.

Sigh.

Scene #2:

We are busying ourselves for the grand 4-year-old birthday party extravaganza. Suddenly, we notice boy child is missing and/or very quiet. This is never a good sign.

L goes to find him only to discover him and the poor, beleagured cat in the back closet covered in pink paint. Let me just say, I was locked in the bathroom for 20 minutes with said cat trying to remove the paint from his fur. Not a pretty picture.

Heavy sigh.

What do you mean the weekend's over?

6:30 a.m. this fine Monday morning:

Nearly 4 year-old girl child, with hair touselled, eyes sleepy, and diaper droopy makes her morning appearance. Dragging her cozy (blanket) she shuffles over to me as I sit at the kitchen table drinking my steaming cup of java:

"Can I have a coffee?" she says in a raspy little voice.

Kid, if I could, I defintely would, 'cause you look like you could use a thermos full.

Next I will find her out on the back porch having a morning cigarette...

Living in colourful Alberta

Recently overheard at a conference of people in charge of our health care system

Conversation #1
Fat, balding, aging white guy in a too-tight, out-of-fashion suit: “Well, Janet, what in hell did you do to yourself?”

Woman in leg cast: “Christ, if I didn’t trip over the manure fork!”

I am not even making that up.


Conversation #2
Event host introducing a very closeted, local Olympic gold medal-winning female cyclist unwittingly says:
“And speaking of same-sex marriage, I have been having the same sex every since I got married. Har, dee, har har."

And people actually laughed.


Conversation #3
Fat, balding, aging white guy in a too-tight suit sitting next to me:
“Yah know, I have heard her talk three times already (the above mentioned Olympic gold medal-winning cyclist) and now I just want to tell her to shut up. One time okay, two times eh, three times enough already.”

Thanks so much for diminishing her accomplishment because you are bored. No wonder most Olympic athletes in Canada have to work at Home Depot to support their training.


Conversation #4
Same fat, balding white guy leaning over to me and saying: “That’s a really interesting ring you have there. There must be a story behind it. It looks old” referring to the plain silver wedding band I wear on my left hand.

Whaa?

Me, looking at him and saying very slowly: “Uh, it’s your basic everyday wedding band. It looks old because it's cheap.”

Him: “Ha, ha. So, do you have a family?”

Me, straining to be polite: “Yes.”

Him: “Uh huh. So, what does your husband do?”

Ahh, there it is. Another person assuming that I am exactly like them.

Me, not wanting to get into my personal business with him or to waste air trying to educate him on "alternative" relationships: “He’s in the oil patch.”

Clap, clap, clap. Oh, time to listen to the cyclist’s boring story of tragedy and triumph as she achieves her life-long dream. Yawn.

Get a job

With his fourth birthday approaching, boy child has already checked out a number of career options.

About this time last year, he was exploring art. Quite regularly while “napping” he would soil his diaper, remove it, and use the contents to decorate himself and the walls, floor, and door of his room. It was always a visual and olfactory delight to “wake him up”.

He has since moved on to science. We got a cat the other day and boy child has been very interested in animal experimentation ever since.

“What happens when I pull his tail?”

"Throw him down the stairs?"

“Stick him in the shower and turn the hot water on?”

“Put packing tape all over his fur?”

“Hmmm, the cat poos in the litter box, I think I will, too.”

Sounds awful, but rest easy, the cat's okay. We don't let him or the kid come to any harm.

Besides, in the last few days, boy child has been checking out options in the service industry. Every morning this week when he goes to the cupboard to get a juice box for himself, he yells to me while I am still lying in bed, “Mama, do you want a beer?”

I love that kid.

Not for the squeamish

Not sure if I am the only one who has experienced this phenomenon. In the bathrooms of each of the last two office buildings I have worked in (this includes my current work place) someone has taken in upon themselves to tape a sign inside the door of each cubicle which reads: please flush toilet after use.

Who is it that is so busy they can’t bend down to flush away the product of their visit? Don’t we all know by now what to do after we use the w.c.? And if people need to be told to flush, I can only imagine that they don't wash their hands, either.

