I got Dark Roasted

I don't know if it's because Juliette is exceptionally cute (obviously) or if this stuff happens to everyone, but this happened to me the other day. I took the kids to Tim Hortons for breakfast one Saturday morning, because only the best for my kids! Juliette is a little over 1 1/2 so she pretty much never sits still. So she's kind of dancing around being cute as hell. This man, probably in his late 50's early 60's (in other word, HOT) is smiling at her as he's approaching and she's smiling back. He talks in a super weird baby voice to her for a few minutes asking her questions, which I clearly have to answer. This, in itself is weird enough. Some salty dog is pretending to hold a conversation with a toddler who I then have to answer. And he refuses to drop the baby voice. You know what, I'm going to start doing this to adults. I'm going to go up to some 30-something couple and start coo-ing at how cute the man is and then ask the woman how old he is, what his name is and if he's a good boy. Anyhow, this is happening and then out of nowhere he looks at me, very seriously, and says, "Kids are precious." "Oh aren't they?" I reply whilst chomping into a dirty Tim Hortons breakfast sandwich. "My wife and I LOVE kids. Unfortunately we couldn't have any." Ah shit, I think. Here we go. "Have you tried the dark roast?" I ask, "In my mind I feel like it tastes better but it's probably just the same coffee." "Yes, my wife is baron." "Your wife's a baron? I think you meant baroness, good sir." I didn't really say that. I wish. I'm not saying that this is a funny or light matter, not being able to have kids, I mean. I'm not THAT much of an a-hole. The funny part of this is that a Captain Highligner look-a-like just told me his infertility problems within, no kidding, 35 seconds of meeting me. How am I supposed to respond to that? I don't know if you can tell by the tone of this blog, but I am not a serious person so when I stranger tells me something incredibly personal and serious, I start to sweat and when I start to sweat things start smelling a bit like bacon. So I just do one of those sympathetic nods and "hmmmmmm's," while pretty much eating the breakfast sandwich in two bites. Dear Tim Hortons: make those things bigger. So anyhow, he looks at the ground for a second and I'm thinking, shit, he's going to cry. Which I am definitely not prepared to deal with. But he doesn't. Thank eff. Instead He comes close to me, puts his hand on my shoulder, which I slowly gazed towards and while I'm staring at his hand on my shoulder he tells me to enjoy every moment with these kids. I seriously felt like he was going to tell me to go and say 4 hail mary's and 3 our fathers. I still have weird catholic confession throw back moments. Anyhow, at this point Juliette had gotten a timbit from somewhere - I seriously have no idea where it came from, and I said "Amen" to the stranger and off he went. He was just being friendly and thought the kids were cute, but seriously Eff off weirdo. I'm just trying to quietly give my kids diabetes here.

A List

Here are some things I've learned after nearly 5 years of motherhood: 1. You will insert a tampon while your child watches. If they start looking horrified when you're doing it, it's time to kick them out. 2. If you have a boy, you will sit on piss nearly every day of your life until they figure out that they A) have to lift up the toilet seat or B) hit the goddamn water. 3. Your child will say Fuck, shit, damn and Jesus at an inopportune time. This is your fault. 4. You will clean shit off of every thing you can possibly imagine. This not only includes body parts but also furniture, outdoor decking, the car and if you're lucky, the cat. 5. The cat or dog becomes an annoying pain in the ass and you will feel guilty ignoring it but you'll still ignore it. 6. You'll try to get down while your kid has a nap but will always be listening for the kid to wake up and will thus, not enjoy it as much. 7. You'll actually get down while your kid has a nap and that kid will wake up and you'll jump off each other and run around naked, trying to figure out what to do. It will end with a towel and an attempt at hiding a boner. 8. When your kid gets old enough, you'll learn to somehow respond to constant questions and nattering while doing 8 other things. 9. You will discover that having a hangover and small children is fucking torture. 10.You will discover that you drink more regularly, but just enough not to induce a hangover. 11.You will suddenly realize how little you know when your child asks you simple questions about Canada's history. 12. Explaining every little detail about how Santa Claus works, is exhausting. 13. Christmas becomes way more awesome. 14. Actually every little thing that you haven't done since you were a kid, becomes awesome. Like tobogganing. 15. If you have a girl, you will be kind of grossed out by what comes out of her vagina when she's born. Gross. 16. There's a fairly good chance you'll get into a heated discussion with some hippie about vaccinations. No matter what happens, remind them that polio was eradicated and it's their fault it's back. 17. You thought you would never let your kid use the ipad, because "we didn't have that when we were growing up and we're fine!". Then at 5 am you don't give a shit about what you had. Just a few thoughts. In other news, we're going down to New Zealand with the kids. 18 hour flight, Juliette is free so she doesn't have a seat which means she'll have to be on our laps the whole time. I will do my best to chronicle the journey but I may just roofie myself instead.

