Need... More... Drugs...

Today was a bad day to be in my house. I tell you this so that even if you've had a bad day, you can say, "Well, at least I wasn't visiting THAT house today!" And then you can jump up, click your heels and whistle as you strut down the street.*

I'm not even sure where to begin... does 4:15 this morning when Simon was screeching and ended up on the couch count as last night or today? I'm guessing that an hour later, when Isaac woke up and wouldn't go back to sleep, even after a nice, warm bottle... that counts as today. In any case, we had an early start. I had the beginning of a headache lurking at the base of my skull, but only until something in my neck popped. After that, it was no longer the beginning of a headache, but a big, snarling, vicious migraine.

You know, one- and three-year olds are surprisingly indifferent toward other people's suffering, especially if it interferes with their little schedules. When Simon woke up (on the couch), he was crying. He spent the rest of the morning doing some more crying, some screeching at Ike, and some whining- just to keep things interesting. Every sound was like knives in my ears. A tired Simon is a cranky Simon, and Simon seems to be a firm believer that misery loves company. Ike just didn't understand why Mommy was sitting and/or lying around so much and not moving her head, and he couldn't figure out why she was mumbling about "caffeine IV" and "you people are killing me**" and other such nonsense.

I took the Advil liqui-gels, I drank the pot of tea (and consequently peed 5 times in an hour), I avoided moving when I could. I tried not to watch Simon eating bologna with ketchup, because that really made me want to barf. It wasn't a fun day for the kids- or for me.

AJ had been at work until 3 in the morning, so I couldn't wake him up to help me; in spite of what I said in my last post about how jealous I am of the fact that he's allowed to sleep for 8 hours at a time, I know he needs it. He got up at 1:20 this afternoon, and though the boys didn't settle down or get quieter, they were happier having their daddy around. In fact, Ike refused to have his nap and cried "Da! Da! Daaaa!" when I tried to put him in his crib. After he finally gave in and went to bed, and I left Simon and AJ watching home movies (not AJ's favourite activity) and went to have a nap. I jammed those blessed earplugs in my head, pulled up the covers, inhaled (my side of the bed smells like my sweet pea hand cream- so yummy) and passed out for an hour, until AJ had to get ready to go again.

I'm OK now. My head still hurts, but not as much as it did. I still have no energy, but I'll be able to do some quiet activities with Simon tonight, and I might even survive the Battle For Bedtime. It has taken me an embarrassingly long time to write this post because I keep forgetting words- words like "indifferent" and "crib"- but it's done. I suppose I should try to get some other things done, too, like the dishes, and maybe tidying up this mess that's been accumulating at my feet all day.

Bleeeeargh.

I'll do it tomorrow.

Simon, go to bed. Mommy loves you, but I need to sleep.



*Seriously, do it. And send video.

** The phrase Simon chose to pick up today was "Kill me!" As in, "Unnnngghhh, are you people trying to KILL ME?!"

WARNING

It is not safe to sleep around me. The exception to this would be, of course, my children and their blessed snoozes- they can sleep all they want. Their sporadic slumber (or lack thereof) is, in fact, the reason the rest of you ARE NOT SAFE.

How can I put this nicely? When I see anyone sleeping peacefully and/or for extended periods ("extended" meaning more than 3 hours in a row), I want to wake them up. Sometimes violently.

Here's an example: Gus, a.k.a. "the Fat One." Gus is a champion sleeper, as all cats are. Here's the thing, though- while some other cat around here has the good sense to do it in the basement during the day where I can't see him, Gus drapes his ample self over the back of the couch, pools across the floor, or lounges on my bed:

Doesn't he just look so comfortable? So peaceful? So WELL-RESTED?!! This makes me hate him. It also makes me want to shove him off of whatever piece of furniture he's occupying or punch him in the furry noggin for being so mean and flaunting the fact that he can sleep whenever he wants to, thanks very much. You bastard.*

Cats the worst for this, because I need sleep so much more than they do. I try to be understanding of how Gus' busy eating/pooping/bathing schedule must exhaust him, but I have very little sympathy for him. Even people who need sleep are not completely safe, however. My poor husband might have worked until 3 in the morning, but when I go into the bedroom at noon and he's still there in bed, I might sometimes get just a little bit jealous. It's not his fault his schedule allows him to sleep more than I can- or that my sleep is interrupted every few hours. Still, after a really bad night... mumblemumblemumble

Please note that I have never actually punched any innocent sleepers in the head. Nor have I kicked them in the kidneys, pushed them out of bed, or made a very loud noise and then run away. I just thought I'd warn you all that it could happen.