Then there is the person who wrote the sign(s). Just how many unsightly toilet bowls did they endure before they resorted to signage?

At any rate, as someone who does flush, I am offended by their signs and in an act of silent defiance have systematically removed them all. And not once since I have done so, have I walked into a cubicle with "leftovers". Huh.

Plus, as a reluctant greenie, in our house we don't flush unless it's brown (not that I necessarily advocate this in public loos).


On another bathroom note. I work in public relations and of course, we are always trying to find new ways to get our messages across. I drew the line when my former boss in all of her wisdom decided a good form of employee communications was to put posters up in each toilet cubicle. I was sooo waiting for her to assign that job to me so I could tell her just where to stick her idea.

That and her charming personality were more than enough reason to prematurely quit working for this evil and ubiquitous utility company.

Quintessentially Canadian

Today I started drinking bad coffee again for a good cause.

It is “Roll-up the Rim to Win” time here in the Great White North. For those not familiar, it is the time of year when otherwise smart people like me stand in long lines, using up valuable coffee break time to buy crappy cups of coffee in the hopes that we will find a super good prize, eh? under the rim of our red paper cups.

I want to win the Toyota Hybrid car. Great marketing, I say. Offer up an environmentally-friendly vehicle when your company is known for having the most product littered on the streets of our town, particularly during "Roll up the Rim" time. Those red cups are like fields of Poppies poking up through the snow.

I drink Timmie’s large double-doubles to be exact. Admit it, people. This coffee sucks, but we all drink it because a) it’s cheap ($4 for a cup of coffee at Starbucks? You must be joking. Think of how many lottery tickets I could buy with that kinda dough), b) it reminds us of when we were kids at the hockey rink, freezing our asses off as we scarfed down hot greasy French fries topped with fake Heinz ketchup and vinegar, and c) we are really not as sophisticated as we think we are. I mean, really, how does one sophisticatedly roll up the rim to win? I usually do it with my teeth when I think no one is looking. So sad.

I am also looking forward to reading the next tragic story (which seems to happen every year) detailing how one person throws out their cup without rolling up the rim (gasp!), and someone else finds it and wins and then the two parties duke it out in court.

Last year it was two pre-teen girls (well, their parents) fighting over who owned the SUV their kids won (one girl found the cup, her friend helped her roll up the rim). Added to that mix was the teacher who had supposedly thrown the cup out at school which the girls later found. Don't remember how it all played out.

We are all just too silly.

Ponder this

“I’m a lidda bit gwumpy.”

So says the girl child almost every morning when I say hello to her. Of course it’s adorable and I can’t quite take her seriously because she’s just too damn cute, but I actually think she’s on to something there.

Wouldn’t it be great to somehow get a warning like that from the people you interact with every day before you start chatting them up?

I mean think about it. Wouldn’t you want to know if someone had gotten on the bus driver’s last nerve before you climbed aboard? Or that the person you just ordered your coffee from wasn’t about to spit in it because their boyfriend/girlfriend pissed them off last night?

For the record, I am a little bit bitchy/achy/cranky/sleepy/bored.

I'm not in the mood for sharing

That's what boy child says when he doesn't want to play with his sister.

And that's what I say after reading the blog entry of a friend who still works in the department I did at the Government of Alberta. It is a message to all staff and Board members from a guy who once sent another graphic email to all of his co-workers about the time he had the shits and couldn't come into the office. Made me want to wash my hands every time I went near him.

He's also enormous and likes to pretend as the designated fire warden that he is in fact a general in charge of his troops. (he once gave a one-hour slide show and talk about what to do when the fire alarm rings – hmmm, let me see…get the hell out of the building?).

http://busierrake.blogspot.com/

Things that I love

Watching my wife dance.

Watching my wife dance with our 3-year-old boy child at the new little vegetarian restaurant down the road. They danced to Gordon Lightfoot as we waited for our homemade perogies and veggie sausages to be ready. Drank the best coffee ever.

Watching Melissa Etheridge walk off with the Oscar for Best Song right after the giant Dream Girls number. Sometimes subtle is better. And she kissed and thanked her wife in front of one billion people. So great.