Just clean the carpet,man

It isn't unusual for someone to tell you how to parent your child. At first this is annoying and you find ways to push your anger down while (oddly) thanking some stranger for their stupid opinion. "Oh yes, thank you, I should have a scarf on her", "Thank you, I should give her something to eat" or "Thank you, I will drink this entire bottle of wine in between waking up to breastfeed and deal with my vomiting 3 year old." No one suggested that. Anyhow, it hadn't happened to me in a while, until I got our carpets cleaned the other day. This may sound like some really sneaky way to suggest we had an orgy, but we actually got our carpets cleaned. I hope this doesn't sound too snobby but lets just say Mario didn't get into the carpet cleaning business because he didn't "feel" like going to med school or finishing his MBA. Super nice guy and good at his job but lets just say, if he had another brain, it would be lonely. So Mario comes over and both children were sick and home, so to say this day of carpet cleaning and sick children was going to be annoying, is an understatement. I had also bought a couch at IKEA a few days earlier and there were huge boxes in the living room that the kids were playing with. Mario comes in, starts telling me about his ex-wife having too many hamsters (for real) and notices the boxes. "Oh man!" he says, "Let's make a car". I thought he was joking but he wasn't. He asks me to get him scissors and some tape. Of course Dex is right into it. I thought it was cute (at first) but then 30 minutes into it I'm thinking, ok Mario, what say you clean the fucking carpets. We had to go to the doctor and I left the house, with the kids, while he continued to make the car. It's not like he was getting paid by the hour so I just sort of laughed it off but the familiar feeling of stomach pit rage was starting to bubble deep within. We get home and he's now cleaning the carpets and the box car has been constructed, which was sweet. My rage has subsided....for the moment. I put Juliette down for her nap and she's whining a bit but she'll nod off. Mario comes running down the stairs. "Your baby is crying, you should go and get her". Uhhhh ok Mario, I'm thinking, what say you clean the fucking carpets. But what I say is, "Thanks Mario, she'll be ok". "I dunno" he responds, "When my daughter is sick", (he has a nine year old) "I have to stay with her till she falls asleep". Right Mario, I'm thinking, but your daughter is probably high on carpet cleaning fumes like you, but instead I say, "Thanks Mario." So he goes about his business and I proceed to put Dex down for a nap. As I go up the stairs Mario calls after me, "Try rubbing his back! That's how I get my daughter to sleep." The rage is starting to bubble again. Right Mario, I think, I'm sure you're just the worlds best Dad around what with your hopped up 9 year old who lives in a house over run with hamsters. But instead I say, "Thanks Mario." Dex settles down and I go down to my office to do some work. Dex has gotten out of bed and now Mario is screaming, "Melissa!Melissa! Your son's out of bed! TRY RUBBING HIS BACK!" The rage is now in my throat. I run upstairs and get Dex. "Try rubbing his back" Mario yells over the carpet cleaning machine, I respond, "ARE YOU NEARLY DONE?! What say you just clean the carpets." Woops. What I was thinking now has become what I've said. I love slash hate when that happens. Anyhow, I don't think he even heard a word I said as he just kept googly eyed smiling at me. Needless to say, Mario "cleaned my carpets" if you know what I mean and you should expect to see the video on an Internet near you any day now. Obviously a joke. The best part of all of this, to me, was when he took his baseball hat off and he had a complete chrome dome. This alone, is not funny, but the whole time I thought he had long hair. He had total Kim Mitchell hair from the 80's - completely bald on top but long all the way around! Amazing. He's also really good at his job and affordable so if you're in the market to get your carpets cleaned, with free parenting advice included, let me know.

In the system

You know what's crazy? The fact that my Dad, whose name is Jean-Claude, can't properly pronounce Jian...as in Ghomeshi. They basically have the same name: Jean and Jian. So similar. It's like if you're born and bred Canadian and over 70 you simply refuse to try to pronounce any name that isn't anglo or French. You know what else is crazy? That Ghomeshi is a total asshole perv fuck. Anyhow, moving along. Dex is in Junior Kindergarten which blows my mind. It's like just minutes ago I lost control of my bowels trying to get him out. So now I'm a person who drops off, and picks her kid up from school. I tried to befriend the teen moms, since we're so close in age, but they weren't into my talk of the 90's. Unlike daycare, you have to provide a lunch and snacks. The first 2 weeks I kept forgetting to either a) make a lunch or b) made it and then forgot to put it in his backpack. It's probably best for the teachers to understand early that I'm slightly incompetent. I work for myself so it gives me the flexibility to pick Dex and Juliette up at 3:30, which is nice. I'm not sure what it's like in other places, but in Toronto, everyone who is picking up a little kid from school congregates outside of the school and the teacher then releases the kids one by one, to their parent or nanny. As a result, I've gotten to know the people who are either stay at home Mom's and Dad's, or have a weird life of self-employment, like me. In the beginning I thought, "You know what Larissa, you should probably just tone it down for the first little while and not bring out the full throttle Larissa Primeau." So my kid gets playdates and all that shit. Didn't last long. I volunteered for the first Pizza Day. It just so happened that a good friend offered her ticket to go and see The Black Keys the night before pizza day. I subwayed it down to the ACC and met up with her husband, also a good friend. We went in and once in the ACC he bought us those massive ACC beers that cost as much as invitro fetilization. Far be it from me to waste any money so I finished the Big Gulp of beer and enjoyed the show. The next day I went off to Pizza day. There were a few people volunteering and we were all standing around awkwardly waiting to be told what to do. It was pretty quiet so I thought I would break the ice with a joke. I say, "Am I the only one hungover in here or what? " One lady laughed but it was a bit tumbleweed-y. Over time I've met lots of nice people who seem to enjoy my brand of humour so I think everything will be ok. For now. In other news, Juliette is in daycare and she's cute as hell. We were out at IKEA today (what a shit show) and there was this complete freak guy walking around and singing. I'm pretty sure he was drunk. Juliette was running around the aisles and he suddenly stops in front of her. He was super tall too and had wild hair. Imagine a really tall Christopher Lloyd. She looks up at him and says "Allo" and he, for real, starts to tap dance in front of her. All 6ft 7 inches of this guy. He wasn't bad either. It was terrifying and hilarious, all at once. Perhaps exhilarating is the right word. Also, I just had to look up how to spell exhilarating. She laughed her head off and he went on his way. Maybe he works there. It seemed like something someone Swedish would do.

