When I was a little girl, I pretended to like two things to fit in: Grease Lightening and horses. Little girls love Grease Lightening and horses. I went so far with the whole horse thing that I even asked to go to horse camp with all of my little friends one summer. Once there, I was quickly categorized as one of the kids that didn't have a clue and realized that I was, in fact, terrified of horses. These things were effing beasts! Why the hell would I want to put myself on the back of a giant animal? I don't. The same way I don't want to put myself on the back of a cow or a Rhino. I also don't want to ride a dolphin. Gross. The only thing I'm interested in doing with animals is eating them and petting them, which sometimes leads to making love. WHOA! Sorry, that's for my other blog.
Anyhow, even though I was 8, I was aware that the "Blue" group was in fact, "the idiot group." Those of us who usually weren't in the idiot group knew that the real difference in the groups wasn't the name of the group, it was the mental and physical abilities of the group. Remember the different reading groups in Grade 1? We all knew that the Snowflakes couldn't really read.
Being in the "Blue" group, to me, was a real failure but I endured. I continued to ride horses with the crossed eyed, glue eating kids of the "Blue" group.
The first horse I had was called Mr.Mugs. He was a dick. He was so fat and all he wanted to do was eat and walk in circles, which wasn't helping my plight in getting out of the "Blue" group. I began to spiral further into a world I didn't want to be in. Glue started to look tastier and tastier.One day we had to brush or horses. This meant that I had to get in a stall with this evil beast and touch it and stand really close to it. This was terrifying but Mindy 18 year old moron who was in love with horses and was our instructor, told me it would all be ok. Liar. I started to brush Mr.Mugs and just as I was starting to become less terrified, the fat ass horse decided he wanted to see out of the other end of the stall, which meant he wanted to turn around. Just so you know, these were tiny stalls and I was already pinned against the side of it, trying to brush the jerk. Mr.Mugs starts to turn around and I am now suspended in mid air, getting suffocated by the side of a horse body! My face was smooshed into his body and I had been lifed off the ground as I was flailing about trying to get the eff out of this situation. I'm trying desperately to get some air but each breath is just another mouth full of brittle horse hair. I'm screaming into the side of the horse for someone to help me, I throw my head sideways to scream some more and now my face is sideways squished up against him but at least now I can breathe. So he settles into a position he's comfortable in and I can breathe again. I start to cry and Mindy,(in a few years when I was a teenager, her label would have easily been "nerd") comes over and tells me it's ok, he would never hurt me. I'm calling bullshit on that Mindy. This horse has a hit out on me and I refuse to have anything else to do with him. Ok, Fine, so they then give me Jewel. Jewel was an older horse who would hopefully be pretty calm. Jewel was blind in one eye. We went on some kind of horse hike and I fell off of him twice because he couldn't see out of his left eye and hit two different pot holes which caused me to fall off of him, hanging onto the saddle for dear life.
Finally they gave me Frank a horse that was about 3 days away from being shot but before his dying breath, he had a bit of fight left in him and when a truck drove by and honked it's horn, Frank got spooked and started to freak out, galloping around the ring, me screaming on his back.
It was finally the last day of horse camp and my Mom and Uncle Morris who was visiting from Sudbury (The Primeau's come from an established line of aristocracy hailing from the finest regions of Sudbury and beyond) came to see the horse show. They put me back on Mr.Muggs the dick and when it came to be my turn to do some tricks, Mr.Muggs and I just stood in the middle of the ring and walked in circles. I could hear my Uncle Morris laughing. It was the worst.
What does any of this have anything to do with the main subject matter of my blog?
I want my son to do whatever he wants in life and realize his dreams, no matter what. If he shows an interest in horses, he's kicked out.
Saturday, February 11, 2012
Thursday, January 26, 2012
Wang Chung
So it's the thick of winter. Body hair is at an all time high. Aside from that, life continues as usual. Just getting ready to be a seat filler at the Oscars. I'll probably shave my legs for that.
Yesterday morning I went to drop Dex off at his daycare. As I've mentioned in previous blogs, he goes to a home daycare where he's cared for by a lovely lady named Shakira.
Anyhow, the house is right across from the Donlands Subway station and right behind another daycare but like a real daycare, not a cheapo home daycare. Anyhow, there's an alleyway between the real daycare and Shakira's house. I'm just painting the picture of what's to come.
So I get out of the car, get Dex out of his seat and turn around to see a man, pee'ing on the side of the wall of the real daycare. I can see his man junk hanging out all over the place and so can anyone else who might be walking to the subway or walking their kids into the daycare.