* Jerk sleeps a lot AND makes me write run-on sentences.

Welcome to the Confess-O-Matic!

I'm going to tell you something now that's really embarrassing for me, but it's what's at the top of my mind this morning, so here we go.

I'm scared of the telephone.

There. I said it. I don't feel any better about it, but now you know.

Just to clarify: I don't cover the phones in our house with pillowcases when they're not in use, and I don't freak out and start trying to climb lampposts if I see a guy on the street talking on his cell. I do get nervous when the phone rings, though- not because I'm expecting bad news or some random jerk calling to yell at me... I just don't like it, and it makes me feel a bit anxious.

Calling someone, though- that's what I avoid as much as I possibly can. I will go into offices to make appointments if I happen to be in the area rather than phoning from home; I'll write to ask for forms from the government instead of calling. I have no problem being home when the oil truck comes, but AJ had better be the one who calls them. The thought of picking up the phone and dialing makes my chest feel tight and my mouth go dry. My skin gets tingly, and not in a good way.

There is NO good reason for this. I mean, I've had experiences that have made it worse, no doubt- having a job that required calling people about something they're probably not interested in (gym memberships), times when one payment or another was late and I worried that if the phone rang, it was going to be someone looking for money... but I'm not doing/worrying about those things now. The phone should be my friend, this miraculous contraption that allows me to talk directly to people (or switchboards) that are blocks- nay, TOWNS away! Huzzah!

I'm thinking about this today because the car insurance company called yesterday and left a message. They got the change of address notice I sent them (always by mail, never by phone), but "there's more to it than that" when you move to another province. I have to call in, and I don't know what they're going to want from me. We need to cancel our old coverage and start up an account with the new province's office, I know that. WHY IS THAT SCARY?!!

It's irrational. But no matter how often I realize that the worst that could happen isn't so bad at all, I still get shaky when I have to dial a number. This even applies to phoning friends and, to a slightly lesser extent, family. People I know and love.

I'm such a loser.

Something's Rotten in the state of Kenmore

Something in my kitchen smells really gross, and I can't figure out what it is.

This happened in my dorm during my first year at university. This horrible smell just kept getting worse for several days- it smelled a bit like gross old cat litter with rotten something mixed in, but we didn't have a litter box- or a cat. We eventually discovered several potatoes that were rotting in a cupboard- I never know that anything so comforting and delicious could degrade into something that smelled like slimy death.

It's not potatoes. I had a few that were sprouting, and I tossed them in the compost just to be safe. No good. I've been obsessively emptying the garbage and the greeen compost bucket from under the sink- still smelly. I've cleaned out the fridge. And the freezer. And the cupboards. I emptied the recycling boxes (actually old diaper boxes, which don't hold much- I want these), and while the bottoms are a little slick from The Great Vegetable Oil Spill of 2009 (you should've seen the poor ducks!), they're not stinky.

I've cleaned out the litter box several times, even though it a) is not in the kitchen, and b) smells nothing like the smell that's haunting the kitchen.

Next stop: sterilize the you-know-what out of the aforementioned garbage can and clean the drains.

Wish me luck.

Like Talking to a Wall (-E)

(Out for supper, waiting for AJ to cme back from the car with Simon's WALL-E toy)

Me: Simon, do you want chicken, spaghetti, or pizza?

Simon: WALL-E?

Me: Yes, Daddy's gone to get your WALL-E. Do you want to eat chicken with fries, or spaghetti?

Simon: I want WALL-E.

Me: I understand that, my love, but what to you want to EAT?

Simon: WALL-E?

Me: You want to eat WALL-E?

Simon: Pweeeeease!

Me: CHICKEN or SPAGHETTI?

Simon: I. Want. My. WALL-EEEEEE.

Me: I'm ordering you the chicken and fries.

Simon: WALL-E.



(20 minutes later, after the kids' food has been ordered and the conversation has moved on):

Simon: I have chinken? Chinken and fwies?

Me: Holy delayed reactions, Sime-man!

Queen For A Day

So... my birthday. It was great.

When I woke up on Monday morning, it was freezing cold and pouring rain- not great if you're planning on driving for an hour on bumpy, twisty-turny, up-and-down roads. I decided it would be OK if we just spent the day at home; AJ had Tuesday off, too, so shopping could wait.

Yes, my big birthday event was shopping. I had no idea what to ask for this year for my birthday. I don't want to get much in the way of clothing until I lose a few more pounds of this "baby weight" (ha, ha!), and everything else I really want is too expensive- digital SLR camera... sewing machine...good scanner/printer... laptop computer... yeah.