Watching Helen Mirren. Enough said.

Reading the front page Family Day newspaper story and giant photo of our friends with their little boy. Amazing to see a gay couple on the cover with their newly-adopted kid they fought so hard to get. More than makes up for all of the homophobic ranting that followed in the editorial pages the rest of the week.

Watching my girl child munching on roasted wieners and buns at her friend's outdoor b-day party yesterday.

Watching the delight in my boy child's eyes as I told him we were going to a b-day party. In response, he yelled "CAKE!" He knows what is important in life. The boy listens to his Mama.

Hello goodbye I love you

I am the bread winner of my household (my children often wonder why I need to be gone so long every day just to make bread). Boy child often plaintively says “I will miss you so much while you are gone.” as I leave the house in the morning. Today he said in a worried little voice, “Mama, I will be right here waiting for you when you come home.” as though I wouldn’t be. And he woke me up this morning at about 5 a.m. to be sure I got up to get ready for work.

Girl child on the other hand, rarely rises these days before I leave (although we had a lovely encounter at 3 this morning – me groggily stumbling down the stairs to see what all the fuss was about. Her wailing about not wanting to be in bed, but being so tired, yet needing to watch a video. NOW!).

One of the best parts of my day is coming home to three smiling faces. It’s so great to know there are people out there who are genuinely happy to see me. Girl child always has a super big grin – all teeth and cheeks – and does this little happy dance as she flails her arms and says, “MAMA!” Boy child, for the last two days, kinda looks at me in surprise and says, “Mama, shouldn’t you be at work?” as though I am playing hooky at 5 p.m. And of course, the wife is equally thrilled to have me home... to share the load.

Kinda makes me feel like a birthday present every day.

A rose by any other name

The lovely L, in playing with the kids one day, came up with nicknames for all four of us. She is Sunny Mumi (got the good name because she’s the one who made them up). Boy child is Rainy (his first name). Girl child is Snow (her first name), and I was christened Thunder Mama – Boom! Boom! It is a name that is actually pretty appropriate, seeing as how when I am mad (this rarely happens) I slam doors and stomp around the house.

Now, without prompting, girl child will often call me Thunder Mama, as though she thinks it is my Big Name. She has also been known to call me Big Mama and popularly, Squishy Mama, which is usually said as she endearingly pokes my belly with her cute little finger.

SHROOOOMS

Mushrooms.

Your cute button variety of fungi commonly sold in your local grocery store.

Did they suddenly become vile and no one told me?

I just opened up the spinach salad I often buy for lunch to find a meticulously wrapped little plastic ball of mushroom slices. WTF?

Why the prophylactic on my food? If you are going to contain something in spinach salad shouldn't it be the fat-laden porcine bacon bits?

And besides, aren't mushrooms one of the main ingredients in spinach salad? Why would you buy one if you minded them?

I can see clearly now the pain is gone

Now a word from my legal team: Shit Piss Snot and Puke.

Just coming out from the fugue of boy and girl child being sick at the same time and me being the only one home for a week to ensure they don't die. All mama, all the time.

Burning hot fevers, nightmares, constipation, diaherra, suppositories, enemas, ear infections, sinus infections, lack of appetite, not sleeping, sleeping all the time. So the story goes.

How to cope? Videos!! Lots and lots of videos. Proud parent am I.

How did I spend my week off from work? Being shat upon, puked on, sneezed on, and dare I say peed on. The joy, the bliss, the beauty of parenthood.

Naive me

As a relatively new blogger (always just been a lurker) I was really excited to see that I had two comments on one of my recent posts. So it was with much anticipation that I opened them, only to find marketing pitches for some unneeded software.

Pity, that.

I am thinking of adding a box like the one I saw on someone else's blog that said, "Would it kill you to comment?". But then, that might mean there really are people out there reading what I write, which instead of validating what I do, would only scare me back into obscurity.

Take that!

I love how the health warning about how my computer keyboard and mouse may be linked to serious injuries and disorders is ON THE BOTTOM of my keyboard.

How did I find this out? Because on the days when my hands aren't completely numb from overuse, I turn the keyboard upside down and loudly bang it on my desk to clean it.

