A few blogs back I mentioned that for a few months, late last year, I was the spokesperson for a large company that sells baby product. I have to be careful what I say so I'll tell you that the name of the aforementioned company rhymes with Scabies R' Pus. It's true! I was paid to fly around Canada, go on Breakfast Television in the major cities, and be one of those buffoons who carries on (at way too early in the morning) about some idiot crap no one cares about. In this case, it was baby crap. I took the gig because, well, the money was decent and I've been on Mat Leave. Why not? My friend hooked me up with it and for that I'm totally grateful. She could not have known the experience that would ensue. Needless to say, I got the boot, not really surprising. Hawking baby crap is the antithesis of what I am but money is money and I'm not above selling my soul for a few bucks. Or selling my body. What a sec, who said that?
I may have mentioned , on live TV, that I was going to drink wine out of my sons sippy cup, but in my defense it was in Winnipeg and I was just trying to be relateable. In Vancouver I may have mentioned some people are really into thumb sucking...like a fetish, so I can see how they figured I wasn't a good "fit". They were totally right to fire me. My loving husband tells me that I'm not allowed to come on this blog and speak negatively of Scabies R' Pus. He's right, we could get sued. So that being said I will say only positive things of the company. For example, Scabies R' Pus does a great job at saving money on travel, using only the most economical hotels for business travel.As well, Scabies R' Pus does an AMAZING job at avoiding employee obesity by limiting their food and drink Per Diem to as little as humanly possible. If you're an employee of Scabies R'Pus it's probably less painful than being Rob Fords wife during intercourse.
Is it wrong that the baby is in bed and I'm drinking scotch? Butch? Yes. Delicious? Absolutely. I have to honestly say that not drinking while pregnant was really challenging. Honestly, hardest 5 months of my life.
Until next time.
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Friday, February 4, 2011
It's in a name
I've discovered that even though I live in the city, I am far from urban. How did I come to this conclusion? I looked at a flyer today and went to No Frills to buy the ribs that were on sale. I am officially a Mom. I'm only a heartbeat away from cutting coupons. I don't know if I'm ready to accept this harsh reality. Anyhow, let me tell you, No Frills lives up to its name; especially this one. See, not only was I at No Frills, I was at a No Frills in Scarborough.This particular No Frills really adheres to the whole "No Frill" philosophy when they're hiring staff. It's like it was a prerequisite for employment to no longer have even one of your original teeth. I felt like I had walked into a needle exchange program. Where do they find these women? Normally I enjoy grocery shopping. It's one of the few domestic chores that I genuinely enjoy. I usually go to Loblaws or Sobeys where the lighting isn't too harsh, the music plays gently over the speakers and the aisles are wide and inviting.The cashiers are pleasant or at least without a criminal record. I sound like I'm being a bit hard on this No Frills, but you should seriously go have a look at these cashiers. It's where cashiers go to die, I'm sure of it. The beast that was checking me out looked to be around 65-ish. She smiles at the baby and makes baby noises at him. I stand there awkwardly. I give my obligatory remark, "Oh, do you have children?"
"Yes", she answers, "but they're all grown up." I say, "Oh that's nice."
She responds, "One is 5 and the other is 7." Whaaaaa? Unless she had some incredible fertility treatments (which something tells me she hasn't) that means that you're probably only in your 40's. Smoke another cigarette lady, it's really working for you.
In other news, Dexter is 10 months old and beyond cute. Kissing and crawling and being hilarious. It's more work now, I mean you really have to keep an eye on him instead of an eye on him and an eye on the bottle of wine, which is what I've been doing up to this point. I like to make sure that the wine is always behaving itself. Anyhow, he puts EVERYTHING in his mouth so I've had to pick up all of the bread crumbs that I leave for myself so that I don't get lost.When we were in the Domincan Republic, Dex was crawling around the floor. I see him put something in his mouth and say, "Will, he's got something in his mouth, can you please take it out?" Will puts his hand in and pulls out..... a beetle. Gross! He put a freaking beetle in his mouth! I started to freak thinking he could have some weird Domincan beetle poisoning but that wasn't the case.
A couple of weeks ago I was in The Home Depot...cruisin' for dudes. This guy who works there came up and started cooing at the baby. He says to me, "You know, you have to be careful, babies put everything in their mouth." Thanks Dr.Spock.