The weather cleared up by the time AJ was out of bed, and after everyone was dressed (in spite of Simon's protests), we headed out. Simon fell asleep in the car, but Ike stayed awake- and, amazingly, didn't cry. He also didn't poop that day- I guess that was my present from him. So thoughtful, my baby!

We stopped at Value Village for a few minutes so I could pick up a few more 45's- I'm doing greeting card-related things with them. Shhh- don't tell!

Then on to the mall. I love just hanging out with all of my boys. We looked through the book store... um... ok, that's really the only store we did much in. It's not a great mall. Still, AJ managed to bash his head on one of the rides he was helping Simon into (he's got a nice lump now!), and he and I had a very mature discussion about why the heck the hair salon is called "The Head Shoppe." I mean, really, people! "I just need to sweep these hair clippings into this dustpan, but while I'm down here..."

Michael's was the big shopping stop. I could spend thousands of dollars on art/craft supplies in there any day- but I managed not to. Still between what AJ and the boys bought for me and what I got with birthday money from AJ's parents, I did quite well- paper, large square hole-punch, a book of quotations, double-sided tape, a 12x12" storage box... good stuff. Now I just need to find the time to use it all!

We headed to East Side Mario's at 5:30, and it was a wee bit crowded. Actually, a lot crowded- enough so that they opened up a little room in the back to seat us and a party of about 12 people. And so we waited. And waited... and waited. 20 minutes later, a waitress came in- for the other table. AJ spoke to the manager. It seems there was a "mix up"- basically, they had forgotten about us. The boys were very tired and hungry at this point, but they behaved themselves so nicely- Simon played with his stuffed Wall-E he'd brought along, and Ike chewed on the table (and the highchair... and my hairbrush...).

We got an apology, and the manager/owner put the kids' order in right away so that they'd get their food quickly. Our waiter came in a few minutes later and took our order. The kids' meals came (chicken buddies!), and we waited... and waited... and waited...

We ate our salad and bread. We ate what the kids didn't want of their meals- excellent fries, by the way. And then, at last...

We waited some more.

The kids were done eating. The waiter came back and told us it would just be a few more minutes. We asked for the cheque and to get our meals to go. So we got the cheque. And we waited. Etc.

We had our coats on and were ready to go when our food finally came. In case you're wondering, we didn't have to pay- not even for the extra kids' meal they'd accidentally sent to our table while we were waiting. We still left a tip for the waiter, of course- he was a good guy, really nice, and it wasn't his fault they FORGOT ABOUT ME ON MY BIRTHDAY! I may need therapy.

Quick stop at Wal-Mart = new book for me to read (My Sister's Keeper, by Jodi Picault- I'm almost done already), face wipes, and perogies, and then we headed home. The long drive can be kind of nice when the kids are asleep- it's really the only time when AJ and I have nothing to do but talk.

I didn't do any housework on my birthday. It was great- until Tuesday morning. Ugh. Sometimes these things come back to bite me in the ass.

Thanks, all my boys, for a great birthday!

Happy New Year

Yesterday was my birthday. While many people choose to reflect on the past year at New Year's, I prefer to do so on my birthday. At New Year's there are too many people doing it, and the air gets all clouded up with people's Very Deep And Meaningful Thoughts. Suffocating, really.

And so I reflected a bit. Life was certainly different a year ago! We were living in a smallish basement apartment that was loud when people were upstairs and had a leaky ceiling in our closet, which led to mold problems. AJ was working at a job he hated, and was deep in the process of applying for something better- but it was a long road. Simon was almost 2 1/2, an adorable little man, but not talking too much (not in english, anyway- he was fluent in Simonese)- and Ike was 9 days old. I was still recovering from a c-section and trying not to worry about getting ready to move, which would be happening in just a few months. We had no money, but we had each other, we had good friends, and we were lucky enough to have my mom in helping out with Simon and Ike.

In the last year: We spent 6 months apart, with the little guys and me staying with my parents while AJ was away at training- the hardest 6 months of my life, but not nearly as hard as it was for AJ. Now that we're all back together, we're living in a different province, in a town that's new to all of us. AJ likes his job, and he's making better money. Until we get some debts paid off there's still not a lot of extra money, but that's getting better. We live in a house- an actual house, with no one living above or below us. Simon is talking a lot more and more clearly, and he says the sweetest things, and Ike is a sturdy little bulldozer of a 1-year old, always ready with a smile for his family (or random ladies he wants to flirt with).

