* I know, I know. It’s not actually a word. But, it totally should be.

Behold! Here is some of the random crap that has happened in my life recently:

If I ever had any doubts about being “done” after two children, the past two hours of my life spent sharpening as well as labelling 36 pencils and labelling 48 crayons, 48 colored pencils, 24 markers, 20 duotangs, 8 erasers, countless glue sticks, a couple of binders, scissors, pencil sharpeners, tissue boxes and shoes has cured me of it. If an “accident” were to happen, said accident is allowed no more than two letters in his or her name.

______________

Whenever I vacuum (which is frequently), my five year old daughter scrambles away in a panic. She is intelligent enough to understand that it is impossible for a human girl to fit inside a vacuum (though a hamster slides quite nicely down the hose, but that’s a story for another time), but she doesn’t want to take the risk, just in case.

______________

My husband is morphing rapidly into one of those eccentric, crabby old men. In addition to the striped Dad shirt that he insists upon wearing, he has recently embarked upon a crusade to beautify the neighborhood by walking up and down the boulevards with the lawn mower, merrily mowing away because “if none of these young whipper snappers care about how their neighborhood looks, somebody’s got to.”

______________

I recently bought an iPhone and holy crap, why did nobody tell me about these things earlier? I’ve had it since Friday and there’s a good four hours worth of my life that I’m never getting back. Who knew I could spend so much time helping a family cross a river on a raft? Don’t even get me started on the virtual checkers. I may never get any more housekeeping done ever again.

______________

A couple of weekends ago, I had a girls’ night out with some friends. We sat in the bar section of my favourite restaurant and I made lots of really inappropriate moaning noises as I ate what may possibly be the best butter chicken in the world. (Sorry, India. I really doubt you can top Albertan butter chicken and naan. I’d like to see you try, though. And send me some.)

Out of the six of us, three are married, two might as well be married and one has unloaded a total jerk of a husband and is now living a much happier life without him. Considering that she is currently unattached, she was quick to notice a table full of hot, muscular men close by. At one point, someone decided that we should try to sneak pictures of the hottest, most muscular one. We started out by setting the camera on the table, flash off, and trying to surreptitiously get a good shot of him. Failing that, I (emboldened as I was by my two bellinis and long-lasting marriage), grabbed the camera and tried to take pictures of him without actually looking as though I was taking pictures of him.

I started by taking a picture of the table:

Mmm. Bellinis.

Then I moved on to looking like I was fascinated by the lit-from-beneath liquor bottles at the bar:

(Seriously, that woman was side-eyeing us like mad the whole time. Pshh. We weren’t giggling maniacally and taking pictures of you, non-hot, non-muscular lady. Sheesh. You just can’t take some people anywhere without them causing some kind of scene.)

Finally, I took a picture of the hot guy in question:

We took the fact that he was staring right at us and smirking as a good sign.

My girlfriend, armed with the liquid courage provided by her second pitcher of Bellinis, asked the waitress to send him a drink, courtesy of her. Following that, a conversation was struck and before I knew it, I was standing in the middle of a bar, surrounded by cops and taking pictures of a bunch of poor schmucks who had no idea that the song they were flailing their arms in the air to was “It’s Raining Men.”

(True story.)

In the end, my friend decided that the hot, muscular guy was actually kind of a dud in the personality department (isn’t that always the way?) and we left not long after determining that the bar we were in must certainly be a gay bar. I’m just glad that the hot, muscular police officers I was taking pictures of didn’t decide to arrest me for invading their privacy that way. I guess a little crazy-stalkerish flattery goes a long way for some people.
_______________

So, what random crap has been going on in your life lately? Do tell!

Filed under: Confessions, Keepin' it Real, Me, Offspring, Random by WWS (Lynn) - 1 Comment →

(What do you mean, you didn’t know I was gone?)

I’ll update on our family’s super-quick jaunt to the south later. For now, I have a question:

How is it possible that I used 60 sunblock and STILL ended up with a sunburned nose? Also: is it possible to burn your eyeballs even through your sunglasses? ‘Cause I’m pretty sure I did. Just sayin’.

(I am SO not built to go out in the daylight.)

Filed under: Keepin' it Real, Ponderings, Random by WWS (Lynn) - No Comments →

One of my favourite things about summer so far? No more schoolyard stalker.

Now that I don’t have to spend time near him anymore, I can write about my experience without fear that he’s going to club me over the head with his cane and leave me for dead somewhere.

(What? Stalkers can have canes! I didn’t say he was particularly agile.)

For some reason, I tend to attract the weirdos. I’m not sure what it is about me (and, frankly, I don’t think I want to know), but freaks love me. As a general rule, I am polite to everyone and I try not to label, but sometimes you’ve just got to call a creep a creep.