Now I thought in 2012 I should change a few things about myself. Some call them resolutions, as though there are things that you want to change. To me, they're just improvements on what is already adequate. One of these was to maybe keep my mouth shut more, when I see weirdos doing weird things.
It was a bit of a grey area in this situation because he didn't seem like he was super weird of homeless or anything out of the ordinary. He was wearing a Patriots jacket, clean jeans and shoes that weren't falling apart. Maybe he was on the crazy cusp but how am I supposed to know that? Anyhow, I would like to say that I thought for a second not to say something, but I didn't. With child in tow I yell, very loudly, "Excuse me? Are you peeing on the side of a daycare?" He turns to look at me. Turns out he was on the crazy cusp, or at least his face was. He responds with an incoherent grunt. I start getting louder. "You know, that's a daycare and it's 8:30 in the morning and no one wants to see your wang ok?"
Now he's looking straight at me and he makes one of those moves people make when they want to fight. You know when they kind of throw their shoulders back and move their head forward?
Normally this would have scared me. It should have scared the shit out of me but I had one of those crazy adrenaline moments where, if this loser who can't hold his pee for 5 seconds, were to try to come at me, I would have thrown down. Why? Because I had my son in my hands and I think I experienced that weird thing where women can lift cars if their kid is under it. I saw it once on Oprah. Back when Oprah was still smutty.
What you should know is that, under normal circumstances, this kind of threat would have been enough to either make me faint, or at the very least just take off. I hate physical fighting. I will almost never have your back. Ever. One time my friend in highschool got in a girl fight at The Sound Of Music Festival at Spencer Smith Park and I ran away to tell a cop. I'm good at starting the fights, just never really excelled at the follow through.
So then the guy sees I'm not running away and just yells, "FUCK YOU!" so I of course take the high road and yell back, "Fuck you too!" He yells "You're a fucking bitch" I yell, "No, you're a fucking bitch!". You can see I'm especially creative when I'm in a yelling match with a psycho at 8:30 in the morning, as I'm dropping my son off at daycare. He ran down the alleyway and I was left to look around at the faces of the people who had been watching all of this. No one else did, so I started a slow clap for myself. The crowd followed suit and suddenly there was a thunder of slow claps happening at my bravery. Nope, that didn't happen. People were watching on their way to the subway but on one really gave a shit.
At this point I looked into the face of my, not even 2 year old, and I think I saw a glimmer of respect twinkle in his eye. That or fear. Either way, it's a victory.
Yesterday morning I went to drop Dex off at his daycare. As I've mentioned in previous blogs, he goes to a home daycare where he's cared for by a lovely lady named Shakira.
Anyhow, the house is right across from the Donlands Subway station and right behind another daycare but like a real daycare, not a cheapo home daycare. Anyhow, there's an alleyway between the real daycare and Shakira's house. I'm just painting the picture of what's to come.
So I get out of the car, get Dex out of his seat and turn around to see a man, pee'ing on the side of the wall of the real daycare. I can see his man junk hanging out all over the place and so can anyone else who might be walking to the subway or walking their kids into the daycare.
Now I thought in 2012 I should change a few things about myself. Some call them resolutions, as though there are things that you want to change. To me, they're just improvements on what is already adequate. One of these was to maybe keep my mouth shut more, when I see weirdos doing weird things.
It was a bit of a grey area in this situation because he didn't seem like he was super weird of homeless or anything out of the ordinary. He was wearing a Patriots jacket, clean jeans and shoes that weren't falling apart. Maybe he was on the crazy cusp but how am I supposed to know that? Anyhow, I would like to say that I thought for a second not to say something, but I didn't. With child in tow I yell, very loudly, "Excuse me? Are you peeing on the side of a daycare?" He turns to look at me. Turns out he was on the crazy cusp, or at least his face was. He responds with an incoherent grunt. I start getting louder. "You know, that's a daycare and it's 8:30 in the morning and no one wants to see your wang ok?"
Now he's looking straight at me and he makes one of those moves people make when they want to fight. You know when they kind of throw their shoulders back and move their head forward?
Normally this would have scared me. It should have scared the shit out of me but I had one of those crazy adrenaline moments where, if this loser who can't hold his pee for 5 seconds, were to try to come at me, I would have thrown down. Why? Because I had my son in my hands and I think I experienced that weird thing where women can lift cars if their kid is under it. I saw it once on Oprah. Back when Oprah was still smutty.