And what about the coming year? I don't make resolutions, but I like to think about what I'd like to accomplish. I'd like to read more books this year. I'd like to spend more time doing activities with the boys, and I definitely want to get outside when the weather improves! I want to be healthier; I want to exercise more, eat less (but better), and get off the damned Effexor and get my other antidepressand dose down to at least a normal level. I'd like to sleep through the night, but that really depends on a certain outside influence (not mentioning any names... *ahem* ike)

Sounds ambitious, doesn't it? Little by little, though, one or two things at a time, I'll do the best I can, and it will be good enough. I'm done with perfectionsm

Oh, and my birthday, the day itself, was great. More on that later!

Isaac's New Song

I'm a little stinker
short and stout!
The food goes in and
the poop goes out!
When my bottom's stinky, hear me yell,
but change my diaper and all is well.*


Young Master Ike is wobbling around with his hands full, having discovered not one, but TWO of my hair bands. He's all like, "Ohmigawd, these are, like, the bestest things EVER!" Life is indeed an adventure when you're one. As long as there's something around that's

1. new
2. going to make noise
3. able to be smacked against something else (bonus if this results in noise!)
4. likely to meow whan you bite it
5.comes apart when you pull on it
or
6. something that you're not supposed to have,

you've got yourself a party.

And on that note, I should go- the little stinker has the paper towel roll, which falls into categories 5 and 6. Score!!!



*Yes, I'm aware that I need a life. Thanks.

Riddle Me This:

How is it possible that Ike can go to bed (at 5:00, God help me!) and sleep through Simon running and playing and complaining about going to bed... but he manages to wake up at the sound of me slipping between the blankets in my bed?

It's uncanny. Much like the X-Men, but less cool, and with a disappointing lack of Hugh Jackman and/or James Marsden.

What the DUCK?!

Further proof that there are people out there who share my sometimes-perverse sense of humour, yet are far funnier than I am:

http://yetanotherbloomingblog.blogspot.com/2009/02/next-tonight-on-uk-gold-ducks-drakes.html

You will never look at ducks the same way again.

A Comb and a Brush, and a Brain Made of Mush

I was going to write something nice for you today, I really was. I even put some thought into it, if you can believe that. But you, my friend, are out of luck.

We had another one of those nights that leaves what's left of my brain in a puddle of mush, sloshing around in the lower half of my cranium; the top half, incedentally, is left empty, and the thoughts I manage to produce are getting distracted by the echo, so even they're not working for me. Echo! Echo! Echo!

So yeah, long night. Simon decided to stay up to keep me company until 10, because goodness knows I can't be left ALONE if AJ's at work. He finally went to bed (with his new friend "Blue," who was to be the topic of a far more coherent and entertaining post), I tidied up a bit, got changed, climbed into bed, and- "WAAAAAHHHHH!!!"

...and spent the next 30 minutes trying to get Ike back to sleep. No, not back to sleep- he was perfectly happy to sleep with his dear little noggin resting on my chest while I sat in the rocking chair. The problem was getting him to stay asleep when I had the audacity, the sheer nerve, to put him down. I even tried taking him to bed with me, forgetting that he's a BIG boy now, being one and all, and he's not into that anymore.

So then I rocked him again and cried because he's growing up, and we won't have these cuddly times forever, you know! I desperately tried to press that moment into my brain while simultaneously losing my mind from exhaustion. Perverse? Perhaps.

So then I put him down, he cried, I left, and he settled down at last. I closed my eyes, and AJ came home. I muttered several things at him, none of which I can remember now (and which almost certainly didn't make sense, anyway), and fell asleep. Some time later, just before AJ came to bed, Ike started crying again. He had a bottle, and we all went to sleep. Until Simon woke up screaming for the third night in a row. He went back to sleep on the couch, and I went back to bed. Again.

After that, it was smooooooth sailing- Ike was only up one more time before he woke up for the day at 5-something, bright and cheerful. "Hi, Mommy! I had a FAN-STINKING-TASTIC night! What's wrong? Why are you crying? Silly Mommy!"

So yeah, me and my brain of mush are just going to have to save that good post for another day. You know, whatever it was that I was thinking about. I can't remember.

The Difference Between One and Three

Why do one-year olds have to be so amazing?

There's just something about them- the inquisitiveness, the enthusiasm for everything from bath time to biting the cat's tail, the new discoveries they're still making every day... the fact they they're finally past the frustration of being STUCK, and can now get around on their own... the pure adoration on their little faces when they look at you, like you're just the greatest person in the world at this moment...