"I have a 2 year old, and when he was this age, he picked up a razor blade and put it in his mouth. I had to very slowly extract it, using all of my concentration."
Holy shit! First things first, Dale from Home Depot, why the hell do you have razor blades lying around your floor? Did you just happen to lose one while you were shaving, running through the living room? Were you making a pinata and had butter fingers that day? If you have razor blades lying around the floor willy nilly, yes, willy nilly, you have bigger problems than I can deal with right now....in aisle 3 at Home Depot. Honestly, what a weird story to share with a complete stranger. Anyhow, my point is, your baby may put beetles, cat food or toilet paper in their mouth but don't ever feel bad. Dale's kids are one step away from getting decapitated by a circular saw.
"Yes", she answers, "but they're all grown up." I say, "Oh that's nice."
She responds, "One is 5 and the other is 7." Whaaaaa? Unless she had some incredible fertility treatments (which something tells me she hasn't) that means that you're probably only in your 40's. Smoke another cigarette lady, it's really working for you.
In other news, Dexter is 10 months old and beyond cute. Kissing and crawling and being hilarious. It's more work now, I mean you really have to keep an eye on him instead of an eye on him and an eye on the bottle of wine, which is what I've been doing up to this point. I like to make sure that the wine is always behaving itself. Anyhow, he puts EVERYTHING in his mouth so I've had to pick up all of the bread crumbs that I leave for myself so that I don't get lost.When we were in the Domincan Republic, Dex was crawling around the floor. I see him put something in his mouth and say, "Will, he's got something in his mouth, can you please take it out?" Will puts his hand in and pulls out..... a beetle. Gross! He put a freaking beetle in his mouth! I started to freak thinking he could have some weird Domincan beetle poisoning but that wasn't the case.
A couple of weeks ago I was in The Home Depot...cruisin' for dudes. This guy who works there came up and started cooing at the baby. He says to me, "You know, you have to be careful, babies put everything in their mouth." Thanks Dr.Spock.
"I have a 2 year old, and when he was this age, he picked up a razor blade and put it in his mouth. I had to very slowly extract it, using all of my concentration."
Holy shit! First things first, Dale from Home Depot, why the hell do you have razor blades lying around your floor? Did you just happen to lose one while you were shaving, running through the living room? Were you making a pinata and had butter fingers that day? If you have razor blades lying around the floor willy nilly, yes, willy nilly, you have bigger problems than I can deal with right now....in aisle 3 at Home Depot. Honestly, what a weird story to share with a complete stranger. Anyhow, my point is, your baby may put beetles, cat food or toilet paper in their mouth but don't ever feel bad. Dale's kids are one step away from getting decapitated by a circular saw.
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Roses?
First of all, I want to clear something up. Just because it's your own baby, doesn't make cleaning their shit any better. When you don't have kids, and you see someone cleaning a big turd and you curl up your nose, you often hear, "Don't worry, when it's your own, it's different." Not true. Shit is shit and it's shitty.It's just that you have no choice so you just do it and suck it up. Your own flesh and blood doesn't make poop any nicer than someone elses. It's still waste that travels through the lower intestines and comes out as a disgusting blob. SOmetimes it's more like the softserve icecream machine at McDonalds has unleashed in your kids diaper and you think, "Good God, should I take this baby to emergency? How can such a tiny human survive after such a massive expulsion?" There are many different kinds of baby poop, for those of you who are unaware.
To begin, there's the tar sands. This is the first poop that comes out of your baby and it is super sticky, black and thick, much like this guy I dated once. I believe the medical name for it is merconium but I just refer to it as rotten tar. Then comes the honey mustard. This is easier to clean than the rotten tar but has the terrifying sweet smell. Like a decaying peach. Then you move onto the Green Giant, which is exactly what it's name describes. Then the real magic happens when you start feeding your baby real food, like fruits and vegetables. This stage is actually quite facinating. This is when every shade on the colour wheel comes into play. It's like every day you get to witness a new rainbow of fruit flavours. If you're lucky, you may even get a sneak peek into the world of floopy poops, or for the lamen, diarrhea. This is a stink that will actually burn, not only your nose cilia, but your retnas as well. It starts to get worse before it gets better. I've changed the diaper of a 2 year old and that's when things seriously start to get real. There's always something to look forward to. So onto other things, I recently got fired as the spokesperson for Babies R Us. Surprised? I hadn't even mentioned that I was doing this busted ass job because I had signed this contract that forbade me from basically, well, being me. They still owe me a bunch of money so I'll save the story until I see every penny and then will regale you with hilarious tales of me, flying around Canada, going on Breakfast Television, talking about idiot baby stuff. Here's a taste of what's to come. When I was on BT in Winnipeg I had said that I would be using Dexter's "no spill" sippy cup on Christmas Eve to drink my red wine out of, so that I wouldn't spill it down my front and look like a total alcoholic. That may have been the final nail in the coffin.Ta for now!
