Picking a URL

I was thinking about starting a second blog- completely different feel, completely different genre. I can't seem to keep on top of this one... but for some reason I feel it might be beneficial to work on number 2? (Guess it's kind of like having kids huh?)

So I'm thinking something that gets my "serious" out- simply an outlet for writing- essays, thoughts, rants (i.e. a typical blog)... so I think... what could I use for a title on this thing- something simple, catchy and easy to remember. Something that suggests communication- listening, speaking, hearing- but bold and hard to forget.

I try a few URL's I believe MAY be taken- but it's always worth a shot. I start the usually-mammoth project that happens when you're trying to find a new login id or web address. So I begin typing

"Listen"

before the .blogspot yaddy, yaddy- it's taken, (and it appears that this guy might be remotely funny). Then I try:

"Hear Me"

also taken- but looks like this one is abandoned... so then I think a little harder, get a bit more creative. I stretch those creative muscles and try:

"I Want your Ears"

... and "surprisingly" enough... it IS available- and for a moment I think-

"boy, what luck! I better snatch that up, before some one else takes it- that's a good one!"... and then I laugh thinking about how it's sounds bizarrely adult and might illicit the wrong traffic.

Bet You've Never Done This!

I have a two-year old. When she's asked to do something she replies, "sure". When she's picking something out to eat or wear- she stands in front of it and queries, "let me see what I want". If she sees someone would like something of hers she directs them, "you can play with mine if you want".

She is really kinda sweet... kinda...

Yesterday a series of two-year old incidents occurred, but I won't bore you with details of liquid eyeliner being painted on our thermostat or a sink being filled up with cold water and a nude derriere sitting in it- those are simply trifles...

Let's get to the meat of the matter here. Everyone has a potty training story- and if you have enough parents in

a room you can create a well-dotted house map of places/things children have soiled. Knowing this, I still have very little reservation in saying,I think my kid tops the charts of unusual places to pee.

Yesterday I set up a little tent with my daughters potty in it. After much coercion and a few tears, my daughter is convinced it is good to once again plunk her tiny toosh on the hard, cold plastic. She sits in her little tent on and off for 10 minutes- to no avail. No pee-pees, no poopy's. Notta.

Still bare bottomed, she hops off the potty and runs the loop from our kitchen, to dining room, around the corner to the living room, rounding the bend to the hall & landing back in the kitchen where she promptly announces, "I PEED!"

Since she doesn't seem to "get it" I'm not sure if the announcement is one of personal pride or more like a warning.

It has been a quick trip between rooms so I figure there will be a travelling puddle of pee across the floor. My sister-in-law and I scour the floor to see if we can find where the incontinence occurred. I announce (what I believe) to be the discovery and go to get rags. When I return I realize the floor is not wet where I thought it was.

My sister-in-law does an "oh no" and says she thinks she's found it. Affirmative- pee is found...

The night previous my brother-in-law brought over an older 27" TV. It was sitting on the living room floor. Reading the evidence- my daughter sat on the back part (with the ventilation gaps) and PEED on/through the TV!

Yes she sat on the TV and used it as a potty!

Dear OPRAH

Alrighty boys and girls, ladies and tomaties- today I'm going to write Ms. Oprah and see if she will meet with me. Ha ha ha! You never know- my friend told me once that if you "put yourself out there" someone will hear you and things will start happening. It's the "secret".

So I am going to propose an interview with Oprah- but that I get to be the interviewer on behalf of viewers. Now it's your turn- WHAT DO YOU WANT TO KNOW?

Share! Share! Share! Vote Melissa to meet Oprah! Letter going in right now!

I haven't joined up but I am MADD

Yesterday while driving in my neighbourhood school-zone with my two year old, a mini-van came careening down a hill perpendicular to the street I was driving on. It was too late by the time I saw him coming to do anything but brake and honk. The lady in front of me stepped on the gas. I stepped on the brakes. The impaired driver took the corner unto the street I was driving on (at about 70-100km/hour) veering between the lady in front of me and myself- missing my vehicle by literal inches, hoping the curb, onto the sidewalk and over three lawns, past about half dozen school kids, before momentarily stopping and then fleeing the scene.