What you should know is that, under normal circumstances, this kind of threat would have been enough to either make me faint, or at the very least just take off. I hate physical fighting. I will almost never have your back. Ever. One time my friend in highschool got in a girl fight at The Sound Of Music Festival at Spencer Smith Park and I ran away to tell a cop. I'm good at starting the fights, just never really excelled at the follow through.
So then the guy sees I'm not running away and just yells, "FUCK YOU!" so I of course take the high road and yell back, "Fuck you too!" He yells "You're a fucking bitch" I yell, "No, you're a fucking bitch!". You can see I'm especially creative when I'm in a yelling match with a psycho at 8:30 in the morning, as I'm dropping my son off at daycare. He ran down the alleyway and I was left to look around at the faces of the people who had been watching all of this. No one else did, so I started a slow clap for myself. The crowd followed suit and suddenly there was a thunder of slow claps happening at my bravery. Nope, that didn't happen. People were watching on their way to the subway but on one really gave a shit.
At this point I looked into the face of my, not even 2 year old, and I think I saw a glimmer of respect twinkle in his eye. That or fear. Either way, it's a victory.
Friday, December 23, 2011
Spew
The most judgmental people in the world aren't Judges. They're parents. Especially first time parents. You don't want to be judgmental by nature, but it's simply the insecurities that go along with having no idea what you're doing, that seem to create this sort of environment.It's just human nature that, to feel better about yourself, it's easiest to put others down. The best way to conquer this, is to just admit that you don't have a clue and drink your way through it. Anyhow, as I'm a perfect mother, I'm sure no one can pass judgement on anything I do, however for the purpose of this blog I will share a moment when perhaps my mothering came in to question.
Dex is in daycare a few days a week, and as a result, is building up an immune system that even Agent Orange couldn't penetrate. He's pretty much always sick at this point, some times worse than others. A few weeks ago happened to be one of these times. He had ear infections, chest infection and just general malaise.
So I kept him home from daycare. That day, however, I was sick. I had the Norwalk or some other disgusting ailment where you feel really sorry for yourself and everything you ate since 1998 is coming out.
Since Dex is nearly 2, it's pretty hard to just layabout with him, because he's constantly moving. I decided that I would take him to the drop-in center down the road, where he could just run around with all the other little kids, while I quietly switched between a combo of sweat and shiver, in the corner.
So I'm sitting there in my own vile filth while he's doing his thing. At this point, I hadn't barfed and didn't really think I would because I'm not much of a barfer. I've only barfed from booze a handful of times in my life. Pretty good eh? Anyhow it's this kind of barf arrogance that ends up getting you into trouble.
Suddenly it starts happening. The warm spittle and constricting throat starts to creep it's way up into my mouth. I try to mentally push it back but even my Jedi mind isn't strong enough to conquer this influx of reflux.
Oh shit, I think, here it effing comes.
I jump up from the play mat, push some creepy twins out of the way and make it, just in time to the bathroom, which, you should know, has a tiny toilet.
I get myself together and think "crap, I hope someone is watching Dex."
I leave the bathroom and scan the room for my son. There's tons of kids there so I can't seem to spot him, and have a mini panic. My eyes are darting back and forth. Where the hell is he? As I feel like I'm going to barf again from panic I spot him at the front entrance way. Pheefuuuf. Wait a sec. What's he doing? My eyes adjust to the fluorescent lighting after I've been barfing in the dark comforts of the kiddy bathroom. Yup, he's doing it. He has dumped some woman's purse upside down and is emptying her wallet and rooting through all of her crap.
I moan and say (out loud) "You must be fucking kidding me" , lurch towards the front door, grab Dex and all of his crap and get the hell out of there. I didn't bother with the purse. Just left it there, strewn about.
Oh! I almost left out a very important part of the story. Like millions of Canadians, I suffer from Oral Herpes. Hot. So I happened to have a boiler on my lip, this particular day. I hadn't bothered to look in the mirror after the "incident" and hadn't realized that this little beauty had started to bleed. Must have been the force of the spew. So when I left the kiddie bathroom, having just spent 10 minutes heaving and moaning, I appeared with blood trickling down my face. Nice. Let's not forget that I dropped an F Bomb, out loud, as well.
I got in the car, came home and allowed the cat to parent Dexter for the rest of the day while I tried my hardest not to fall asleep.
There are a few things in my life that I need not repeat. Finite math,trying to install a dimmer switch, getting a gum graft and taking my toddler to a really bright indoor playground while in the throws of the stomach flu.
Dex is in daycare a few days a week, and as a result, is building up an immune system that even Agent Orange couldn't penetrate. He's pretty much always sick at this point, some times worse than others. A few weeks ago happened to be one of these times. He had ear infections, chest infection and just general malaise.