To begin, there's the tar sands. This is the first poop that comes out of your baby and it is super sticky, black and thick, much like this guy I dated once. I believe the medical name for it is merconium but I just refer to it as rotten tar. Then comes the honey mustard. This is easier to clean than the rotten tar but has the terrifying sweet smell. Like a decaying peach. Then you move onto the Green Giant, which is exactly what it's name describes. Then the real magic happens when you start feeding your baby real food, like fruits and vegetables. This stage is actually quite facinating. This is when every shade on the colour wheel comes into play. It's like every day you get to witness a new rainbow of fruit flavours. If you're lucky, you may even get a sneak peek into the world of floopy poops, or for the lamen, diarrhea. This is a stink that will actually burn, not only your nose cilia, but your retnas as well. It starts to get worse before it gets better. I've changed the diaper of a 2 year old and that's when things seriously start to get real. There's always something to look forward to. So onto other things, I recently got fired as the spokesperson for Babies R Us. Surprised? I hadn't even mentioned that I was doing this busted ass job because I had signed this contract that forbade me from basically, well, being me. They still owe me a bunch of money so I'll save the story until I see every penny and then will regale you with hilarious tales of me, flying around Canada, going on Breakfast Television, talking about idiot baby stuff. Here's a taste of what's to come. When I was on BT in Winnipeg I had said that I would be using Dexter's "no spill" sippy cup on Christmas Eve to drink my red wine out of, so that I wouldn't spill it down my front and look like a total alcoholic. That may have been the final nail in the coffin.Ta for now!
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Boom goes the dynamite
I left off with a story about our trek to the resort we stayed at in the Domincan Republic. It was the first time Will and I had done one of these all-inclusive jobs. To be honest, I sort of thought they were a bit gross before. A bunch of food, booze and Americans. I was wrong, I will admit. It was great and perfect for just simply relaxing. I love to travel but I find it hard to settle down, always needing to see everything. It's nice when you really have no choice but to sit, read and drink booze. The food was actually pretty good too. In fact, it was great. So anyhow, that's my review Travelocity.
When you left the perimeters of what was the resorts beach, there were security guards that would get you to sign out. I guess in case you get kidnapped by pirates, they know what time the resort had no legal responsibility. There was this security guard, who looked like he was maybe 20, but who knows. They all look the same to me. Security guards, that is. This guy loooooooved the baby. He came running up to us as we were walking down the beach and just started speaking Spanish to Dex and cooing and going crazy. It was really cute. He then started speaking Spanish to us. Now, having taken first year Spanish in University and scoring an impressive 58% in the course, you would be surprised to know that I can't speak Spanish. So I say, "No hable espanol." Didn't matter. He just kept talking. So he gestures for us to follow him to his chair where he keeps the clip board for people to sign out. In the meantime all of these other people were just walking by, not signing out. Ok. So we follow him and he gestures for me to sit on the chair. I sit with the baby on my lap. Will has the clipboard, signing us out. He continues to go cookoo over the baby. He's yammering on in Spanish and looking at me and laughing and I'm laughing, at what, I don't know. He may have been saying that we all look the same to him. Models, that is. Anyhow, the next thing I know, he's clucking Dex under the chin, then he swings his massive shotgun around to the front and hands it to the baby! Of course Dex goes right for the effing trigger. It all happened so fast I thought I was in a Saved By the Bell dream sequence. "Holy shit!" I say, "don't give the baby the gun!" I jump up and say, "Ok see you later! Have a good day." He continues to follow us and I just keep turning around saying "Ola, Ola,Ola", which I obviously know means "Hello" (did you already forget the 58%?) but I was so flustered that it's the only thing that was coming out of my mouth. Imagine how insane that sounded? I'm running away, clutching my baby to my chest, yelling out "Hello!Hello!Hello!" So anyhow,that was that. About 2 days later, I'm alone walking down the beach with the baby. He's there again. This time he just waves for me to come to him. I walk up to him and he starts with the baby again. He wants to hold him this time. Now I'm getting a good look at this guy. I don't know for certain, but I'm 58% sure that this dude may be slightly mentally challenged in some capacity. He's sitting down and holding up his arms to me, wanting to hold the baby. I figure it's ok, he's just a sweet man who loves the baby. I know what you're thinking, you're saying to yourself, "Oh wait Larissa, but where's the gun?" Yes, maybe I should have thought of that. As I'm handing my only child over to the stranger I realize the gun is just lying across his lap and now Dexter is in his arms and jumping on the gun. I discover this and yell, "Ola!Ola the gun!" Again with the misuse of ola. He says the only words I've heard him say in English, "No problem lady, no problem." Well, maybe I'm just a soft Canadian who has never been exposed to guns before but I'm pretty sure a 9 month old jumping on a loaded shotgun is a bit of a problem. I grab Dex, sign the stupid clipboard and take off. Then I went and drank a Banana Mama.