Yes, I'm generalizing. I know there are one-year olds out there who are miserable most of the time, but most one-year olds I've spent time with have been happy-go-lucky, curious little bundles of happy... most of the time.

Oh, there are those moments, to be sure. Just before bedtime comes to mind- as does just before supper time, getting the winter coat on time, and "what do you MEAN I can't stick that in the electrical outlet?!!" time. AJ would add "making a mess with books/movies/toys/kitchen utensils/recycling" time, but I actually find Ike's destructive tendencies endearing- he's just so happy while he's doing it, and he has NO idea why we would be anything but proud of his accomplishments.

Then... there's three. People talk about the "terrible twos," but Simon was a lovely 2-year old, up until a few months before his third birthday. Now, don't get me wrong- he's still a lovely kid, sweet and affectionate and funny. But life is harder when you're three. It's a LOT more frustrating- you want to be doing all this stuff you see bigger people doing, but your mind or motor skills just aren't quite there yet. There's so much to figure out about the world and about the english language that it's rather overwhelming for a little guy. People don't always understand what you're saying, and you don't know how else to say it. All of this leads to a little guy being sweet and happy one minute, and then lying on the floor in a heap of tears and frustration the next.

Three is hard on a kid, and it's not easy for parents, either. Three is also an age for testing limits and rules, and for "NO NO NO!"

The rewards still outweigh the trials, as far as parenting goes. Even after a long, difficult day with Simon, I can tuck him into bed, sing "Yellow Submarine" with him (not just to him, but with him*), and have a laugh when he burps in the middle of the second verse. He's developing a sense of humour now, and it's great. He's also expressing his emotions more clearly now, and while it's not easy to hear him being frustrated, it's the greatest thing in the world when I kiss him goodnight and he says, "wuv you, Mommy!"

To be completely honest, there are many days when it's just easier to get along with Ike- his age just makes him very likable and entertaining, while Simon's outbursts and refusal to take the naps he so desperately needs can be frustrating, to say the least.

But I don't love either one more than the other. I might like or dislike the things that they do, I might find it easier to deal with one or the other at different times, and I appreciate different things about each of their personalities, but I love each of them like he was the only one. I can't treat them the same, because they're not the same, and they each need different things from me. But love? Each of my boys gets as much as I can squeeze into a day.

I just hope they know that.





* "Inna taaaaaaw... Iwa BORN!
Wivvda maaan... say-a see!
An' toooowd uvviz WIFE!
Inna waaand, summa-EEN!

We aww... yewwow summa-EEN!
yewwow summa-een!
yewwow summa-EEN!

Fweeeeends, awwa BORD!
Mammy mo dem, wivva DOOR!
An WIV! Needa WAYVE!
Inna yewwow summa-EEN!
.
.
.
Wiv! Wife-a EEEZ!
Wunna uzzawwe NEED!
Sky BWUE! See GWEEN!
Yewwow! Summa-EEN!"

Repetition

One more note from yesterday:

We were at Value Village, and I found a Winnie the Pooh book called "When Pooh Got Stuck"

HA HA HA HA HA!!!

I'm sure we've all been there at one time or another... alright, let's just move on then, shall we?

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Today was just weird. Not all bad, but definitely different. On the positive side of the balance sheet, the TV was off a lot more today than it usually is. I was happy about that- any time Simon isn't asking for the TV to be on feels like a victory for me. The kid loves the TV- singing along, dancing, acting out scenes from movies... it's pretty funny, actually, but I'd like for there to be less it- the TV, not the dancing, etc.

Instead, we sang a silly song. Actually, that's not entirely in the "positive" column... he made me sing it over and over and OVER. You know the song:

"Clean up, clean up
Everybody everywhere,
Clean up, clean up,
Everybody do your share" ?

Well, now you do. I was singing that when we cleaned up (yes, really) and Simon wanted it "Again? Again? Sing a song again?", so I started making up different verses. It started out with things like:

"Simon, Simon,
Simon has a chubby cat,*
Simon, Simon,
now, what do we think of that?"

Brilliant, I know.

By the time it was time to go to the grocery store (where we were NOT singing), I was on to:

"Simon, Simon,
you're my silly buddy boy!
Simon, Simon,
please go away, play with your toys"

and

"Simon, simon
I love you and you love me,
but please, dude, leave me
alone, 'cause Mommy needs to pee!"

He wanted more singing when we got home, of course, and was asking for verses like, "Sing 'bout Simon's foot. It's stuck."