So I kept him home from daycare. That day, however, I was sick. I had the Norwalk or some other disgusting ailment where you feel really sorry for yourself and everything you ate since 1998 is coming out.
Since Dex is nearly 2, it's pretty hard to just layabout with him, because he's constantly moving. I decided that I would take him to the drop-in center down the road, where he could just run around with all the other little kids, while I quietly switched between a combo of sweat and shiver, in the corner.
So I'm sitting there in my own vile filth while he's doing his thing. At this point, I hadn't barfed and didn't really think I would because I'm not much of a barfer. I've only barfed from booze a handful of times in my life. Pretty good eh? Anyhow it's this kind of barf arrogance that ends up getting you into trouble.
Suddenly it starts happening. The warm spittle and constricting throat starts to creep it's way up into my mouth. I try to mentally push it back but even my Jedi mind isn't strong enough to conquer this influx of reflux.
Oh shit, I think, here it effing comes.
I jump up from the play mat, push some creepy twins out of the way and make it, just in time to the bathroom, which, you should know, has a tiny toilet.
I get myself together and think "crap, I hope someone is watching Dex."
I leave the bathroom and scan the room for my son. There's tons of kids there so I can't seem to spot him, and have a mini panic. My eyes are darting back and forth. Where the hell is he? As I feel like I'm going to barf again from panic I spot him at the front entrance way. Pheefuuuf. Wait a sec. What's he doing? My eyes adjust to the fluorescent lighting after I've been barfing in the dark comforts of the kiddy bathroom. Yup, he's doing it. He has dumped some woman's purse upside down and is emptying her wallet and rooting through all of her crap.
I moan and say (out loud) "You must be fucking kidding me" , lurch towards the front door, grab Dex and all of his crap and get the hell out of there. I didn't bother with the purse. Just left it there, strewn about.
Oh! I almost left out a very important part of the story. Like millions of Canadians, I suffer from Oral Herpes. Hot. So I happened to have a boiler on my lip, this particular day. I hadn't bothered to look in the mirror after the "incident" and hadn't realized that this little beauty had started to bleed. Must have been the force of the spew. So when I left the kiddie bathroom, having just spent 10 minutes heaving and moaning, I appeared with blood trickling down my face. Nice. Let's not forget that I dropped an F Bomb, out loud, as well.
I got in the car, came home and allowed the cat to parent Dexter for the rest of the day while I tried my hardest not to fall asleep.
There are a few things in my life that I need not repeat. Finite math,trying to install a dimmer switch, getting a gum graft and taking my toddler to a really bright indoor playground while in the throws of the stomach flu.
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
Park Life
I'm going to be completely honest here: the park is boring. The only time the park isn't boring is when you're 1 until 12 and the againa starting at 14 to 16, when you steal a bottle of Ouzo from your parents and get wasted with your other stupid teenage friends. Yes, it's sweet and cute to see your little one run around and go down the slide and giggle, but it's got a pretty short entertainment window, for me anyhow. I'm pretty much over the park in 10 minutes, so I do my best to entertain myself my striking up conversation with others. Sometimes it's well received, other times I'm given the major cold shoulder. That usually happens in the posh parks like the one in the Beaches. I was at the park the other day with Dex and started talking to this dude who had a SUPER cute little baby girl. Turns out he moved from Sudan 10 months ago. He was pretty interesting and we had a nice conversation. It got weird when he scratched my back as he said goodbye. I mean a real scratch, not like an accidental swipe of the finger. I was wearing a tank top and he put all five finger nails on me and gave me a quick back scratch. Under normal circumstances, I welcome a back scratch from just about anyone, but this one seemed oddly misplaced. A back scratch from a dude you just met at the park? Am I being too judgemental?
I was sitting around a sandbox last week and there were about 6 toddlers playing in it, which meant there were 6 adults sitting around it. We just sat and stared at the kids and no one said anything. Here's the thing:if you took those kids out of the equation, and it was just 6 adults, would we try to find something to talk about or is the sandbox like the playground equivalent of the bus? Just look forward and make sure your kid doesn't bite someone. As you may be able to tell by the verbose nature of these blogs, silence makes me uncomfortable. I then am wracking my brain to think of something to say to someone but the trick is to not make it about the kids, or about being a parent. So then I ask some dude about what he does for a living and now I feel like I'm hitting on him at the sandbox. Fuck. That wasn't my intention but now everyone is listening and he feels the need to answer me. So he does. And doesn't continue the conversation. So now all I've done is blurted out some question to a stranger, which he politely answered, and we all continue to just stare in the middle of the sandbox.