When you left the perimeters of what was the resorts beach, there were security guards that would get you to sign out. I guess in case you get kidnapped by pirates, they know what time the resort had no legal responsibility. There was this security guard, who looked like he was maybe 20, but who knows. They all look the same to me. Security guards, that is. This guy loooooooved the baby. He came running up to us as we were walking down the beach and just started speaking Spanish to Dex and cooing and going crazy. It was really cute. He then started speaking Spanish to us. Now, having taken first year Spanish in University and scoring an impressive 58% in the course, you would be surprised to know that I can't speak Spanish. So I say, "No hable espanol." Didn't matter. He just kept talking. So he gestures for us to follow him to his chair where he keeps the clip board for people to sign out. In the meantime all of these other people were just walking by, not signing out. Ok. So we follow him and he gestures for me to sit on the chair. I sit with the baby on my lap. Will has the clipboard, signing us out. He continues to go cookoo over the baby. He's yammering on in Spanish and looking at me and laughing and I'm laughing, at what, I don't know. He may have been saying that we all look the same to him. Models, that is. Anyhow, the next thing I know, he's clucking Dex under the chin, then he swings his massive shotgun around to the front and hands it to the baby! Of course Dex goes right for the effing trigger. It all happened so fast I thought I was in a Saved By the Bell dream sequence. "Holy shit!" I say, "don't give the baby the gun!" I jump up and say, "Ok see you later! Have a good day." He continues to follow us and I just keep turning around saying "Ola, Ola,Ola", which I obviously know means "Hello" (did you already forget the 58%?) but I was so flustered that it's the only thing that was coming out of my mouth. Imagine how insane that sounded? I'm running away, clutching my baby to my chest, yelling out "Hello!Hello!Hello!" So anyhow,that was that. About 2 days later, I'm alone walking down the beach with the baby. He's there again. This time he just waves for me to come to him. I walk up to him and he starts with the baby again. He wants to hold him this time. Now I'm getting a good look at this guy. I don't know for certain, but I'm 58% sure that this dude may be slightly mentally challenged in some capacity. He's sitting down and holding up his arms to me, wanting to hold the baby. I figure it's ok, he's just a sweet man who loves the baby. I know what you're thinking, you're saying to yourself, "Oh wait Larissa, but where's the gun?" Yes, maybe I should have thought of that. As I'm handing my only child over to the stranger I realize the gun is just lying across his lap and now Dexter is in his arms and jumping on the gun. I discover this and yell, "Ola!Ola the gun!" Again with the misuse of ola. He says the only words I've heard him say in English, "No problem lady, no problem." Well, maybe I'm just a soft Canadian who has never been exposed to guns before but I'm pretty sure a 9 month old jumping on a loaded shotgun is a bit of a problem. I grab Dex, sign the stupid clipboard and take off. Then I went and drank a Banana Mama.
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Is that a gun in your pants?
Happy New Year weirdos.