Uh, hey, creeper. Thanks for bombing my photo, man.

This guy. This smelly, dirty (yet iPhone/BlueTooth wielding), socially inept guy (who, somehow, ended up with the daughter of a friend living with him, and therefore going to kindergarten at Lily’s school) would not leave me alone for the last several months of school. He followed me around mercilessly, no matter how hard I tried to dodge him. At first, I tried to be nice to him whenever he cornered me, making a little small-talk before bolting. Eventually, though, I couldn’t help but listen to my inner voice, which was telling me to stay far, far away from this man. Literally every cell in my body would start cringing whenever he was near as if I were physically trying to repel him.

Aside from his leering expression and unwavering stare, he also had an extremely potent odour, consisting of many layers of stale cigarette smoke, B.O., fresh cigarette smoke and something just plain oily. I could barely breathe when I was near him and spent the final months of the school year attempting to stay out of his path.

I employed many methods when trying to dodge the creeper. I was usually unsuccessful, but it didn’t stop me from trying. Generally, a morning of dropping Lily at the kindergarten doors went like this:

1. Walk across field with children
2. Say goodbye to Logan and watch him take off for the grade 2 doors
3. Walk toward a group of parents that I recognize
4. Notice creeper staring at me from across the tarmac
5. Silently hyperventilate
6. Deliberately look anywhere but at the creeper, who is now striding with purpose toward me
7. Hyperventilate some more as I attempt to infiltrate group of friendly parents, sliding into a one-person opening
8. Try to act as if I don’t notice the creeper walking around the group of parents to stand behind me and breathe in my hair
9. If creeper talks to me, give polite, to-the-point answers while thinking of reason why I need to leave right that very moment to do something extremely important
10. Kiss Lily goodbye, watch her enter the school and take off like a bat out of hell across the field to my car

On the last day of school, the creeper treated me with a birds-eye view of the vertical rip right down the middle of the right butt-cheek region of his shorts. It seems only appropriate that he’d come up with a show-stopper of a final encounter. I think it pretty much summed up the awkwardness I felt whenever I was near him. *shudder*

In September, my kids are going to the new school opening up in our neighborhood, so my days with the creeper are over. I’m keeping my fingers crossed that he keeps a good distance away from my mom-friends who are remaining there, though. At least until he takes a shower, visits a dentist and has a complete personality overhaul.

Filed under: Confessions, Just My Luck, Keepin' it Real, Me, Pity Party, Random by WWS (Lynn) - 5 Comments →

For Canada Day this year, I convinced Lucky to leave work early so we could go together to check out the various patriotic events in the city. We had initially planned to do the standard face-painting-patriotic-tattoo-sticking-jumpy-house-jumping-cotton-candy-eating thing at a park in town. When we got there, however, we noticed a CARNIVAL!! across the street and abruptly changed course. There’s really nothing like spinning your kids all around for a few hours to subdue the little characters into blissfully quiet silence for the rest of the day.

We started them out gently on the swing ride. Logan has freaked out mid-ride in the past, forcing the operator to let him off lest he die! right! there! but I remain convinced that the only reason he did so was because a) the ride was bigger and b) he allowed himself to get all worked-up beforehand. This time, there was a very short line (less time for him to think about the certain doom that lay ahead) and the operator was letting kids on the ride as we walked up. Lily passed her tickets over like a pro and trotted over to the first swing she saw. Logan started backing up, mumbling something about maybe not wanting to go on this ride after all.

“Oops! Too late!” I exclaimed, giving him a little nudge forward. “Your sister is already on! Can’t let her go by herself! Don’t hold up the line!”

(I know. I’m a super great mom. I’ll let you in on my secret later.)

Logan ambled over to the swing beside his sister, throwing dubious glances at me over his shoulder.

“Woo hoo! This is great! Right on!” I called to him. “Don’t listen to that little voice inside telling you to run away! Self-preservation is highly overrated!”

(Okay, fine. I may not have uttered that last part. I’m not completely heartless.)

By the second revolution, Logan had clearly decided that the ride wasn’t out to prematurely end his life and flashed a happy thumbs-up on his way by.

Yaaaaay! This is fun!

Ride number one was a success!

The kids went on a couple of tame, kiddy rides before Logan decided that he wanted to tackle the Gravitron. Not even Lily felt brave enough to tackle the Gravitron. A big spaceship-thingy that sucks you to the wall and holds you there while spinning like a top? No thank you!

Logan was unwavering in his decision to go on, though. I worried that he’d completely lose it when the door shut, but a couple of kids promised me that they’d ride beside him and he’d have the best time ever, so I bit my tongue and sent him on his merry way.