That, however, is preferable to listening to some annoying people talking about, or putting into practice, their stupid parenting techniques which I find so nauseating.
Dex was going down this baby slide. He was hanging around the bottom of it when some other little girl was about to go down. Her Dad said, "Char Char, wait for the little boy to move." I'm going to assume her name was Charlotte. Dex moved about a second later, so I wouldn't necessarily say that she waited, it just worked out that he got out of the way. She goes down the slide and the Dad says, "Char Char, come over here.Char Char, Daddy is so proud of you! Daddy is so so so proud of you."
Oh my god disgusting. She's effing 1 1/2, she doesn't give a shit dude and seriously? You're proud of that? If she were to start speaking Yiddish and tap dancing, then ya, you can tell her you're "so so so proud" of her. This is the reason that there are so many effing entitled young adults out there who think that because they wake up in the morning, they should be given a gold medal. I'm certainly not against encouraging your kids, and telling them how proud you are of them, but lets make sure it's something worth being proud of shall we? Waiting for someone to get out of the way is not an accomplishment. What happens when Char Char graduates from College? This dude is going to lose his mind. I can just see him in the audience, uncontrollably sobbing, snot running down his face while he screams, "CHAR CHARR. I AM SO SO SO PROUD OF YOU! OOHHHH CHAR CHAR." She'll grab her degree from DeVry and trip off the stage.
I was sitting around a sandbox last week and there were about 6 toddlers playing in it, which meant there were 6 adults sitting around it. We just sat and stared at the kids and no one said anything. Here's the thing:if you took those kids out of the equation, and it was just 6 adults, would we try to find something to talk about or is the sandbox like the playground equivalent of the bus? Just look forward and make sure your kid doesn't bite someone. As you may be able to tell by the verbose nature of these blogs, silence makes me uncomfortable. I then am wracking my brain to think of something to say to someone but the trick is to not make it about the kids, or about being a parent. So then I ask some dude about what he does for a living and now I feel like I'm hitting on him at the sandbox. Fuck. That wasn't my intention but now everyone is listening and he feels the need to answer me. So he does. And doesn't continue the conversation. So now all I've done is blurted out some question to a stranger, which he politely answered, and we all continue to just stare in the middle of the sandbox.
That, however, is preferable to listening to some annoying people talking about, or putting into practice, their stupid parenting techniques which I find so nauseating.
Dex was going down this baby slide. He was hanging around the bottom of it when some other little girl was about to go down. Her Dad said, "Char Char, wait for the little boy to move." I'm going to assume her name was Charlotte. Dex moved about a second later, so I wouldn't necessarily say that she waited, it just worked out that he got out of the way. She goes down the slide and the Dad says, "Char Char, come over here.Char Char, Daddy is so proud of you! Daddy is so so so proud of you."
Oh my god disgusting. She's effing 1 1/2, she doesn't give a shit dude and seriously? You're proud of that? If she were to start speaking Yiddish and tap dancing, then ya, you can tell her you're "so so so proud" of her. This is the reason that there are so many effing entitled young adults out there who think that because they wake up in the morning, they should be given a gold medal. I'm certainly not against encouraging your kids, and telling them how proud you are of them, but lets make sure it's something worth being proud of shall we? Waiting for someone to get out of the way is not an accomplishment. What happens when Char Char graduates from College? This dude is going to lose his mind. I can just see him in the audience, uncontrollably sobbing, snot running down his face while he screams, "CHAR CHARR. I AM SO SO SO PROUD OF YOU! OOHHHH CHAR CHAR." She'll grab her degree from DeVry and trip off the stage.
Friday, September 9, 2011
What a rip
Right so it's been like 6 months since my last blog. In that time I have been working, sleeping, eating, farting and seducing. In that order. Dexter is now a year and half, which is outrageous. Why is it, when you're a kid, time passes so slowly? It took FOREVER for Santa to arrive. It seemed like a million years before the next summer rolled around. Now a year is just a blip. Is it because we drink? I mean because I drink?
So now that I am working my butt off on my new company (if anyone knows or needs online video content, let me know) I put Dex in daycare a couple of days a week, which I think I already mentioned. I just needed an organic way to plug my company (www.elpeaproductions.com) so that's why I mentioned it. Anyhoo, you want to know what the biggest rip off is? When you pick your kid up from daycare at 5pm, and you still have to clean up two shit diapers. I figure he's there for 8 hours, surely he should have gotten all of his pooping done. What the hell are we paying for? Education? Love? It's one of the perks of having someone else take care of him all day. I don't have to deal with disgusting turds. As a matter of fact, I'm thinking I might ask Shakira(the daycare lady) for some money back. I think it's only fair. Unfortunately, due to her limited English, I'll probably end up just getting his poop diapers from her or something.