The police were called. I don't know if the guy was caught. I hope he was. I kept thinking- wow that was scarey. Wow I'm so lucky. Wow HE is so lucky. HE is so fortunate he didn't hurt or kill anyone- himself aside. HE is so lucky- lucky enough that he should stop before his luck runs out.

Folks don't drink and drive! Don't do drugs and drive! DON'T DO IT! No excuses- zippo! DON'T get behind the wheel impaired!

Here come the Diggers

So here is a run-down of activities since September:

1. 5-year old starts school- hard for her and even more for me (whole other story)

2. I get sick- allergies, stomach flu, gastritis, H1N1, strep throat, chest cold (in that order & its now only November)

3. List house for sale, finish renovations, keep house tidy (with 3 tiny children) for what feels like constant-showings, pack with ...

4. A 5-year old asthmatic who gets sick- H1N1, anaphylactic reaction to peanuts (2 ambulances, 2 hospitals involved)

5. Start painting & cleaning new house before we move into an already full house

6. Try to clean out & up remainder of old house & move things into new house- get all paperwork in order for sale & purchase

... which brings us to yesterday when our electrical panel was being switched out.

I looked around the chaos of my house shortly after my 2-year old had found her way into a series of problems. Overwhelmed by the mess and stress I thought it might be a nice time for a good-cry. Unfortunately the tears just wouldn't come...

My brother-in-law, an electrician, came into the house to report on the activities of the panel change. I fully expected some sort of "unexpected" news- he told me of a few small problems, but said there was nothing major. Good. WOW- that's actually great.

A few hours later he came back in the house. His face looked grave this time (not a joke) and I knew something was wrong. Our street wiring is underground, and because of a problem with the meter base the power company informed him that they would have to send out a crew and digger to unearth the connection by the road. My heart sunk. I don't know if you've ever had to hire excavators- but it's a lucrative business for those who own- not those who pay.

We've been finding a number of need-to-be-resolved issues in the house and the thought of paying oodles of money for a machine to dig a hole outside, when there are so many problems inside was very discouraging.

My brother-in-law said it would be a few hours for the diggers to arrive. I got busy sorting and tidying my daughters' room. I saw the first truck arrive and didn't think much of it. A few minutes later I looked out the window to see if the digger had arrived... the power company sent not ONE but TWO diggers! I giggled with relief as I saw the heavy, duty-equipment get to work... two, blue-clad workmen with shovels and a metal detector! The best looking-diggers I've ever seen! I guess it's not all bad!

Celebrity Status

My children all look very much alike as babies: round, chubby faces, huge eyes, little noses, and rosy mouths.

When my oldest daughter was a baby people (friends and strangers alike) frequently remarked about her resemblance to the Gerber baby. I heard the comment so often that I called Gerber to see if they had a baby contest. They informed me that at Gerber they believe ALL babies are beautiful and that they didn't distinguish between any of them. (Obviously ALOT of people thought they had a Gerber Baby and Gerber didn't wish to notify them otherwise).

When my daughter became a toddler the comments were more about the Copperrtone Kid and Cindy-Lou Who, and since her toddler years reference has been made to Tinkerbelle.

All this said, I wasn't particularly surprised when a friend told me that my second daughter resembled someone famous. My girls look very similar so I thought it was one of the above-mentioned "celebs". My friend told me it was not any of them but couldn't quite put his finger on it.

One day while at a church social, my friend was observing my daughter. A lightbulb clicked.

He approached me and with his finger in the air, he said, "I know who [she] looks like now!"

Waiting for a foreseeable response I asked, "who?"

His answer: "An Ewok!"

