On Sunday, Lucky and I packed the kids off to their grandparents’ house for a sleepover so we could party it up paint their rooms. Logan picked what is quite possibly the nicest, most relaxing blue I have ever encountered and Lily picked bubblegum pink. Not so relaxing, but most definitely girly.

With me doing all of the edging and Lucky doing the rolling, we had both kids rooms done in no time.

And then I made him watch Twilight with me.

*snicker*

Here are the befores:

Logan’s boring beige room.

Lily’s equally boring beige room.

Fact: Their rooms were exactly the same shade of beige even though they look different in pictures. (Aren’t you glad that I’m detail-oriented enough to let you in on that one?)

Random cuteness warning: Below is a picture of Lily taken at the same time the “before” pictures were taken.

I’d gladly keep the rooms boring beige if it means that I get to keep my baby girl a baby just a bit longer…

Here are the afters:

I’m sure I don’t need to explain whose room this is…

Holy PINK room, Batman!

Lucky and I decided to reveal the rooms one at a time. And, because I can’t let my children experience a single thing without my camera in their face, I took pictures of their reactions.

Mostly, I think Logan just felt relief that the room wasn’t the terrible, horrible abomination that he feared it would be. “I thought it was going to be a really dark blue and that would make me sad.”

(Never mind that he helped to pick the colour…).

What can I say? Logan is his mother’s son, which means that he is terrible with change. Thankfully, he truly seems to love his new “boy” room. It’ll be even better when we put his Superman and Spidey stickers back up again.

Lily’s colour is a rosy pink. I actually went a shade lighter than what she picked and, if I’m being honest, I still think it’s a bit too much. I have to keep reminding myself that it’s not about me, it’s about Lily and let me tell you, Lily loves it. She loves it so much, in fact, that she changed outfits three times and had me take a picture of her in each one, in front of her new and fabulous pink walls.

Outfit one: her favourite fall dress and my childhood teddy.

Outfit two: her Dorothy costume from Halloween and Logan’s Webkins dog.

Can’t forget Toto’s basket!

Outfit three was a princess dress and fairy wings, but by that point, Lily was spinning in delirious circles around her room and I couldn’t manage to get a clear shot.

I’m a little tired after my whirlwind painting extravaganza. While I may not be a huge fan of pink, I am a huge fan of laying down. I figured it was the best way to properly enjoy my handiwork.

Even in a completely prone position, this room is pink. Day-um.

Want to know one other reason why laying down is so awesome? Gravity. It makes my face look younger and thinner. Also crazy. But if that’s the price I have to pay to see my cheekbones again, bring on the straitjacket!

I like to emphasize the crazy by not wearing makeup. Effective, no?

So what did you do this weekend?

Filed under: Keepin' it Real, Me, Offspring by WWS (Lynn) - 6 Comments →

This was one of the best parts of my Mother’s Day this year.

Even better? This picture is completely unposed and unrehearsed. We were all outside on my parents’ porch and the kids were busy having a moment of their own. All together, now. “AWWWWW…..“

Filed under: Happy Happy, Me, Offspring by WWS (Lynn) - 4 Comments →

A couple of weeks ago, I had the much-anticipated, long-awaited appointment with my endocrinologist. Based on my blood work, she determined that the evil root of all of my problems was Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome, or PCOS. Considering that my good pal Google and I had already pre-diagnosed me with that very syndrome months before, I wasn’t surprised. And, in the grand scheme of things, PCOS is not a big deal. Mostly it’s just a pain in the ever-expanding ass. Things could definitely be worse.

My doctor informed me that in order to keep my indoor plumbing healthy and cancer-free, it was a good idea to invite that nasty old bitch, otherwise known as Aunt Flo, over for a visit every three months or so. In order to do this, I need a bit of hormone therapy in the form of progesterone. The plan is to use the progesterone every three months in the hopes that it nudges my body in the right direction and all the things that have gone so very wrong in the past couple of years (like the size of my butt) will start to right themselves. I’m to go back in six months to see how things are coming along, and if needed, I can be put on different hormones or a medication called Metformin, which was actually made initially for diabetics. At this point, though, I’m crossing each bridge as I come to it.

On May first, I faithfully started my first round of progesterone. At first, I didn’t feel any difference. By day three, I could swear that I had more energy. On day five, I felt more alert and awake. By day eight, my idiot husband told me that I was acting just a touch argumentative. On day 10, I came thisclose to ripping my husband’s obnoxious face off. As of right now, day 11, my stupid, haggy old aunt has taken over my body, kicking me repeatedly in the ovaries and causing me to plot ways to off my husband, who for some odd reason, has become almost unbearably irritating. But maybe it’s just me.

Considering that I haven’t had to roll out the welcome mat to dear old crazy Flo in fourteen months, and before that only had to endure sporadic visits, I didn’t think to adequately prepare myself for such a guest. It’s probably been over two years since I’ve had to peruse the feminine hygiene aisle and I’m hoping that I can still navigate my way through. And, since I pretty much never have to stop and take stock of the supplies I have on hand, I didn’t even think about it when I was at the grocery store this morning. This means that not only do I have to go buy tampons for the first time this century, I have to make a specific trip just for that.

I’m thinking it will be a bit awkward, like the guy who really just wants to buy a box of condoms but ends up with a carton of milk, a TV Guide, some coffee filters and a pack of cigarettes, just to make it seem less obvious. I don’t think I can go to the store and just buy a box of feminine hygiene products.