The other day I picked Dex up and was just going to head straight to the cottage. I had forgotten his sippy cup so when I went to get him from Shakira I asked her, "Shakira, can I grab Dexters sippy cup from you? I'll bring it back on MOnday it's just that I've forgotten his and we're going to be in the car for 2 hours." She is standing smiling at me. "Ok Shakira, so can I have his cup?"
Shakira. "Jes"
She's still smiling and staring at me.
Me, "Can I have it now?"
Shakira, "Jes. No problem."
She's not moving, just smiling.
So now I start to make the motion of drinking and I've now started to talk really loudly because for some reason I think volume might help,
"SHAKIRA. I NEED TO GET HIS CUP SO HE CAN HAVE A DRINK." I'm tipping my head back and making the drinking motion. I can see people walking home from work looking at me like I'm an alcoholic. "Jesus Christ, just forget. He can drink out of the water bottle."
Shakira, "Jes."
She has a good enough command of the English language, I guess I'm just going to have to brush up on my Persian.
Speaking of daycare, can we seriously start some kind of Egypt style revolt to change how daycare works in this province? It's bullshit. It's expensive and impossible to get into and expensive. The problem is that the people who are willing to fight for this are too busy and tired because we're all trying to work, be parents and look hot. I don't have to try too hard at the last one, just wanted to be inclusive.
If anyone from the Black Bloc is reading this, maybe you can give me some ideas as to how to start a pointless riot to get my voice heard. Until next time.
So now that I am working my butt off on my new company (if anyone knows or needs online video content, let me know) I put Dex in daycare a couple of days a week, which I think I already mentioned. I just needed an organic way to plug my company (www.elpeaproductions.com) so that's why I mentioned it. Anyhoo, you want to know what the biggest rip off is? When you pick your kid up from daycare at 5pm, and you still have to clean up two shit diapers. I figure he's there for 8 hours, surely he should have gotten all of his pooping done. What the hell are we paying for? Education? Love? It's one of the perks of having someone else take care of him all day. I don't have to deal with disgusting turds. As a matter of fact, I'm thinking I might ask Shakira(the daycare lady) for some money back. I think it's only fair. Unfortunately, due to her limited English, I'll probably end up just getting his poop diapers from her or something.
The other day I picked Dex up and was just going to head straight to the cottage. I had forgotten his sippy cup so when I went to get him from Shakira I asked her, "Shakira, can I grab Dexters sippy cup from you? I'll bring it back on MOnday it's just that I've forgotten his and we're going to be in the car for 2 hours." She is standing smiling at me. "Ok Shakira, so can I have his cup?"
Shakira. "Jes"
She's still smiling and staring at me.
Me, "Can I have it now?"
Shakira, "Jes. No problem."
She's not moving, just smiling.
So now I start to make the motion of drinking and I've now started to talk really loudly because for some reason I think volume might help,
"SHAKIRA. I NEED TO GET HIS CUP SO HE CAN HAVE A DRINK." I'm tipping my head back and making the drinking motion. I can see people walking home from work looking at me like I'm an alcoholic. "Jesus Christ, just forget. He can drink out of the water bottle."
Shakira, "Jes."
She has a good enough command of the English language, I guess I'm just going to have to brush up on my Persian.
Speaking of daycare, can we seriously start some kind of Egypt style revolt to change how daycare works in this province? It's bullshit. It's expensive and impossible to get into and expensive. The problem is that the people who are willing to fight for this are too busy and tired because we're all trying to work, be parents and look hot. I don't have to try too hard at the last one, just wanted to be inclusive.
If anyone from the Black Bloc is reading this, maybe you can give me some ideas as to how to start a pointless riot to get my voice heard. Until next time.
Thursday, July 7, 2011
Can someone else do this please?
Bless me Father for I have sinned, it has been 22 years since my last confession. Oh woops! I thought this was my sinning blog. I like to keep a blog of my sins, then confess them to the Internet. It's less creepy than a priest.