"Simon, Simon,
let's stop now, no ifs ands or buts,
all this singing
is driving Mommy nucking futs!"

By the time AJ got home, the sweet potato fries were burning, I was sitting in a corner, rocking, and Simon was singing "Simon, Simon... make Mommy cwy..." **

The rest of the day was filled with occasional laughter, much crankiness from both children, and a three-year old in denial about the fact that he'd pooped at the grocery store. Definitely not ready for potty training, that one.

Now it's 9:15, and I'm almost certain that the boys are both asleep. My biggest boy is out playing basketball with some other big boys***, so I'm going directly to bed- not passing GO, not collecting $200. Goodnight.


* The chubby cat in this song was a stuffed toy, but it could just as easily be about our Gus- chubby bugger.
** It is entirely possible that only the part about Simon singing is literally true, but I was totally rocking and burning things in my mind.
***The last time he played basketball, it was in a different city with different guys, and all I know is that someone used farting as a defensive strategy. I don't ask questions about these things anymore.****
**** I enjoy footnotes.

Damn Portages...

Last night, driving home from the big(ger) city, and hour away from home:

(passing a sign that says "portage")

me: haha- porage.

AJ: por... age.

(silence)

me: You know, I'm really glad they don't have car portages on the highway. Like where you had to carry your car over a hill or something. That would kind of suck, wouldn't it?

AJ: (after a moment or two) ... you took your pills, right?

me: yes... I should just keep those thoughts in my head, shouldn't I?

AJ: No, it's just that they're so completely random.

me: No, they're not. They only SEEM random because I don't express every thought that leads from one thing I say to the next. My train of thought's not jumping tracks- you're just not following it, and it's not going to the station you expect it to.

AJ: ...

me: ...

AJ: OK, then.


about 20 minutes later:

AJ: This road is so awful- it's no wonder people complain about it. Of course, if they actually DID fix it, people would complain about the slow traffic, too.

me: Maybe they'd have to portage around the section that's being repaired.

AJ: ...

me: Or... well, maybe if people knew that it was either slow traffic or the car-portage, they'd be thankful they can drive there at all.

AJ: You're a loser. But I love you.

me: I know.

And just for the heck of it...

... a few pictures from one year ago.


Just a few minutes old

At home with mommy

It's so hard being a baby!

In the hospital, pondering the mysteries of life

Happy birth-day!

Happy Birthday, Kid!

(This should've been posted yesterday, but I wasn't at the computer much. Pretend it's yesterday, OK? When you don't show up for work tomorrow, just tell your boss that tomorrow is today, and s/he should respect your beliefs regarding the today-ness of any given day.)

Yeah, yeah, it's Valentine's Day. It's never been my favourite "holiday" (and by holiday I mean entirely commercialized day for the card stores and candy makers to line their fat, fat pockets), either because of the exclusive nature of the whole thing- "No Valentine? I guess nobody loves you. SUCKER!!!"- or the way it takes love, something we should be expressing every day, and turns it into a syrupy, pink-and-red day to set high expectations for romance and general mushiness. I can't even walk through the card section at Wal-Mart without getting my shoes stuck in it, like the floor's covered in saccharine* bubble gum.

We don't really need a special day to celebrate love, or to say, "Put me on your honey-do list, Honey." Aj and I don't ignore it, though- hey, any excuse for chocolate and a hand-made card or love letter is great! I just don't think we NEED a special day when they're expected.

Last year changed February 14th for us forever. Isaac was born some time after 8:00 a.m.- I'm a little fuzzy on the details. There were a lot of drugs in my system, and I was kind of concentrating on the fact that I was completely unable to move my legs. It was a planned c-section, so we knew we'd be having a Valentine's day baby, which was fine by us. At least we know it'll be hard for people to forget his birthday.

We're not having a big party. We still don't know a lot of people around here and, honestly, it's not like he's going to treasure the memories of his first birthday for the rest of his life. He likes the new toys, is fairly indifferent to the clothes, and seems to think this is just like any other day. But with cupcakes. Cupcakes make any day 23x awesomer than other days- there have been studies on this.

I can't believe it was a year ago that the little man who is currently yelling at me from his crib because I'm "oppressing" him and, like, expecting him to nap and stuff was just this pink, sleepy little bundle of newness... it's been a good year, if a challenging one.

Love you, my Critter!

* and yes, by "saccharine" I mean fake sweetness that may cause cancer in lab rats. Thank you.

I wasn't going to post anything this morning, especially a video, since I did that just last night, but this was too special not to share. I'm sure there are people out there who will go, "EEEEEWWWW! How can she DO that?!"- probably the same people who have issues with breastfeeding in general.