Baaaaaaarffffffffff…….

Logan bounded off the ride like a jumping bean and exclaimed, “Hey, Mom! Did you know that if you turn yourself upside-down in there, you stick to the wall? Upside-down? It was awesome!”

“Just make sure you turn yourself right side-up again before the ride stops or you’ll land on your head!” I told him, grinning like a fool because my kid was actually enjoying himself! On rides! Maybe Disney World wouldn’t be a complete disaster after all!

By this point, we were running low on tickets and the kids were running high on adrenaline. They decided that they were ready to take on the giant Hurricane. Lily barely met the height requirement to ride, but the fact that she could hardly see over the front of the car didn’t stop her from hopping right in like a champ.

It wasn’t until the lap bar had been snapped into place that the kids started to wonder whether or not they had made the best choice in riding the Hurricane.

Uh, Mom?

We’re wondering whether or not we made the best choice here…

If I die, I’m coming back to haunt you for the rest of your life…

The ride filled up quickly and before we knew it, they were off.

Logan: Holy crap! Why am I on this death trap?
Lily: What? I can’t see a thing!

*terrified silence*

Not a peep was to be heard from either one of them and Lucky and I strained to catch a glimpse of their tiny little faces. All we could gather was that the pair of them were plastered to the outside edge of the car, frozen into absolute stillness.

Ruh-roh.

When they made their way off the ride, I asked, “So, how was it?”

How do you think it was, you crazy woman?

“It was the worst ride in the world, MOM! I hated it!” Logan exclaimed in disgust.

Let me just get back to you when I can stand up straight without falling over, mmmkay?

“Not so fun,” Lily replied somberly.

The only upside to the Hurricane was that it provided Lucky and me with the perfect segue into talking about our upcoming trip to Disney World.

Me: The rides at Disney are so much better than these ones!

Lucky: Right! They’re way smoother and won’t squish you to the sides or anything!

Me: Yeah! If you can ride this ride, you can take anything Disney World has to dish out!

Lucky: Exactly! The rides at Disney are all fun!

Me: And totally won’t hurt you at all!

Lucky: And you’ll have the best time EVER!

Kids: Can we just lay down somewhere for a few minutes? You know, just to catch our breath? Ooh! Look at that lovely bench!

The kids capped off their riding experience with one (smaller!) last (and slower!) ride and then climbed exhaustedly into the car. Needless to say, the rest of our evening was quiet and mellow and bedtime was a breeze.

I was left wondering why I couldn’t get them to go on MY favourite ride, though.

Any ideas?

Filed under: Happy Happy, Keepin' it Real, Me, Offspring, Out of the Mouths of Babes, Random by WWS (Lynn) - 2 Comments →

He laughed at her and said “no,” thus saving himself from the divorce papers that would have come flying his way had he said anything but.

True story.

Honestly, just knowing that he still sort-of considers her a friend because he knew her before she became a drug-addicted secret-prostitute/stripper and because she is not currently a drug-addicted secret-prostitute/stripper but merely a reformed drug-addicted secret-prostitute/stripper, and not getting in his face about how completely weird and awkward it is that she is even around at all (even though he only ever sees her occasionally when she’s at her parents lake lot on the same weekend we’re at Lucky’s parents lake lot) has to give me awesome-open-minded-and-laid-back wife brownie points and clearly proves that I am awesome enough to get this dog, even though my husband is really, really opposed to it:

Am I right or am I right?

Filed under: Confessions, Keepin' it Real, Me, Pity Party, Random by WWS (Lynn) - 3 Comments →

Normally I don’t write about giveaways all on their own, but this is one of my absolute favourites. Head to my giveaway site and comment to win a 16×20 gallery wrap canvas with the picture of your choice on it. Sweet!!

Filed under: Happy Happy, Random by WWS (Lynn) - 1 Comment →

This is the part where I say that if you are related to me and you’re NOT my mother, you may want to skip this one. It’s entirely your choice, but I’m going to be very clear right now that I hold you responsible for your own therapy bills if you choose not to heed the warning…

Dad, I’m not joking here. Move right along, please. You don’t want to read this. Really.

DaaAAAD!! Go AWAY!!

___________________________

When I was pregnant for the first time, I did what most expectant moms do and purchased a truckload of parenting books. I then proceeded to read each one and scare the ever loving crap out of myself. The sadists who write these books must really get off on instilling complete and utter panic into the hearts and minds of pregnant women. It’s like reading a horror novel. I found myself obsessing over the weirdest things – stuff I didn’t even realize could be a problem. And now, having successfully birthed two babies who somehow made it through the gauntlet of infanthood, I have one small nugget of wisdom to impart to all my pregnant (and thinking of becoming pregnant) peeps.