Anyhow, Dexter Jean-Claude Macky is no longer a tiny little baby. He is nearly a year a half (or will be in about 2 months) and he is running around like a lunatic. It is the cutest thing ever to see him walking, with his hands in the air, and his center of gravity high on LSD. It looks hilarious. I always say this but honestly, his cute levels are through the roof. Except for yesterday morning. I went into his bedroom at a little after 7am, because I could hear him whining to get up. I go into the room, smile and say good morning, but something isn't right. What's that smell? Has there been another garbage strike? Did someone just do an egg salad burp? Have we been bombed with Agent Orange? Nope, Dex has done a colossal turd and it is everywhere. He slept in just a onesie because it was ridiculously hot. The poop had seeped out of his diaper, on to his legs, into his hand, and all over his face and his crib. It was a goddamn Poo-nami. It was Poomaggedon. Just as I realize what's happened I see him go to put some in his mouth. "NOOOOOOOOO!" I yell as I dive in slo-mo, "It's not a shit biscuit!" He tastes it and, quite obviously, starts spitting and makes the most hilarious/disgusted face of all time. He ate his own shit. I figure it's a tough lesson to learn but I'm glad he learned it early. You don't want to be learning that lesson your second year of University or anything.
Anyhow, I had to get Will in for backup because I couldn't handle the mountain of turd that surrounded me.
In other news, we went to NYC for the long weekend, which was the best. It was the longest we had left the baby, and let me tell you, it was awesome. I felt anxious before we left, because I knew I would miss him and would he be ok, and all of that. But then, when Will and I are sipping cocktails at 2:30 in the afternoon at some cool bar we're not cool enough to be at, any and all anxiety I had went out the door. Here's the thing. Getting away from work is THE BEST. Waking up when you want to, not answering emails, not dealing with your weird co-workers; it's all well deserved. When you have a toddler, that feeling of freedom is times 10,000. Don't get me wrong, I was happy to see him when the weekend was done, but I didn't pine for him, let me just put it that way. If you're a Mom and you don't think you can be away from your kid for more than a night or whatever, I'm here to tell you that you can, and you'll love it. Although I don't know too many Moms who seem to have a problem with that.
We saw Joey Fatone in New York, I know you're jealous. Will thought it was Lance Bass and when we walked by him said, "HA! It's Lance Bass." Hilarious.
I'm sweating my armpits off right now so I have to go. Until next time.
Anyhow, Dexter Jean-Claude Macky is no longer a tiny little baby. He is nearly a year a half (or will be in about 2 months) and he is running around like a lunatic. It is the cutest thing ever to see him walking, with his hands in the air, and his center of gravity high on LSD. It looks hilarious. I always say this but honestly, his cute levels are through the roof. Except for yesterday morning. I went into his bedroom at a little after 7am, because I could hear him whining to get up. I go into the room, smile and say good morning, but something isn't right. What's that smell? Has there been another garbage strike? Did someone just do an egg salad burp? Have we been bombed with Agent Orange? Nope, Dex has done a colossal turd and it is everywhere. He slept in just a onesie because it was ridiculously hot. The poop had seeped out of his diaper, on to his legs, into his hand, and all over his face and his crib. It was a goddamn Poo-nami. It was Poomaggedon. Just as I realize what's happened I see him go to put some in his mouth. "NOOOOOOOOO!" I yell as I dive in slo-mo, "It's not a shit biscuit!" He tastes it and, quite obviously, starts spitting and makes the most hilarious/disgusted face of all time. He ate his own shit. I figure it's a tough lesson to learn but I'm glad he learned it early. You don't want to be learning that lesson your second year of University or anything.
Anyhow, I had to get Will in for backup because I couldn't handle the mountain of turd that surrounded me.
In other news, we went to NYC for the long weekend, which was the best. It was the longest we had left the baby, and let me tell you, it was awesome. I felt anxious before we left, because I knew I would miss him and would he be ok, and all of that. But then, when Will and I are sipping cocktails at 2:30 in the afternoon at some cool bar we're not cool enough to be at, any and all anxiety I had went out the door. Here's the thing. Getting away from work is THE BEST. Waking up when you want to, not answering emails, not dealing with your weird co-workers; it's all well deserved. When you have a toddler, that feeling of freedom is times 10,000. Don't get me wrong, I was happy to see him when the weekend was done, but I didn't pine for him, let me just put it that way. If you're a Mom and you don't think you can be away from your kid for more than a night or whatever, I'm here to tell you that you can, and you'll love it. Although I don't know too many Moms who seem to have a problem with that.
We saw Joey Fatone in New York, I know you're jealous. Will thought it was Lance Bass and when we walked by him said, "HA! It's Lance Bass." Hilarious.
I'm sweating my armpits off right now so I have to go. Until next time.
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
What did you say?