I'm baaaaaack

Hello! So I've enjoyed writing this blog over the years and I pretty much stopped after I had my second child for two reasons 1) I was working full time and had a new baby at home and a toddler and moved houses and 2) I've been really busy staring my own line of ball gags. It's called "Let's Have a Ball.....Gag!" Anyhow, Juliette is now a year and a half, (or 18 months for the annoying), and Dex is 4 and in Junior kindergarten which means I am now 28. God does time fly. So I'm just working (or trying to) three days a week and have Juliette home with me Monday's and Fridays. We went to our first baby sing song group thingy today. Unlike her vaginal canal predecessor Dex, we did NOTHING the first year of her life. When I was on a proper Mat leave with Dex and just had one baby, we did swimming lessons, sing song group, art, kindergym - all kinds of time killers. Juliette basically ate saltenes and stared at me working. She even came on a location scout with me a couple of times and since she's the cutest thing since Nick Cannon's soul patch, no one seemed to mind. Well if they did, they never said anything to me but that's because I made them try out my latest prototype from "Let's Have a Ball.....Gag!" But to be honest,I think it's made her a really well adjusted child, thus far. She's pretty good at entertaining herself. Anyhow, we go to this music class today and it's everything you would pretty much expect except for this one beast of lady, who I had actually seen before at an indoor playground, and I will never forget. I'll tell you why. She looks a bit like she's had a rough life, as in her face looks like it's had a few ball gags in it. Her little boy is super cute and running wild. He's nearly two. Now I will precede this next comment with this. I don't really give a shit how long you breastfeed. It's none of my business and it's good for the child. However, what I saw at this indoor playground was the most violence I have seen against an innocent breast ever in my life. This, fairly large 2 year old went up to his mother, ripped her top down and started pulling her by the titty. Like a dog. It was so weird to see a woman being dragged by her boob. Like when you see a cat on a leash. I mean honestly. Get a dog. So she grabs him and puts him on her boob and he starts chowing down. I, of course, look for too long and she says, "He's really hungry." No shit. So sure enough, she's in this music class and I recognize her instantly. So the kid runs up to her, pulls her shirt down and starts honking on it with the kind of vigour that can only be compared to Rob Fords expertise on the crack pipe. The funniness happens when her kid gets off and starts running around and she just doesn't bother putting her titty back in her shirt. So she is literally running around the sing song circle, while we're singing The Wheels on The Bus, with lefty hanging out of the top of her shirt,trying to capture a rambunctious 2 year old. She was wearing a V-Neck and no bra, to give you an idea of the mechanics of it. I happen to glance at the one Grandpa who has brought his Grandson and he's staring to oddly sing really loudly and stare up at the ceilling, as though that will make the fact that he's staring at a run-away boob, go away. Well now I can't take it and just start laughing. I look down at Juliette to pretend like it's the baby that I'm laughing at but I can't stop. It's getting worse, like I'm tearing up. Anyhow, the song ends and so does the class and I'm dying to talk to someone about the hilarious incident of the runaway boob, but it's the first class so I've got no friends yet and there's a good chance that I'm the only one immature enough to think a boob flopping around a sing-song circle is that funny. Now I've been a part of a few drum circles in my day, especially the West Coast days, and I still didn't see this amount of titty. So that's tit. Until next time.

The Gong Show

Juliette is now 6 months and clearly life is more hectic with two kids and a business, than it was with Dex. This is my second blog in 6 months. The truth is, it's easier bringing home the second baby than it was bringing home the first because your freedom has already been stolen by number one so what the hell. What does, however, change is the amount of work. Like anything, the work load doubles. Two kids waking up and needing to be fed, two kids needing to be dressed - not to mention the breastfeeding of the baby and of Will. When Juliette was about a week old I had made her a bath in one of those plastic baby bath thingy's. I put it on the bathroom counter and brought her into her room to get her undressed. Dex was in the bathroom pooping. We only have one bathroom. Dex is calling for me but I'm ignoring him as this is something I tend to do a lot of now that I've brought another baby into the mix. Anyhow, I come into the bathroom and put the baby in her bath because she is screaming I'm assuming because she's cold, so I want to put her in the bath as quickly as possible. As I'm putting her in the tub, Dex has started to cry. He has his pants around his ankles and is pretty much incoherent. Through the noise of the double child cry, I see that he has missed the toilet and dropped a deuce in the middle of the bathroom floor. Oh Lord. I've got one hand on the baby in the tub, and the other reaching for something to pick up the turd. Dex is now reaching unbelievable decibels and so is the baby. As I'm picking up the floor turd (with my bare hands) and trying not to let two high pitched cries bother me, I'm going back to a time in my mind when I was quite glamorous. I'm remembering making out with a gorgeous young Spaniard on the banks of the Thames or the time I went to the opera in Vienna. These are real things that I actually did. But now I'm picking up floor turds. Don't get me wrong, Motherhood is rewarding, and sometimes that reward comes in the form of a big floor steamer.