Tanya the "Vampire"

Since Halloween is fast approaching- I thought this story would be a fun one to share. It happened before I had kids- but all these things bring us experience!

I've known my friend Tanya for along time. Like- I don't know- I'm going to say 12 years- maybe more?- probably more. I don't know. Anyways- we'll just go with twelve... and in all that time not once have I looked at her and thought: "gee you look like a vampire maybe I should slay you." Nope not once.
Until...

One night somewhere just before or after Christmas of 2000, my boyfriend, my friend, and I went to "my house"- (this was the house my friend Kristiane so kindly let me co-habit while she house-sat and took care of a mentally-ill Dalmatian). There were a number of our mutual friends over as we were having some sort of low-energy output, big-calorie consumption shindig.

We go to the door expecting to hear the hustle and bustle of comrades in the full swing of fun, but instead we are greeted by a little note letting us know that Tanya is at emergency and everyone has gone. As you can well imagine we are concerned- I mean if everyone has gone AND the word "emergency" has been used it must be bad.

We step inside for a CSI moment. There on the dining room floor is a wooden chair: one leg broken and the end smeared with blood. No "spatter" or "pooling"... just the tip- gross none the less.

We figure this is serious enough for us to join the party at the hospital. When we arrive, the inner waiting area is packed with our little party of well-wishers- each and all crossing their fingers that Tanya will be "alright".

"What happened?" we ask- and I believe the following account can only be attributed to a vampire- slaying ghost from the netherworld.
Tiny-Tanya had sat upon a usually sturdy wooden chair when it suddenly collapsed from under her- the back leg breaking into dagger-like form and then somehow? (who knows how? I'm not sure a physics-major would know how?) forcefully lodged itself in her upper leg just below her butt- sending her and all her friends to the emergency room to see if she might need stitches.

She has steely eyes, and she's pretty fair complected; she does have dark hair... but her teeth are pretty normal, and she seems to go to bed at a reasonable hour so I don't know why anyone would associate her with the count... but I'm pretty sure a ghost name Buffy is out to get her.

Bucko Going Bananas

(I originally wrote this a few years ago)

Some times I yell. Some times I think my neighbours think I am crazy. Sometimes I wish they read my blog and know why my voice escalates decibels...

The following incident I truly believe all stems from our governments irresponsible advertising of gambling. More than a year ago my oldest daughter started recognizing "Bucko" on TV like other kids might recognize Mickey Mouse or Dora the Explorer. (For all of my non- local friends "Bucko" is the lame local lotto mascot- a loonie with a smiley face scrawled on it in black indelible marker, taped to the end of a tongue depressor. They use this thing in commercials to somehow entice you to gamble. I don't know any adult convinced that Bucko will bring them luck and smiles but I do know one toddler. With her deep-seeded belief that Bucko is good, there is no doubt the newest Lotto 649 commercial also yielded a strong impression on my little one and whetted her appetite of interest... I will continue with this after I paint the picture of this morning's calamities...

So my daughter ate some yogurt and a BANANA for breakfast. She and my baby proceeded to empty all the footwear from the front closet... fairly regular occurrence- really need some doors on that thing. So here I am cleaning it up, not teaching my kid any lessons about responsibility, because I'm trying to teach her a lesson about time-management and we have got to get to swimming lessons.

Tinkle, tinkle, tinkle. No, nooo, noooooooooooooooooooooo... I turn around... you think I'm going to say she broke some glass, or was peeing on the floor, or tapping on something... no none of the above is correct. In fact my little daughter was mimicking the latest and greatest escapades displayed in the ridiculous marketing schemes of the Lotto 649- she was swinging from the chandelier!

Today I yelled.

From this day forward we are cutting back on bananas.

Luxury Fabrics

I just went to put on my pjs. My selection is small- but ample enough that I am in no way actually forced to wear the following: pants cast-off from my mother-in-law approximately five or so years ago. They have ample room (three sizes too big), a drawstring/elastic waistband combo(for comfort and serious sizing), two generous side pockets(perfect for holding tissues, or too-tiny-toys that must be placed in pocket before placed in baby), slightly tapered legs (harder for heat to escape)... and completely made of the warmest, softest, mosty snugly... fleece.