Will, Dexter and I went to the Domincan Republic on New Years Day for a nice week in the sun. Well, the shade really. For those of you who know my little family we are the whitest people around.SOme may even say that we're translucent. My Mom says I'm porcelin and fair, so suck on that. Will and I would come out of the shade at around 3pm. This is the time when the nightwalkers can roam in the sun without fear of complete anihilation. Anyhow, it was an amazing week and the baby loved it. The flight was a bit of a gong show but even more of a gong show was the hour and a half ride out to the resort. Dex had been ok during the flight but now it's like 10pm and he's getting super squirrly. Everyone on the bus is from Toronto and ready to get to the resort. Some skids from Milton have cracked some Canadians, butts behind their ears ready to hoser it up the moment we get to the resort. This crazy Domincan guy is on the microphone (of the greyhound) cracking really dumb jokes like this one: "I hear there's 2 feet of snow in Canada." Then he laughs really uncomfortably loud. That's the joke. Not to mention the sound system is ancient and his voice is really loud and distorted. Now the baby starts wailing. I'm holding him, well trying not to drop him (it was a really bumpy ride) and doing my best to get him to settle down. He's just getting louder and louder and now people around me are craning their necks to see how I'm torturing my baby. Here's the thing. Everyone thinks that if they were in my situation, they would be successful at getting him to calm down. I can see it in their judgemental, sympathetic stares. I'm getting frustrated as the baby is getting louder. Now amateur night at the Apollo says on the mic, "Oh tha' bebe is 'ungry." Thanks Domincan Gilligan. As a matter of fact, the baby isn't hungry but you would probably know better than me right? My blood is starting to boil and I'm getting really stressed out. This super fat guy was sitting next to Will and I can hear him say to Will, "Oh wow, she's getting really stressed out." No shit fatty, this is probably how your heart feels every minute of every day. I turn to Will and say, "I don't know what to do" and I see this sea of faces staring at me. It was like a TV show when they use the effect of peoples heads floating around to show confusion and craziness. I snapped. Now I'm effing crying. The baby is wailing, I'm bawling and fatty is shaking his chins saying, "it's ok! He's just a baby."
I mean, he was right but once the tears started, they were out there. I couldn't take them back. It was like Dexter sensed how crazy I felt because suddenly he stopped crying and passed out. Amazing. This one is short and sweet because I have to go to the airport and pick up the stroller. We left it on the sidewalk when we went to get into the Park and Fly Van. Parents of the year. Here's what's coming up next: I suffer from Tropic Thunder (if you know what I mean) a half mentally retarded security guard gives Dex his gun....twice, and Dex discovers that not everything you put in your mouth tastes like beautiful boobie nectar.
Will, Dexter and I went to the Domincan Republic on New Years Day for a nice week in the sun. Well, the shade really. For those of you who know my little family we are the whitest people around.SOme may even say that we're translucent. My Mom says I'm porcelin and fair, so suck on that. Will and I would come out of the shade at around 3pm. This is the time when the nightwalkers can roam in the sun without fear of complete anihilation. Anyhow, it was an amazing week and the baby loved it. The flight was a bit of a gong show but even more of a gong show was the hour and a half ride out to the resort. Dex had been ok during the flight but now it's like 10pm and he's getting super squirrly. Everyone on the bus is from Toronto and ready to get to the resort. Some skids from Milton have cracked some Canadians, butts behind their ears ready to hoser it up the moment we get to the resort. This crazy Domincan guy is on the microphone (of the greyhound) cracking really dumb jokes like this one: "I hear there's 2 feet of snow in Canada." Then he laughs really uncomfortably loud. That's the joke. Not to mention the sound system is ancient and his voice is really loud and distorted. Now the baby starts wailing. I'm holding him, well trying not to drop him (it was a really bumpy ride) and doing my best to get him to settle down. He's just getting louder and louder and now people around me are craning their necks to see how I'm torturing my baby. Here's the thing. Everyone thinks that if they were in my situation, they would be successful at getting him to calm down. I can see it in their judgemental, sympathetic stares. I'm getting frustrated as the baby is getting louder. Now amateur night at the Apollo says on the mic, "Oh tha' bebe is 'ungry." Thanks Domincan Gilligan. As a matter of fact, the baby isn't hungry but you would probably know better than me right? My blood is starting to boil and I'm getting really stressed out. This super fat guy was sitting next to Will and I can hear him say to Will, "Oh wow, she's getting really stressed out." No shit fatty, this is probably how your heart feels every minute of every day. I turn to Will and say, "I don't know what to do" and I see this sea of faces staring at me. It was like a TV show when they use the effect of peoples heads floating around to show confusion and craziness. I snapped. Now I'm effing crying. The baby is wailing, I'm bawling and fatty is shaking his chins saying, "it's ok! He's just a baby."