What the hell is going on

So the baby showed up which you probably could have guessed considering last time I wrote a blog I was overdue. She was born on April 20th which is 420 and also Hitlers birthday so pretty opposite ends of the spectrum. I can see it already. Some pimply faced loser teenage boy will say to my beautiful daughter, "Hey Juliette, your birthday is on the same day as the international day of weed! Wanna smoke a joint?" Honestly. That's what I'M supposed to be doing on her birthday. Stupid fake teenage boys. Anyhow she's the cutest thing of all time and was much easier on the old birth canal. I guess her brother really paved the way with his massive head. It's like the Lincoln Tunnel down there. Sexy. She was only 7lbs, 2 oz so I wasn't given a VagAnus (I can't take credit for this amazing word) this time around. Needless to say if I thought one child was a gong show, two is almost comical. Oh and this time around, I'm self employed so there's no Mat Leave per say. Two weeks after Juliette was born I was shooting this big executive type and as we're halfway through the take I can feel it happening. Yup that weird tingly sensation when you're about to leak boob milk all over. So it happened but no one seemed to notice, or at least pretended not to. Anyhow, things have settled down slightly so I figured now would be a good time to fire up the ol' blog again. The second time around is a whole lot less fanfare as you know or can imagine. No showers, no birth classes - which are both good things. What a colossal waste of money those birth classes are. Can anyone who has had a baby honestly say they can recall anything that the hippy teacher was talking about when you were pushing a human out of your Vagina, Sasnatchewan? Anyhow, I guess because we had a girl this time around we got lots of cute girly things for her. But the BEST present we got was a piece of clothing I have no words for.

My best description is Crotchless Baby Pants.So I guess I do have words for it. These came from Dexter's daycare provider, which one would think was pretty creepy, but I don't think she even had a clue that these crotchless wonders were in there. I've had conversations with a lot of people regarding the purpose of the crotch hole in these pants. Is it to change a diaper? Impossible. Is it to show off a stylish pair of baby underwear? Maybe but what's the point in that? Are they simply crotchless baby pants? Yup. Pretty much. Again, I don't think Shakira (Dex's daycare lady) had a clue that these were a part of this massive, ornate box of baby clothes she gave us. It was one of those boxes that has a clear plastic top and all of these yellow baby clothes push pinned into styrofoam. Like it would be in the window of an old family owned clothing store on the Danforth that sells Baptism dresses. You know what I'm talking about? Anyhow, there was a bunch of Chinese writing on the box so somewhere in China, there is a place that is manufacturing crotchless baby pants. Someone tell the CBC. I smell a Passionate Eye. The baby is now 5 months so I've got an arsenal of material from a woman telling me that Red heads used to be burned at the stake (Juliette is a red head) to forgetting I even had a new baby. I'll tell you that one really quick. Again, having the second is way smoother than the first as your freedom and sleep was already ripped from you once you had the first one. So Will and I and Dex and week old Juliette went and looked at this house for sale, out of curiousity, because it was on a ravine. I put the baby, in her car seat on the living room floor and toured the house while also making sure Dex didn't destroy it. We're in the basement chatting about the house when this very concerned looking real estate agent pokes her head around the corner and says, "Um, someone jus left a baby upstairs, is it yours?" I immediately looked at her like she was the idiot and started saying "Nnnn...YES! Shit , she's ours!" Will and I start laughing because we honestly forgot about her, for just a minute, because she was literally a week old and it oddly takes some time to a) remember the baby's name and b) remember that you've had a baby. I think it's because you're so busy with the other one and work and everything that it's just not totally the focus like number one was. I figure that's why the youngest child is always the most well adjusted. I'm the youngest of four.Anyhow, this woman was there to show some couple the house and looked at us like we might have been the ones whose idea it was to use chemical warfare in Syria. So up we went and she was cute as can be, sleeping away. No harm, no foul. Shit. Baby just woke up and she's gonna want to go to the breastaurant. Gotta go. Until next time.

I need a chamber maid

My baby was due yesterday but I've been convinced she's coming for the past 3 weeks so basically to say I'm on edge is an understatement. One, I'm ready to not be pregnant and pee upwards of 7-8 times a night. Seriously. This baby's head has been down for about a month now which basically means that my bladder is a pancake and I don't know how I don't suffer from dehydration I've been peeing so much. I was debating whether or not I would write about what I'm about to say but I feel like if I share this information with you, perhaps it might help someone. You know how people do that? They'll tell their story and then say, "If it helps just one person..." Usually it's something really awful about like rape or some kind of disorder that will inspire people to get help. My story to help the world is about urination. Anyhow, once my peeing got to such ridiculous amounts in the night I decided to do what my French ancestors did before me. You see The Primeaus come from a long line of aristocracy hailing from the most Northern parts of Ontario. There was no in door plumbing. There was no outdoor plumbing. There was holes and chamber pots. Getting up 7 times a night and traipsing to the bathroom was starting to get to me so I decided to get back to my primal roots. I started using a chamber pot. Yup. I think watching Downton Abbey at the time may have helped me feel as though it was the right thing to do. If Lady Mary and Lady Grantham use a chamber pot than why can't I? They're ladies! Anyhow, it was a god send and think what you will, but if you're up 7 times a night to pee you start to get desperate and quite honestly I'm not ashamed. Well, I'm a little bit ashamed but that's a feeling I've grown accustomed to over the years. My favorite part of all of this is that most of my friends who I've told this to either laugh their heads off or are sort of grossed out. The one person who thought it was a perfectly fine idea, in fact a great idea, is my mother in law. She grew up in the country in New Zealand. I guess I didn't really need to say the country. It's like saying "she grew up in the city in Manhattan." So anyhow ladies, if a tiny humans head is pushing on your bladder for upwards of a month, don't be ashamed to do what nature intended. Well, nature in the 1800's. I hope this helped even just one person.