I actually love them, but it's a very unhealthy relationship. It's like the guy you should never like because he'll bring out the worst in you, make you look bad, and somewhere along the way while he's using you- embarass you shamelessly in front of your friends and family. Only after tossed to the side do you realize how ridiculous it all is- but never in the moment can you see it- that is what these pants are like. I know that we shouldn't be together- in fact I've tried a number of times to break it off.

I've looked in the mirror and seen what these pants do to me- they give me serious hips that I don't actually have and make it impossible to tell I have anything at all to sit on. They look sloppy and unkept despite their brand name label. I've put the pants in the give-to-some-one-who-needs-it-more-and-hopefully-has-no-taste bags- but couldn't let them go and took them out. I've worn them in public, in private, and while pregnant. But recently I decided I needed to just face the facts- we're not good together. So I took the pants a' painting. And there I accidentally brushed up against some moss green kitchen paint and planted a stain on these otherwise pristine fleece creations. I thought then it was over- I thought then I could say my goodbyes. It should have been easy- these pants are not even just ugly they're now "soiled"... even when washed- to wear them would be shameful- embarassing not simply because they look unfashionable but because they now appear unfashionable AND homeless. Who wants to date someone like that? But they're warm and they wrap me up and hug me like a blanket everytime I put them on. And who wouldn't want to date someone like that?

So tonight I find myself looking deep into the recesses of my closet- for the warm hug - but it is not there. I'd like to tell you we've split up- the pants have gone to rags, or a painter in the artic is happy to see them round out his or her collection- but I must admit the truth... they are in the laundry- waiting for me, calling me by name- saying "I require no maintenance, I keep you warm, I've been loyal, you know you love me- I'm "Wash and Wear"- what more could a girl want? I'm a luxury fabric.

The Good Life: My Version

Fresh Flowers

Clean, organized, functional & pretty house

Happy children

Warm bread out of the oven

No debt

Quiet evenings

Crackling fire in a fireplace

Good books/ great reads

Lots of laughter

Warm hugs

Crisp autumn air

Yummy, smell-good, taste-good restaraunt

Hot showers

Birthing is not for the Faint of Heart or Otherwise

Whenever a friend has their first child I almost get giddy with excitement to hear the play by play. As I have learned (others will argue differently) there is NOTHING that will ever FULLY prepare you for childbirth. No videos, no books, no helpful hints, tricks, or countless first-hand experiences: NOTHING. That is not to say you can't get an IDEA of what it will be like- but full understanding is almost impossible until you've done it.

My first child-birthing experience was rather dramatic and drugged (not the kind that helps with pain- just the kind that makes you loopy). Simply put: it hurt a lot and I thought I was going to die (I really did think I was dying- although it is embarassing you can confirm this with my doctor). Luckily for me my delivery time was very short- from hospital arrival to babe in arms was about 2 1/2 hours. Although my husband felt a bit queasy from the "smell" and visual of "all the blood", he was there for me and I appreciated that.

When baby number two was due to arrive I was nervous, but I knew what to expect, how to respond, and based on previous experience I felt I probably would not die. I waited for that kid for what seemed like forever, but finally (two-weeks less a day overdue) I was induced.

My husband (who has far too often belittled my pain-threshold) and I went to the hospital. The medical staff worked their magic and we waited for the pain to start and the baby to come on out.

As the pain peaked, I decided I would get the epidural. All of my friends swore by it, and as my labour intensified from mild to moderate to near nasty-nasty I thought I'd take their advice and try it.

The anesthesologist entered my room and began to prep my back. She gave me instructions as exactly how to sit and instructed me to stay perfectly still. They got my husband to stand in front of me to help me maintain the necessary position as I sat on the edge of the bed.