It is the only way to effectivley dislodge all of the critters and food stuff that dwell betwixt the keys.

Keeping my funny side up

I am desperately trying to find something even remotely funny to write about my life right now. The only thing I can think of is how ridiculously big the shit sandwich is that someone has handed me and how little of the ugly concoction I have managed to consume.

When will this gastronomic nightmare end?

I am frantically waving my hand and saying, “I’m done. May I be excused from the table now?” The funny part is that I hear my own voice inside my head saying, “Not until you’ve finished what’s on your plate.” I should know better. My words always end up biting me in the ass.

Boy child has been kicked out of playschool for “aggressive” behaviour. And just like a plague of locusts, a gaggle of judgmental mothers has descended upon us. Feeling used, abused, misunderstood, and treated unkindly by the whole perfectly coifed lot of them.

Let’s see…boy child with major behavioural problems and girl child with major health issue (what, isn’t everyone fed by a tube?), loved by their dyke mama amd mumi. Yeah, definitely don’t fit the white, middle-class hetero mold.

I just want to pick up boy child in my arms and rock him back and forth murmuring, “I’ll love you forever. Always my baby you’ll be.”

Hey, cruel world. You’ve got my attention.

Sweet Jesus

Being heathens as well as abominations to the Lord, my partner and I used to call infant Tylenol a little dose of Jesus (and really, what could that sweet thick juice be but the nectar of God?).

When our teething baby girl or boy would stop yelling and screaming after downing a shot of the startlingly pink stuff, we would start yelling and screaming "Out with the Devil! Hallelujah!!"

All ears

So just when I think he really can't hear me telling him to leave his sister alone, that perhaps he actually has gone stone deaf from blasting Raffi on the stereo one too many times, the boy child looks up at me and says, "Mama, who is Jesus Friggin' Murphy?"

Culture shock

So, I "worked" from home yesterday (mostly, I cleaned my house. Hallelujah!). The kids were at playschool all day (total bliss). I had the pleasure of picking them up after school (picture it: two cute small people running into my arms, gleefully shouting, "Mama, Mama!").

As I am crouched down hugging girl child, the woman next to me leans over and says in a very snitty voice, "Has anyone said anything to you about boy child's behaviour today?"

(Picture smile dying on my face and confused look entering my eyes). "Uh, no."

"Well," she says with a little too much relish. "He was pushing other kids and not sharing and he pulled Eeisha's hair."

Okay, I am not discrediting the fact that my kid was misbehaving at school and that he hurt people, but, can we cut him a bit of slack? He's three! He's learning to socialize, and not always doing it in a good way.

My point is, who elected this nameless woman to come up to me to tell me this. She did not introduce herself (I finally had to ask her who she was), nor is she his teacher (the person who should have been telling me this and who, by the way, didn't, but that's another story).

"If he were my child I would want to know," she says to me with a mean little smile on her face. Apparently, her child is always an angel and never acts out.

And as a side note, she also tells me that boy child climbed up into the window well (the school is in the basement of a church), implying that it was his fault for doing so. The kicker being that (as I found out later) she as the parent on duty was the one who was supposed to be watching him!

Boy child is a very active, very curious kid. I think these are both good things. Apparently not so in playschool.

So here's me with the kids piled in the car, driving home, crying on the phone to their other mumi.

Her response t0 my blubbering is, "Love, don't get upset. You don't know the culture there."

What?! There's playschool culture? As though educating and socializing your kids isn't hard enough without having to deal with a bunch of judgmental mothers on top of it all.

I can't wait until real school starts.

Sitting pretty

Being the parent of a small child means having your own personal bathroom attendant always at the ready to dispense toilet paper and advice on how to use it.

Asserting one's independence

"I WANNA DO IT! I WANNA DO IT!!! LET MEEEEEE!!!! I WILL DO IT BY MYSELF!!!!!!
(the wails of a 3-year old boy child attempting to pour milk into a cup).

After several misfires and much milk spillage, a quieter and perhaps chagrined little voice says,

"Mama, can you help me do it by myself?"