In the shit

It has been a REALLY long time since I wrote a blog about my time in the MotherHood.I pretty much fell off the blog train after Dex turned 2. It was a combination of a few things really: modelling for the website Five Foot 3 and Proud, as well as auditioning to be the next Pope. I really have no excuse but the craziness of life, and to be honest, writing about life with a 2 year old, for a year, would have been a series of me going on and on about how something that isn't even 3 feet tall can honestly make you lose your mind with both love and frustration. Maybe more frustration than love most days. We recently went on a trip to Barbados and it was one of those trips where you're sure you're going to somehow figure out a way to move your life down there and just become island folks. It occurred to me, while I was there, why everyone is so laid back and seems so nice to one another. They NEVER have to put a toddler in a fucking snowsuit. EVER. And the marijuana. The snowsuit issue has become the bain of my existence. I understand why Dex dosen't want to wear one, I don't want to wear one either but I do. Even when it's not that cold out. It's difficult to pee when you're in a one piece creme coloured snowsuit all day but I do it, because it's practical. Sometimes it's difficult showing up at business meetings while everyone waits for you to take off your one piece, belted snowsuit, but you know what, I'm not gonna freeze for them, or anyone else. Anyhow, the best move is when he plays limp when you're trying to get him into this damn thing. It's probably my own fault. It's a move I use during sex. Anyhow, I think it's during those times, when you're desperate to get out of your house, and your defiant toddler won't do anything you ask of him, when I'm closest to losing my mind. I had a neighbour, who has two young boys, ask me if I ever spank Dex. I, personally, don't spank him but it's not that I think someone is evil if they spank their kid. I got spanked and it was probably for the best. Problem with me is I suffer from a tremendous amount of Catholic guilt. Although I've nearly shaken all of the Catholic off of me, I still have a film of guilt that I just can't seem to get rid of. That, and a fear of zombies. I mean, for 13 years of Catholic education I was told that Jesus rose from the dead. Ummmm, I don't want to be the one stating the obvious here but in my books, that makes him one of the first recorded zombies. Anyhow, I don't utilize the spank method but by all means if that's your thing, I don't judge. I may have judged before I had a toddler but honestly, they can try your patience so hard that it takes everything in you not to seriously lose it. You know what also makes you want to lose it? Potty training. I had a lot of people tell me, "You'll know when they're ready". Well as a bit of a control freak I figured, "he'll be ready when I say he's ready." The best was when I took a week off to just dedicate to potty training. We were getting the car detailed downtown and I took Dex to St.Lawerence Market to kill some time. I had him in underwear because I was going with the cold turkey method, which, as a former smoker, I should have known never works. Sure enough he drops a MASSIVE deuce in between the Kosliks mustard and the cheese stand. Thankfully those two battling smells masked the toddler crap scent. Unfortunately this wasn't a solid turd. It was GROSS and I had to go to the washroom, take everything off of him because there was crap everywhere. Up his shirt, on his pants, somehow on his socks. So now I have a naked 2.5 year old in the public bathroom, which now smells like shite, who is running around singing or doing whatever. I really don't remember because I was in the midst of wrapping a pair of tiny blue underwear, (that looked like a 300 pound man had unleashed 4 weeks of eating stew in them) up in the free St Lawerence Market newspaper. This woman opens the door and sees me, covered in shit, my son, naked and covered in shit and for some reason I think I remember a bird being in the washroom. I can't be too sure. She had a slight look of horror on her face until I somehow managed to utter, "Potty training isn't going too well" at which she laughed. I'm assuming she had either been through it with a kid, or herself wasn't potty trained. I managed to get him cleaned up as best as I could but anyone who has had to clean, not so solid shit, off of a little boy knows that sometimes only a bath will get those little balls clean. Would you have ever thought, when you were bouncing around the world at 24, seeing amazing things and discovering the possibilities of your life, that cleaning poop off of tiny balls would be a real problem in your future? So then I just gave up and sure enough, about 2 weeks before his 3rd birthday, just like I had been told, Dex came up to me and said he had to poop. He told me when he was ready. I guess some advice is worth listening too. Speaking of poop, I'm about to give birth in 4 weeks. Yup, number two on the way. And a baby.