I was concentrating on breathing and getting through the pain when I heard the anathesiologist instruct statue-as-I-could-be-me to "stay still!"

What was she talking about? I was still- as still as I could be. And then I realized what was happening. Ker-plop my husband fainted on the floor. The call-button was pressed and a slew of medical staff came rushing in to help the mother in peril- which turned out to be the father in peril.

He puked while I had a massive needle stuck in my back. He slept while a nice nurse held my hand. My doctor finally woke him up as our daughters head was crowning. He sat sort of listless and watched her come out. I would have felt sorry for him- except I was busy giving birth. It was THE sweetest vindication for all the pain-threshold mockery I've endured over the years. And so I laugh. I laugh A LOT everytime I think of it. I'm chuckling as I type.

The BEST part of the whole thing was that the following Sunday we saw some friends who had gone to the same hospital to visit other new-parent friends of theirs. Their friends told them all about this poor guy who'd passed out the day previous while his wife was delivering- and low and behold- it was US!

A Sticky End Note

When my oldest daughter was a baby my friend and I took her and my friends son to Toys R' Us. They were both probably about 18 months old or younger- so the trip was definitely more for us and less for them. My little girl started fussing a bit so I grabbed a toy off the shelf for her to look at whilst we strolled on to the next isle. In very few minutes I noticed my daughter full-out chewing on something and feared that she'd chomped off the end of the toy package- that would have been lucky. Instead when I pinched her cheeks...

out popped...

a wad of ABC gum!!! Apparently someone else had use for the toy before we did.

My Husband Has ADD or least He hopes

A few years ago my step-mother-in-law (long title- but you get the relationship) told me that- "hyper-focusing" and "perfectionism" can be signs of ADD. I was really surprised. I grew up with a cousin who had ADD, and classmates with ADHD who were flying off the walls. These kids could never sit still, and so my vision of ADD/ ADHD has always been ignorantly limited to my memories of these individuals behaviours.

In Grade 9 I had two ADHD kids who sat side-by-side. I can remember fists flying and wrestling moves in the classroom after one kid said something the other kid didn't fully process, jumped to conclusions and subsequently (as well as LITERALLY) onto the other kids back. Quite eventful.

Although my husband can NEVER sit still- he is not so quick to jump to conclusions, and he focuses incredibly well. Not until the SMIL comment did I even ponder the idea of adult-ADD, but since then- well I've thought of it quite a bit!

So the other day when a documentary came on TV about Adult ADD I was all over that thing. I was in the kitchen, pulled up a stool and thought: "by the end of this I will be able to diagnose yeah or nay on the ADD!" (say ADD in french and the whole thing rhymes. ***CHEESE***)

About 20 minutes into the program I was surprised at how ACTUALLY Adult-ADD my husband sounded: paces constantly while on phone, has difficulty completing tasks, incredibly creative, hyper-focuses on a topic of interest etc. Could it be true? Could he have ADD?

While completely intent on the program and searching for evidence of the presence of the disorder in our home, my husband (who is planning on going to University next semester after a 10+year hiatus) lands in the kitchen and asks what I am watching. I openly explain to him that I am learning about ADD and will be diagnosing him by the end of the show. He excitedly asks, "oh really?! How do I get diagnosed? Do you think I could get some scholarships with that?"

I Wanna Win a Webby

I am of the notion: "go big or go home". Currently my plan is to do both- well at least the "big" and the "home" part, (substituting the "go" with "stay"). So just like a slew of other women, I too wish to [remain] a stay-at-home-mother- and my blog is going to help me do it.

How you ask? Well I'm going to win a Webby, and I'm going to meet Oprah (as well as perhaps lesser-known David Bednar and Julie Beck), all the while earning an income and living my writing passion.

Tall order? YES... but some one's got to do it- and I always like to say (though I don't gamble) "SOMEBODY has to win the lottery- so why not me?"