I mean, he was right but once the tears started, they were out there. I couldn't take them back. It was like Dexter sensed how crazy I felt because suddenly he stopped crying and passed out. Amazing. This one is short and sweet because I have to go to the airport and pick up the stroller. We left it on the sidewalk when we went to get into the Park and Fly Van. Parents of the year. Here's what's coming up next: I suffer from Tropic Thunder (if you know what I mean) a half mentally retarded security guard gives Dex his gun....twice, and Dex discovers that not everything you put in your mouth tastes like beautiful boobie nectar.
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
Sort of defeats the purpose of a BLOG
Ok, it's been forever since my last blog. Dexter is 13 but oddly I'm still 32. My moustache is still better than his. So here's the thing: it turns out that not only do we, as women and mothers, have to deal with pooping on the delivery table, have our vagina's sewn back together and have our partners search for hemorrhoids(I had to look up how to spell that), but it turns out there are plenty of things that can happen to you after the baby is born. I, unfortunately developed postpartum hypothyroidism. No biggie, just a pain in the ass. Here's what happened. In October, I started to feel super exhausted and weak. It was weird because we had Dex sleeping 12 hours and I was sleeping more than I had since I was first diagnosed with pregnancy. I couldn't figure it out. I didn't want to get out of bed, I had trouble concentrating and everything just seemed like such a giant effort. I was far more exhausted than when the baby was a newborn, to be honest I was terrified that I was suffering from postpartum depression. Searching the Internet to see what was wrong certainly didn't help. So I dragged my ass to the doctor to see if I was low in iron or something. She's a great doctor and asked all of the right questions and I had my blood taken. She called me up and told me I had the most abnormal thyroid she had ever seen. I've always been a bit of an over-achiever. Anyhow, I've tried two different levels of meds to sort me out and I am happy to say I'm feeling much much better. I have to go and get these nodules thingys that have developed on my thyroid taken off, otherwise I could get a goiter! Could you imagine...a goiter! If I developed a huge goiter on my neck I would tattoo a nipple on it and tell everyone that I had breast implants put into my neck because two boobs just weren't enough for Will. Anyhow, I'm not telling this story for any sympathy or words of encouragement or anything, I'm telling it because a lot of new Mom's might equate extreme exhaustion with just being a new mom, but if you feel like you seriously can't get out of bed in the morning, just go and see what's up because it's an easy fix, if it's your thyroid.
So that's that. My friend said to me, "Why haven't you written lately? It sort of defeats the purpose of a blog." I responded, "Your face defeats the purpose of a blog" and now I'm back to bloggin'. There has to be another word for blogging, for those of us who don't do it every day. I don't have the time and quite frankly, I don't have enough material. Life is funny, but most days are pretty ordinary and I'm not about to be one of those people who starts blogging about the amazing sausage she ate the other day. Anyhow, it's time for me and my goiter to tend to the baby.
So that's that. My friend said to me, "Why haven't you written lately? It sort of defeats the purpose of a blog." I responded, "Your face defeats the purpose of a blog" and now I'm back to bloggin'. There has to be another word for blogging, for those of us who don't do it every day. I don't have the time and quite frankly, I don't have enough material. Life is funny, but most days are pretty ordinary and I'm not about to be one of those people who starts blogging about the amazing sausage she ate the other day. Anyhow, it's time for me and my goiter to tend to the baby.
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Who do you have to sleep with around here to get a kid baptized?