Or, you know, Salma Hayek's breasts being used for anything but their oogling pleasure. Asshats.

This, my friends, is my new heroine:

Uh...

The Simon, he likes the funny videos. He's been very into America's Funniest Videos lately, and in true little-boy fashion, he thinks that people falling over is hilarious. He's also big on babies getting startled (this may, in fact, be the funniest thing ON EARTH) and anything animals are doing.

He caught me watching this video the other day. We laughed- it's funny:




And then there were more videos of kids dancing, babies getting startled (HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!), and the occasional guy being a jackass. This was one of the videos:



Is this cute, or creepy? I have no problems with a little girl dancing around in a leotard (unitard? suchatard?), but if it was my kid, I'm not sure I'd want her emulating Beyonce. There are worse role models, to be sure, but she's the sexy lady, that one. She do the sexy dancing. I'm not saying this video's controversial or anything, but the whole thing kind of weirded me out.

What thinketh ye? Cute or creepy?

I Can't Brain Anymore. I Have The Dumb.

No one told me that when the doctors cut Simon out of me that they'd also be removing (or at least mangling) parts of my brain. I figured the damage was done at that point, but it seems that there was still work to be done with the next child, because I'm sure they helped themselves to another chunk of my cerebrum (and possibly cerebellum- doesn't that sound like a pretty flower? Cerebellum Odorificus) when Ike was born. I have lost my mind, folks, and I blame the doctors. It was a c-section lobotomy.

What other explanation is there? OK, yes, there's the lack of sleep. Sometimes an extreme lack of sleep. But this goes far, far beyond that, my friend- I've been sleep deprived before, and while it may have actually made me cry sometimes, I still remained reasonably sane.*

Now? Now I actually scare myself sometimes. Last week I got Simon's sippy cup (“Appajoos PWEEEEEASE, MOMMEEEE!”), opened the lid, got the apple juice out of the fridge- and poured it into my tea. There was also a time, not so very long ago, when we couldn't find the juice anywhere. AJ found it, bless him- it was in the cupboard next to the popcorn. Simon had just learned to open the fridge that week, and I think I convinced AJ that it was Simon who had put the juice in the cupboard. Oh, that silly little rascal! What a kid... heh, heh... ahem.

You know when you walk into a room and forget for a second why you're there? That happens to me 15 times a day, and it's not just for a second. Time ticks by as I stand there, staring off into space, wondering exactly what it was I needed from the bathroom. Possibly drooling, I don't know. Far too often I'll have to go back to the room I just left to try to jog my memory- if I can remember what room I just came from.

So OK, my memory sucks, but that's not all. Things that used to be little problems have escalated into major malfunctions, and it's embarrassing. I've never been graceful, but now I'm running into furniture, walls, pets and people on an alarmingly regular basis. The cats are pissed, I'll tell you that. I have little to no concept of where my limbs are on space at any given time. I'm pretty sure my arms aren't usually floating and waving about over my head (or are they? You'd tell me, right?) but it's also not like I'm thinking, 'you know, my ass and that table could totally occupy the same space! At the same TIME!' I just couldn't keep track of my ass is all.

I used to forget words occasionally and sometimes got stuck in the middle of a sentence; now I'll get half-way through expressing a thought and just trail off... those thought thingers are tough to hang on to these days. Slippery buggers, they be.

I could go on, but I'm actually afraid to. Also, I can't remember what I was going to say. Dangit.

So that's my theory, anyway- those nasty doctors snuck in a lobotomy (or two) when they were supposed to be birfin' mah bebbies. It's the most reasonable explanation, I think. Am contemplating lawsuit. Goodnight, folks.


*However, the baseline measurement for this wasn't exactly what you'd call normal. “Sane” is a relative term.

25 Things, Blogging, and Other Such Nonsense

If you're on facebook (and I'm going to assume you are- hell, my grandparents are on facebook), you've probably been tagged in and/or written a note called "25 Random facts," "25 things," or "24 More Things Than You Ever Wanted To Know About Me."*

I first got tagged to do this about a month ago; since then there hasn't been a day when at least one or two of my "friends" haven't posted their own lists.

Want to know why this thing is so popular? I'll tell you a secret: it's because people like to talk about themselves. Oh, there are exceptions to this out there, but they're probably not so much with the facebooking. Why? Do we really think that Other People are that interested in learning about the inner workings of our minds (or, God forbid, our bowels)? Maybe in the context of facebook, it makes some sense; our friends/family/acquaintences/that-guy-you-haven't-seen-since-5th-grade might be interested, if only because one of those 25 Things might make excellent blackmail material some day...