Put the book down. Just drop it. Those what to expect books were written by the devil. If you want to know what you should expect, ask your mom. Or your girlfriends. Take a lamaze class. Or, if you must, choose a book whose goal isn’t to scare the crap out of you.

Now, (and Dad, seriously, if you didn’t listen to me before, listen now. It’s time to click the little “x” on the top right corner of your screen because I am about to talk about boobs. And not just any boobs. I’m going to talk about MY boobs.) I’d like to quickly share one specific experience with you:

So, I was in the shower the other day when I realized that, aside from the stretch marks and general droopiness, my boobs look pretty much like any other set of boobs out there. Now, I know that all boobs have the same general setup, but back when I was pregnant with Logan, my doctor told me that I had a classic case of inverted nipples and would probably have trouble breastfeeding because of it. Reading through those damnable parenting books did nothing to quell my fears. I became convinced that I would never, ever be able to breastfeed because of my jacked up nipplage.

This threw me into a tailspin and I spent a lot of time researching stuff like nipple shields, breast pumps and the like. I was convinced that because my boobs were broken, I would not have the quality breastfeeding experience that I wanted to have. I would be an epic failure at motherhood! Quel horreur!

And then my son was born. Once all the trauma and craziness was over and he’d been sprung from the Intensive Care Nursery, I nervously gave breastfeeding a try. I raised my baby to my breast, he opened his hungry little mouth and whammo. Instant suction cup action.

Since that day, I’ve managed to accumulate almost three years worth of nipple Hooverage and guess what? No more inverted nips.

Basically, I’m writing this as a public service to all women out there who are planning to breastfeed one day. I can only write from personal experience, of course, but I can tell you this: babies are little human leeches. Your inverted nipples are no match for a hungry baby. In fact, I’m pretty sure that if your baby was hungry enough, you could attach him to the window of your car by his mouth, Garfield style, and he’d stay there until you physically pried him off.

Basically, my point is this: those darn books spend so much time pointing out every possible thing that could go wrong and, if you’re not careful, you can end up doubting your abilities before you’ve even had the opportunity to try. Just ask my nips. They were far more capable than anyone gave them credit for.

Filed under: Confessions, Keepin' it Real, Random by WWS (Lynn) - 2 Comments →

Now that Logan is nearly eight, we’ve decided that he’s ready for an allowance. To earn it, he has a set list of chores to do around the house – mainly keeping his room tidy and his bed made, with a side of collecting the garbage and tidying the bonus room. Lucky, organized fellow that he his, wrote up a chore chart and stuck it to the side of the fridge:

Notice that there are two names on the list. The second name is MINE. Poor, simple Lucky. I’m pretty sure he thought he was doing me a favour, considering that I had talked about writing myself up a weekly chore list to keep up the motivation to clean. I planned on writing it up myself, however, because I have an order that I like to do things in.

(It was interesting to see the types of chores that Lucky feels I should be doing, though, and when.)

I have to admit, I lack enthusiasm when it comes to housework. I mean, Logan has motivation in that he gets paid to do his, but what do I have? Well, I do get the satisfaction of watching my kids destroy my hard work within minutes.

Wait.

That doesn’t sound satisfying at all, does it? That’s because it’s NOT. My kids view a clean house as a challenge. I’m pretty sure they take bets on who can mess it up the most in the shortest amount of time.

Housework is a losing battle.

My first reaction to “the chore chart” was to ball it up and shove it down my husband’s throat. Where’s his name? And what about Lily? She’s old enough to do some chores around the house, too.

Upon further reflection, though, I realized that I do like to have a list of things to do up in an easily visible location. I decided to bite my tongue, realize that Lucky somehow thought he was helping me, and just make a few quiet modifications to the list.

Considering that he brought this on himself, I’ve decided not to give him Sundays off. His chore is one that takes consistant, daily effort.

Filed under: Keepin' it Real, Me, Offspring, Random by WWS (Lynn) - 3 Comments →

A very happy Moth’s Day to all of the moths out there from our family to yours.

Filed under: Happy Happy, Offspring, Out of the Mouths of Babes, Random by WWS (Lynn) - 2 Comments →

Instead of all the other eleventy kabillion things I needed to get done tonight, I instead decided to spend my time defacing my friend Chesty LaRue’s Facebook wall tonight. It’s a wonder she keeps me around at all, frankly.

Key:

green = me
purple = Chesty
yellow = random mutual friend who was unneccessarily scarred by my outburst

Kisses to you and your fabulous *cough* spice *cough* rack, my love!

Filed under: Keepin' it Real, Me, Random by WWS (Lynn) - 1 Comment →