(And yes, I’m well aware of the fact that I’m 32 years old and should really be able to buy condoms, lube and a lone banana, should I so desire, without turning a single shade of pink.)

(If you count my age strictly by the number of periods I’ve had, though, I’d have to say that I top out at about 19 which is clearly still an awkward age to be out buying tampons and nothing else).

(Otherwise, though, being 19 pretty much rules. From now on, I’m only going to refer to myself in menstrual age. I knew there had to be a silver lining to this whole PCOS thing!)

Okay, so what was I saying again?

So, yeah. It’s obvious that I can’t possibly go shopping for a single box of tampons. Because, knowing my luck, I’ll end up with some young guy at the checkout, looking at me with barely disguised horror as he realizes the reason why I’m standing before him. Because, obviously, when a woman needs only that one thing, she must be a menstrual Mount Vesuvius, ready to blow at any moment. Lord help you if you’re in my path of destruction, checkout boy. Hand over the tampons and duck, if you know what’s good for you.

So I’m thinking that, along with my lovely female item, it may be a good time to purchase that family-sized Caramilk bar I’ve had my eye on. And the latest copy of Star magazine. Maybe a gun, too, just to keep the husband in line. If I were a cat person, I’d totally throw a can or two of Fancy Feast into the pile, just for kicks.

All I can say is, I’d better start losing significant amounts of weight, like, yesterday, because this whole being a woman thing is far too much work otherwise.

Filed under: Just My Luck, Keepin' it Real, Me, PCOS by WWS (Lynn) - 4 Comments →

On Saturday, Lucky barbequed us a delicious meal. I’m not sure what I liked best – the food itself or the fact that I didn’t have to make it. (Clean up is a whole other story, but I won’t get into that one right now…)

I took a few pictures of Logan enjoying the meal. I thought I’d post them here and see if anyone is able to guess what we had.

Any guesses as to what it is?

Go ahead and guess.

Really. Give it your best shot.

Any ideas?

It’s a tough one, I know.

Need a hint?

Mmmm. Ribs.

Okay, I’ll admit it. The whole process of eating ribs is a bit gross. (Somehow, they really don’t look very appealing in pictures either…) Plus, it’s not an easy feat when you have no teeth. But boy, oh boy, are they good.

And, in honour of Mother’s Day, my husband bought me some tulips. Isn’t he thoughtful?

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

Last week, I broke down and bought the Hannah Montana movie soundtrack for Lily. We listen to it pretty much every time we get in the car and, as a result, The Hoedown Throwdown has been on a permanent loop in my head. It’s almost like Miley herself has taken residence in my brain. It’s like we’re jamming together or something. Sometimes I swear I can hear her talking to me.

Miley: Pop it, lock it, polka dot it, countryfy it, hip hop it

Me: Put your honk in the sky, move side to si…

Miley: Wait. What did you just say?

Me: Move side to side?

Miley: No. Before that.

Me: Put your honk in the air?

Miley: Right. That. What the hell is a honk?

Me: Pffft. I don’t know. It’s your song!

Miley: It’s not HONK. It’s hawk. H-A-W-K. Hawk.

Me: Honk. Hawk. Does it really matter? Neither one makes any sense at all.

Miley: …

Me: I mean, honestly. Why would you sing about putting your hawk in the sky when the song is supposed to be about a hoedown? Is there some kind of crazy Tennessean hawk dance that I don’t know about?

Miley: Are you being serious right now?

Me: No, really. Is doing “the hawk” some new dance move like “the twist”?

Miley: The twist? What are you, my grandma?

Me: I’m just sayin’. I don’t get it. The hawk isn’t even your state bird. It’s the mockingbird.

Miley: Really? That’s kind of cool, actually…

Me: So, we can agree that “hawk” makes no more sense than “honk”, right?

Miley: Uh, no. Sorry.

Me: I’d bet you dollars to doughnuts that half the kids dancing around to that song are singing “honk.”

Miley: Dollars to doughnuts? Who even says that?

Me: Wow. Apparently I do now. Hmmm.

Miley: It makes sense, I guess. I mean, you’re old enough to be my mother.

Me: I am not! I’m only 32!

Miley: …

Me: Oh. Okay, I guess technically I’m old enough to be your mother. But I’m not. So it’s moot.

Miley: But you could be. Not my mother, of course, since any child given birth to by you would have to be completely tone deaf. And lyrically challenged. That kind of thing has to be passed along in the genes. But some other sixteen year old’s mother. Definitely.

Me: Lyrically challenged? I am not lyrically challenged! You just happen to be enuncially challenged.

Miley: That’s not even a word!

Me: Unless you can explain to me right now why your hoedown song has hawk-throwing in it, this conversation is over.

Miley: All right. You caught me. I don’t know. Okay? I don’t know why. Quit harping on it, Grandma.

Me: Well, it was nice talking to you, Miley. Oh, and if I were you? I’d quit throwing my honk in the sky. You could get pregnant. It can happen at your age, you know.

_____________________

I’ll update everyone on my specialist’s appointment soon, I promise. First I have to wash out my brain and rid it of all things Hannah Montana…

Filed under: Uncategorized by WWS (Lynn) - 4 Comments →