These are the people in my neighborhood, in my neighborhood

I should be working right now. That's the problem when you work from home, it's so easy to get distracted. Here is an example of a conversation I've had in my head, while I'm working at home: "Hey Larissa, do you want to work or do you think you should watch that episode of Game Of Thrones you PVR'd? "

Anyhow, I was supposed to have a birthday party for Dex but he got sick. Ah well, I hate cleaning up after those things anyhow. Nothing but condoms and pills left behind.
We live in Toronto and it's no secret that housing prices are ridiculous. Will and I bought in the East End of the city in 2008. Even back then we paid far too much for the house we have but whatever. Toronto is where we want to live so you just have to accept that this is the way it goes. Our neighborhood, as I have mentioned in other blogs, isn't exactly the most upscale of 'hoods. It's not the worst neighborhood in the city, but its got some "elements" to put it nicely. In fact, about 6 months ago there was a big prostitution bust at our main intersection. That, in itself, is not really shocking. There's prostitutes everywhere and who really cares. To me the bit that was slightly unnerving was that one of the prostitutes was 68. Lets do the math here. You're 68, which probably means you've been a prostitute since your early 20's, maybe even earlier. But wait. I'm jumping to conclusions here. Maybe she was a high-powered judge, living in BelAir with her 3 gorgeous children, while also taking in her wise cracking nephew. What do I know. Anythings possible. But lets assume she didn't have a mid-life crisis and decide to start hookin' (street lingo for hooking) when she was a younger woman. That's about 48 years as a pro-stitute. No amateurs on this corner. That is downright nasty.
I've lost my point here. My point is, before Dex, this kind of stuff rolled off my back. It was kind of funny that 68 year old women were spending their golden years giving Golden showers by the Golden Arches at Vic Park and the Danforth. I liked that my neighborhood had some grit to it. Now, it angers me and every idiot I see drinking Labatt Blue at 9am on their government funded porch, pisses me off. It's the part of Maternal Instinct they leave out of the baby books.
On the other hand, if I didn't live here, I wouldn't have any material for this blog, or at least very little.
Here's a doozie. As I mentioned, Dex was sick last week. I stayed home with him all week because it was the kind of illness you can't dump on your daycare, although there were days I really wanted to. Total gong show of a week. Anyhow, Dex was feeling slightly better so I walked to the Scotiabank at Danforth and Main. It was about 4 o'clock and the actual bank was closed but the machines were open. Dex and I were the only ones in there until this absolute bat shit crazy woman came rambling through the door with her cart of crap. I usually know, or recognize, most of these people in the neighborhood, and for the most part, they're pretty harmless. In fact, it's the super crazy ones that I have a heart for. It's not their fault. The crack heads, on the other hand, are the scummiest and scariest. They're too unpredictable and is it just me or do crackheads always seem like they're in a rush? Where the hell do they have to go except to score more crack? Anyhow, this woman comes into the bank machine area and is muttering to herself. It looked as though she had recently shaved her head and it was good to see that she was keeping warm as it appeared as if she was wearing about 14 layers. Anyhow, she went up to a bank machine and just started losing it! SHe started swearing like crazy and getting louder and louder. At this point I started to freak out slightly, it was kind of scary. I was desperately trying to finish depositing my $500,000 cheques before she totally lost it. As her voice starts getting louder, Dex gets scared and now he starts crying, while this lunatic is saying every variation of Fuck you can imagine. I grab my bank card out of the machine and just as I quickly get all my stuff together, the swearing stops for a split second. Now I hear something else. It's a recognizable sound, I've heard it before. Birds chirping? Nope. Harps harpsichording? Nope. Crazy ass woman pee'ing herself right on the bank machine floor in broad daylight? Ding!Ding!Ding! That's the sound. It occurred to me later that she obviously didn't have anything on under her 4 skirts because the pee hit the floor with such gusto there was certainly nothing in it's way. I get the hell out of there and calm Dex down by cuddling him and promising him a timbit, at the Tim Hortons on the corner. He settles down and so do I, slightly. We get to the Tim Hortons and the aforementioned crackhead who opens the door all day is there with his cracky girlfriend who is doing that weird cracked out dance. You know the one? It's sort of half jitterbug, 1/2 shimmy with a tiny dash of spaz? As we're approaching the door, I see some other guy come and pass the door-opening crackhead drugs. Nice. The crackhead makes eye contact with me, I look away and go inside. I come out to find the drug dealer and the two crack heads in a full on brawl. I don't know what the hell happened but they're all yelling at one another and whatever has calmed Dex down has now stopped working and he's crying again. I literally break out into a run to get off of this corner. I'm clear of the madness when I look down and see that I've nearly rolled the stroller over a dead pigeon.

Needless to say, I can only take so much, no matter how good of a story it makes. We're moving out of this neighborhood one of these days. I just need to find a few extra hundred thousand. I anyone has any ideas as to how I can, very quickly, round up a few hundred grand, I'm open to suggestions. The obvious answer is to sell drugs. I think I may know some one who is upset with their current supplier.