I am officially the worst blogger in the world, but this just in: I don't really give a care. That's right,give a care. So Dex is fully walking now. It is super cute and I am constantly laughing my head off but at the same time, we're constantly running our asses off and it's hardcore. I normally try to give him decent food but I pretty much just fed him cookies tonight so he would stay in his highchair while I drank Newcastle Brown Ale with my neighbour. It's a beer worth getting your kid hopped up on sugar for. So he's in daycare a few days a week while I work and the other days I send him to work as Rob Fords taster. There are far too many people who want to poison that man.
His daycare lady is called Shakira, as in the she wolf, as in my hips don't lie. I was at first attracted to this woman because of her name. It's awesome. The only other name that could compare to this, with regards to the person who I am going to entrust with my child's life, would be Magnum. If I could have found a daycare provider whose name was Magnum, that person would have beaten Shakira as Dexters daycare provider. There was another time I based a decision solely on the name of a person. I was looking for a new voice agent here in Toronto. I was going through the list of agents and saw that this one guy at AAB Talent was accepting submissions. His name was Warren Beatty. I called him right away. I wanted Warren Beatty in my corner. I met him and he looked like a regular sized Webster. I was going to say giant Webster, but that's really just a regular Webster right? Anyhow, turns out Warren was useless and I wasn't getting any auditions. I started asking around if this guy was any good. Turns out the A A B stands for Asian Action Booking. I am neither Asian or capable of any action. Well, that's not entirely true; I can do a pretty sweet high kick. Anyhow, I learned my lesson from making life decisions based on cool names and decided to do a little more research with regards to Shakira. Turns out she's awesome. Her English is a bit Persian but we seem to communicate effectively, except for the other day. When I picked Dex up from daycare Shakira tells me, "Oh Lareesa, diahrrhea sooo bad."
"Oh" I say, "That's too bad."
"Yes",she says, "it's very stinky."
"Oh ya? Well, was it something you ate?" She replies, "Maybe, what you eat him?" I say, "Oh ya, he's so cute I just want to eat him up." She looks at me really confused. "Well" I say, "I hope you feel better. Diarrhea's the worst." Her face twists from confused to understood. "Oohhh, noo" she says, "Shakira no have diarehhea, baby has diarrhea" She's saying this as she's pointing to her own bum. OHHHHHHHHH. Woops. She was telling me the baby had diarrhea and here I am telling her I hope her trots clear up. Hilarious but I think this makes our relationship even stronger. I was ok with hearing about her diarrhea and she was cool with me thinking she was talking to me about her floopy poops. That is precisely the kind of relationship I need with the woman I entrust my baby's life with. That's it for now.
His daycare lady is called Shakira, as in the she wolf, as in my hips don't lie. I was at first attracted to this woman because of her name. It's awesome. The only other name that could compare to this, with regards to the person who I am going to entrust with my child's life, would be Magnum. If I could have found a daycare provider whose name was Magnum, that person would have beaten Shakira as Dexters daycare provider. There was another time I based a decision solely on the name of a person. I was looking for a new voice agent here in Toronto. I was going through the list of agents and saw that this one guy at AAB Talent was accepting submissions. His name was Warren Beatty. I called him right away. I wanted Warren Beatty in my corner. I met him and he looked like a regular sized Webster. I was going to say giant Webster, but that's really just a regular Webster right? Anyhow, turns out Warren was useless and I wasn't getting any auditions. I started asking around if this guy was any good. Turns out the A A B stands for Asian Action Booking. I am neither Asian or capable of any action. Well, that's not entirely true; I can do a pretty sweet high kick. Anyhow, I learned my lesson from making life decisions based on cool names and decided to do a little more research with regards to Shakira. Turns out she's awesome. Her English is a bit Persian but we seem to communicate effectively, except for the other day. When I picked Dex up from daycare Shakira tells me, "Oh Lareesa, diahrrhea sooo bad."
"Oh" I say, "That's too bad."
"Yes",she says, "it's very stinky."
"Oh ya? Well, was it something you ate?" She replies, "Maybe, what you eat him?" I say, "Oh ya, he's so cute I just want to eat him up." She looks at me really confused. "Well" I say, "I hope you feel better. Diarrhea's the worst." Her face twists from confused to understood. "Oohhh, noo" she says, "Shakira no have diarehhea, baby has diarrhea" She's saying this as she's pointing to her own bum. OHHHHHHHHH. Woops. She was telling me the baby had diarrhea and here I am telling her I hope her trots clear up. Hilarious but I think this makes our relationship even stronger. I was ok with hearing about her diarrhea and she was cool with me thinking she was talking to me about her floopy poops. That is precisely the kind of relationship I need with the woman I entrust my baby's life with. That's it for now.
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