First off, do you think the title of this blog is too much? Ok, so here's a disclaimer: I'm going to talk about religion so if you're sensitive to it then I suggest you skip this one. Here's the thing, after much deliberating,I have decided to go ahead and get Dexter baptized. My sister-in-law put it best when she said, "Do you feel as strongly about NOT getting him baptized as your parents feel about GETTING him baptized?" The answer was no, I don't so why not make them happy and just go and do it. Although I don't consider myself Catholic, they are and it's important to them so because I love them so much, I will of course do it. I see it as a nice way to get the family together to celebrate the baby.HOWEVER, these people do not make it easy. I went to a church on Kingston Road here in beautiful East York, Toronto. I had to get my original baptism certificate (huge pain in the ass) in order to even have Dex considered. Anyhow, I think we're all ready to go when the Deacon calls me up and encourages me to get him baptized at the church of which Will and I would be considered "parishinors" if we were Catholic. So now I start to lie, (a lot), to a super nice holy man. "Well, I just really love your church and it just gives me a nice feeling and I would like him to get baptized there." The truth? You were the first place I called that had any spots available in November a.k.a MO-vember and I've been growing my moustache for weeks in anticipation of this oh-so-holy event. He was so nice and kind and just wants me to raise my baby in a church that we can become a part of and all of this stuff. I feel the soles of my feet burning as the flames of hell tickle my arches. "I understand that but I feel right about this and hope that we can do it in two weeks time." He responds, "Why don't you go round this other church, attend mass and see how you feel! Then if you really believe in your heart that this is the church for you, then I would be more than happy to baptize your baby." Crap. "Ok Deacon, I'll be in touch." I get off the phone and unleash a fury of eff bombs. I call this other church and this woman was not as nice as Deacon Jerry. Me: "Hi, I'm calling to discuss baptizing our son at your church." Her: "Are you Catholic?" Me: "Yes" ouch, here come those effing flames again.
"Well are you a member at this parish?"
"No, we just moved to the neighborhood. We just came from Vancouver." Now I'm just lying for no reason and the flames are climbing up my calves.
"Well in order for your son to get baptized here we'll need your baptism certificate as well as your husbands and both of your confirmation certificates."
"Well my husband isn't Catholic."
"What is he?"
"He's sexy."
"What?"
"You heard me."
Ok, I didn't say that. I said, "He's of no religious denomination."
Silence.More silence.
"Well you 'll have to get your priest from Vancouver to send a letter to us saying you're a practicing Catholic." Which is sort of funny because right now I AM practicing to be a Catholic. I'm practicing really really hard, some might even say I'm acting the part really well. She recommends another church so I call there. This woman not only wants all of these certificates from Will and I but a bunch of stuff from my brother and sister-in-law, who are meant to be the goddparents. PLUS, they want us to come in a meet the priest and do some class. Holy crap Catholocism. This just in: You're not the most popular choice for religions these days, not sure if you read the papers, but you could stand to be a BIT more lenient with regards to who you let in. I don't think you really have the luxury to be picky. Do I have to spell it out here? Your leaders aren't exactly the barometer by which one should judge good and bad and you're giving ME a hard time? I'm seriously beginning to reconsider this whole, "make-my-parents-happy" thingy. Anyhow, hopefully this super nice Deacon will just give us the green light and fingers crossed he doesn't read this blog. By the way, I know how hypocritical it is to have my baby baptized when I don't believe at all in the religion but what the hell.
"Well are you a member at this parish?"
"No, we just moved to the neighborhood. We just came from Vancouver." Now I'm just lying for no reason and the flames are climbing up my calves.
"Well in order for your son to get baptized here we'll need your baptism certificate as well as your husbands and both of your confirmation certificates."
"Well my husband isn't Catholic."
"What is he?"
"He's sexy."
"What?"
"You heard me."
Ok, I didn't say that. I said, "He's of no religious denomination."
Silence.More silence.
"Well you 'll have to get your priest from Vancouver to send a letter to us saying you're a practicing Catholic." Which is sort of funny because right now I AM practicing to be a Catholic. I'm practicing really really hard, some might even say I'm acting the part really well. She recommends another church so I call there. This woman not only wants all of these certificates from Will and I but a bunch of stuff from my brother and sister-in-law, who are meant to be the goddparents. PLUS, they want us to come in a meet the priest and do some class. Holy crap Catholocism. This just in: You're not the most popular choice for religions these days, not sure if you read the papers, but you could stand to be a BIT more lenient with regards to who you let in. I don't think you really have the luxury to be picky. Do I have to spell it out here? Your leaders aren't exactly the barometer by which one should judge good and bad and you're giving ME a hard time? I'm seriously beginning to reconsider this whole, "make-my-parents-happy" thingy. Anyhow, hopefully this super nice Deacon will just give us the green light and fingers crossed he doesn't read this blog. By the way, I know how hypocritical it is to have my baby baptized when I don't believe at all in the religion but what the hell.
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