Well whaddya know

Spring is here which means shaving ones body, now becomes priority. This is why swimming in the winter, with your child,is somewhat problematic.
I was at swimming lessons with Dexter a few weeks ago. The instructor that day, was a super hot, half Japanese, half Scottish surfer dude. Just because I'm married, and a mom, doesn't mean I'm blind. So I'm staring at him and playing with Dexter in the pool. I'm thinking, "geez, I bet he thinks I'm pretty hot, everyone else in here needs to stop eating Blizzards". So Dex is jumping in the pool and I'm laughing and chatting away to him. I even noticed him staring at me while he thought I wasn't looking. I thought to myself, "Stiiiiiiilllll got it!"
So we have the baby swimming lessons and I say goodbye, come home and shower. Whilst in the shower I realized I hadn't shaved my armpits in quite some time. Like maybe all winter. It was comparable to Nena, in the video 99 Luft Balloons. I then realized why he was really staring at me.
I tell you what, that Will Macky is one lucky man.
So two days ago was the 2 year mark of the most thrilling day of my life...up until this point. It was Dex's 2nd birthday! I say, "up until this point" because I have yet to meet Gary Busey and I'm pretty sure that's going to be super awesome.
Anyhow, he's just about the cutest thing in the world, even if he can be a bit of a handful at times. I love how he talks and especially that he'll repeat nearly everything I say. I, of course, take this special opportunity to use him as a puppet to repeat my (often inappropriate) meanderings. A lot of people wish their babies and toddlers "Happy Birthday" on facebook but Dexter isn't on Facebook yet so I don't see the point.

So now that he's two, we often get the question: "when are you going to have another one?" Fine, it's a standard question but when I start getting ovulation advice from my neighbor, I start to get a bit grossed out and annoyed. What I really want to say is, "Do you really care when we have another child? Is it really any of your business?"
In high school we had this ridiculous teacher who had his wife come in and preach "the rhythm method" to us. I would be trying to rip apart the pages on birth control that they had glued together in our health text books, while she was talking about her discharge. Then I would look to my right to see a pregnant 16 year old, then to my left to see the same thing. Catholics.
Anyhow,I did take something away from this. If you tell someone you're practicing "the rhythm method" they usually stop asking questions about your sex life.
So that's it. Two years down, 14 more until Dexter's our designated driver.

This sounds fake but I swear it's not

Hey.
So it's pretty crazy that Dex is going to be 2 years old on March 20th. It feels like only yesterday I pooped on the delivery table. Oh the memories.
He is officially in toddler mode which is hilarious but certainly tries your patience, anyone who says it doesn't is a goddamn liar. Like seriously kid, I made this amazing meal that took forever and you're going to throw your spoon and chant eggs? I guess I deserve it, I did teach him to chant a lot. I find it usually gets you what you want. For example, if you want a free ride on the subway just go up to the sloth working for the TTC behind the glass, and just chant "FREE RIDE FREE RIDE FREE RIDE" for as long as it takes.
Anyhow, the other thing about a toddler is that you really have to always be doing something with them. They're not into hanging around while you read the Hunger Games trilogy. This is why daycare and work are often a welcome relief to motherhood. Anyhow, Dex and I were hanging out on Friday and I had heard on the radio, that The Cranberries were going to play a few songs down at this station on the lakeshore. I was a teenage girl in the 90's so it was part of my puberty path to listen to and love: Alanis Morrisette, The Cranberries, The Indigo Girls and Ani DiFranco.
Alanis really spoke to me. She was so in tune with my hormones. Wanna know why? Cause I'm here, to remind you, of the mess you left when you went away.
So it was disgusting out on Friday, freezing rain and general gross winter plummeting from the sky.
We had already been swimming so Dex was pretty tired and fell asleep on the way to the concert. Shit, I thought, he's going to be miserable for this thing and having worked in radio myself, I know it probably wouldn't be a great idea to have a cranky 2 year old around during a live broadcast. So I put one hand in my pocket, fished out my Roll Up The Rim donut winner, and went to Tim Hortons to get a bunch of chocolate timbits. I figured if Dex started to fuss, I would pull a Pez dispenser and keep loading him up with sugar.
I'm in the parking lot and he is OUT, like Mommy on a Sat night trying to watch Moneyball after drinking too much 7 dollar red wine. He's drooling, zipper imprinted in his face, totally out.He was a Zombie, Zombie, Zombie eah eah eah. I'm gently trying to get him up. Nothing is working, so now I clap and start to sing. Nice Mom eh? Also, I must have looked like an idiot, clapping and singing in the parking lot of a radio station. He wakes up slowly and I can see he's pissed, I mean I would be too! But what he doesn't understand is that Mommy spent a lot of Friday nights listening to The Cranberries, getting ready to go to NRG all ages nightclub where she would drink firewater, a mixture of all of Grandma and Grandpas booze. Surely he could understand how important this was for me!
I immediately initiate Operation TimBit overload and he seems to be content. We run through the hail and sleet, into the reception area of the radio station. I had noticed two Escalades had pulled up while I was torturing my toddler out of sleep and sure enough, it was The Cranberries! There was Delores O'Riordan! Some guys had been waiting for her and jumped to get their stuff signed. I went up to reception to ask where we went to get into the studio. Dex was a few feet behind me, eating timbits. I turn around and there's Delores O'Riordan coo'ing at Dex and talking to him. Now I'm going to attempt to write in an Irish accent, like Frank McCourt. She said, "ohhh, isn't he soooo cute." Wait, it sounds Irish in my head, but it just looks normal. I'm all smiles watching this and suddenly Dex drops his Timbit on the floor.
Before I was a parent, I would probably have judged someone who let their kid eat food they dropped on the floor, but now that I'm fully in it, I could care less. It happens ALL OF THE TIME. Besides, we all know about the 5 second rule so who cares right? Delores O'Riordan apparently. I'm staring at her smiling like an idiot and she blurts out, "Oh, the baby! Don't let him eat the donut from the floor!"
Shit. An international rock star is telling me how to parent. If this was some idiot in Loblaws I would have a contrite, witty comeback but I couldn't do it. So I jumped and ran to Dex and grabbed the Timbit out of his hand before he put it in his mouth. He was looking at me like "What the hell was that all about?" She smiled at me and walked away with her entourage. I gave Dex his timbit back.
So we go into the studio and it's rammed with people but it turns out, if you bring a super cute 2 year old to a live broadcast you get treated pretty well. They only sang two songs, but I figured as much, they don't give that stuff out for free very often. That's why you have to steal it.
Anyhow, Delores O'Riordan kept smiling and winking at Dex but I pretended in my mind she was doing it to me. Then the show ended and she came up to us and crouched down and started cooing and talking to Dex. She asked me how old he was and all that stuff you ask people with an adorable kid. Having just been ripped from a deep sleep, Dex was in a total daze, even after the show. He just stared at her but at least he didn't hurl his Timbit. I was super tempted to make a joke about how he was a Zombie, since he had just woken up but I knew it seemed funnier in my head than it would have been out loud. Instead I just said, "Oh I think he's a bit star struck."
So that's it. Our small brush with fame on a Friday. I came home with a smile on my face and just for old times sake, mixed together a bunch of booze and danced to 90's dance tunes. It was just like being a teenage again. Except for the state of my breasts.