But then we have blogs. Blah-Blah-Blogs. Here we can spout any and all of the nonsense that runs through our brains, post it to the interwebs and allow all of humanity to bask in the glow of our genius. We can act all important-like and pretend people actually care what we're rambling on about today:

- Will He Do The Dishes Today, Or Let them Fester Until The KD Actually Rots Off, Hoping That the Penicillin-Like Growth will Kill Any And All Offending Bacteria?

-Will Her Husband Finally Pick Up his Damned Socks Off The bathroom Floor, Just This Once?

-Will The Tinfoil Codpiece Keep Aliens From Using Him As An Intergalactic Sperm Donor (Again)?**

I gave up blogging a (very) short while ago, partly because I wanted to make sure I wasn't just writing for some audience that I imaginated*** to make myself feel important, and partly because my depression left me feeling like I had nothing worthwhile to contribute to the 3 or 4 people who were actually reading what I wrote... But I missed it. I missed needing to use my brain for something other than figuring out how to get canola oil out of fleece sleepers. I missed the way I can express myself reasonably coherently in writing, even when it takes me three or four tries to finish a sentence out loud. And yes, I missed hearing, every once in a while, "You made me laugh."

Can I always be coherent? I doubt it. Can I always be funny? Absolutely not- some days it's hard enough just together to sentence proper a string. Honest? I'm going to try. I could do most of this in a private, paper-bound journal, but a couple of people have said they enjoyed my writing, and a complete stranger once asked me for advice based on an old blog entry- and she's now a long-distance friend. Do I need more reasons than that?

= = = = = = = = =

In the spirit of the aforementioned facebook notes, here are a few facts about me, both essential and random:

1. I've been married for 6 years to my best friend. We met in university, got married the christmas (ish) after he graduated, and have managed to love, laugh, and not kill each other ever since.
2. We have 2 kids- Simon (2005) and Ike (2008), both excellent vintages.
3. I'm lucky enough to be able to be a stay-at-home mom. It's the hardest job I've ever had, and the pay sucks, but the benefits are great, and no one has threatened to fire me- yet.
4. I have Capital-D Depression. It runs in my family, and I've accepted it for what it is. It's not fun, but it's under control right now.
5. I adore the colour green, but I'm picky about it. I vastly prefer apple green, sap green and grass green to evergreen-green, mint green and seafoam green.
6. I'm a terrible housekeeper. To tell the truth, I'm a lazy housekeeper. I keep the bathrooms clean, I put the garbage out regularly, but I tend to leave bread crumbs on the counter, and
7. (this deserves its own spot on the list) I HATE doing dishes. Repeat: HATE. Not quite as much as the aforementioned KD guy, but pretty close.
8. I have thoughts and opinions on controversial issues that I worry will make people think I'm either an idiot or something worse- but mostly I doubt that people care. Unless someone asks me what I think, I'm learning to hold back.
9. I try to keep an open mind- I don't think anyone is absolutely right about everything (maybe anything), and I think I can learn something from everyone I meet (whether I agree with him or not)
10. I'm trying to accept the use of the word "them" in the place of him/her, or "their" in place of his/hers, but it's not easy.
11. I used to be fairly smart, in a got-good-grades kind of way. I don't remember what that was like, really. These days I mostly feel slow and vaguely fuzzy- more on that
(and this blog's title) next time. Or some time.
12. While trying to type the word "title" in the above sentence, I typed "titte" and "titee"- and that is making me laugh a little inside. I said I used to be smart- I didn't claim to be mature.
13. I love my family- my husband and my boys, but also my parents, brother-et-al, grandparents, etc. etc. etc. Everyone from parents on in that list lives far away, and I miss them. I frequently thank God for phones and e-mail.
14. My husband, AJ, and I were apart for 6 months last year while he was away for work-related training. It was the hardest 6 months of my life, even though I was lucky enough to spend the time with the rest of my family.
15. I really, REALLY don't like Tiny Tim from "A Christmas Carol"
16. I eat when I'm not hungry, and I don't pay enough attention to nutrition. I know it's bad, but I haven't been able to change it- yet.

25 things? Yeah, right. Everything else can wait. The kids are in bed now (if not asleep), and I'm going to bed.


*Ok, I haven't seen this title on any, but boy, do I wish I had...

**Actually, I'd totally read that one.

*** It is now. Up yours, Dictionary.com!