The HorseWhisperer

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

It's been a while

I am not the best blogger in the world, this I can admit. I think this might be the first one this month. Don't judge, I've been busy. I got married and became the Duchess of Cambridge. I just had my last show after 25 years of talk show magic and I've been trying to come up with more ways to make myself sound like a giant idiot by going about trying to disprove Barack Obamas citizenship. I've been busy. Needless to say, chasing around a toddler may be as exhausting as having a newborn suckle on your teat. Dexter is hobbling around like I do on a Friday night after a bottle of $7.50 Fuzion. He's so cute it's hilarious but at the same time, he's definitely figuring out how to push the old buttons. It's so interesting to see his little mind work. What blows my mind is how much and how well I know this little person. What's really scary is that my Mom knows my mind this well. God help her. She must lose sleep at night knowing what goes on in this warped mass of brain matter.

I'm still working on my business while mothering while scanning for other jobs. It's pretty busy but what the hell. If I didn't have this taking up my time I would probably just be scanning the internet for porn. I'm still taking Dex to baby swimming lessons on Monday mornings. I think I'm the baby swimming lesson pariah. Here's the thing; I'm a talker. When I'm in the pool with a bunch of babies and adults, I'm going to chat to the adults. Let's just be honest here for a second. The babies are cute and everything but after about 10 minutes in the pool with them, it sort of gets boring. How many times can you sing "The Wheels on the Bus" until you want to shoot yourself in the face? I can tell you. Once. You will sing that song once and then you're over it. So, I spend the other 20 minutes of the lesson bopping Dex in and out of the water while I chat to the other Mom's and Dad's. At first I think they were a little bit weirded out by me and I can't blame them. They're probably thinking, "Um, how does a professional fitness model get Monday's off?"
The Filipino nannies have been the chattiest, and I appreciate it. After swimming, myself and two of the nannies go to Tim Hortons where I drink too much coffee and pretend to know what they're talking about. One of the nannies asked me who I was nannying for. I said, "I'm not his nanny". Maybe my disinterest in baby swimming lessons made them think that there's no way I'm the Mom.
So one of the Dad's in baby swimming lessons has started to warm up to me. We'll chat and laugh and we share weekend stories. I'm 90% sure he's gay but I'm sure people say that about me too so I try not to jump to conclusions. Anyhow, I hadn't noticed up until recently, but he has a nipple ring. It's not as if I haven't seen nipple rings before. The 90's were a real boom for piercers and nipple piercing was the norm. I didn't go for the nipple but like a lot of idiots in their 20's I thought it was an AMAZING idea to get my eyebrow pierced. Lesson number one in making yourself more unattractive: Pierce your eyebrow. So I'm chatting to the nipple pierced Daddy in the pool and for some stupid reason I couldn't stop looking at his nipple ring. We're talking and I KNOW my eyes are bobbing up and down from his face to his nipple. I know he knows I'm looking at it, but I couldn't stop! 'What the hell is the matter with you Larissa?' I internally scream at myself, 'Stop looking at his freaking nipple!' but I couldn't. It was like I was in a nipple trance. I was being hypnotized by his nipple and it started to get uncomfortable. Now I was staring at the spot directly above his nose so that I would stop staring at his nipple, but I felt that was super obvious too. I started to sweat, even though I was in a pool. He then looked down at his own nipple. 'Oh shit. He's onto me'. Yup, he was. He took his baby girl and waded over to the Filipino nannies. 'Oh God', I think, 'Don't tell my nannies! I need them.' They started talking and I swear one of them gave me the sideways scorn. Anyhow, class ended and I got the hell out of there. I didn't even bother to stick around afterwards to pee in the pool. I like to leave my scent.
I've been to baby swimming lessons since and he's not been there. I hope I didn't scare him off with my staring problem. I'll let you know if he ever returns. My relationship with the Filipino nannies seems to have survived the incident. We're still just smiling and laughing at one another even though I'm pretty sure neither of us understand the other.
Maybe to smooth things over , I'll re-pierce my eyebrow so that he knows he wasn't the only one in the 90's who got sucked in.