Do optimists ever have days when they just say fuck it? Or do they truly look at every situation, no matter how shit filled and say, "On the bright side, it's solid shit and therefore easier to clean up than diarrhea."
I can't help but ponder these sorts of things. I've been feeling quite upbeat and positive lately but I keep hitting roadblocks and feel myself slip into the comfortable role of angry victim. Thing is I'm tired of being an angry victim and the people or situations creating that opportunity for the angry victim to emerge? Are not angry. Or victimized. Or even aware they are being assholes.
So why would I waste my energy on being angry and indignant when they're fucking sitting in la-la land thinking about what a great awesome better than whoever person they are. The same goes for situations beyond ones control.
Some things though, are in my control and I do believe it's time to start acting on them.
For instance, 40 year old men ogling my 14 YEAR OLD daughter, are going to fucking start feeling victimized. And angry. They will be angry I wrecked their bike when I hit them with my fucking Crossover SUV/minivan type of vehicle. They will feel victimized when I've lopped off one of their balls and placed it every so gently in their mouths while repeatedly kicking them in what's left of their diseased pervert penis.
Seriously. I've started noticing this more and more lately. My daughter is a pretty girl. When boys her age look, I notice, am not thrilled, but I am not stupid enough to think they aren't going to notice and that it's not normal behaviour. But, if you are a 40 year old man, all "tatted up", tanned in a fashion to make Snooki jealous and have your greasy sick pedophile hair in a pony tail on the top of your head and you check her out once? You are sick and fucked and I really wish I would've just given you a gentle nudge with my minivan on steroids. But when you turn around to get a second look?
If only I didn't have the bare minimum of normals and impulse control I could handle this in a fashion to make Tony Soprano or Jax Teller proud and carry on with my day. And because I wish I was either affiliated with the mob (only in a fictional TV, Good Fellas sense) or some body's "old lady" (again, only in a SOA, again fictional sense), this is the way I will choose to handle any further over-aged leering at my daughter.
So anyway, while trying to find my positive inner self, I'm faced with obstacles such as the one mentioned above.
There are others as well. Too numerous and ultimately personal to mention. I am not one of those lucky bloggers who can write freely. I need watch my P's and Q's for the greater good. Apparently my old job was not for the greater good.
And I'm okay with that.
So I guess today's moral is, positivity is a state of mind. Assholes are generally not aware they are assholes nor do they care. And middle aged leering creeps? Shall soon be one bike and a ball short.
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
Darn.
Back to square one. It's been another 11 days since I last posted. It's not that I don't think about posting or write little random bloggish snippets in my head whenever something amuses, angers, frightens, or excites me, but getting the words out of my head on a consistent basis continues to be a struggle.
As does eating healthy. And exercising. Forever and ever I've only been able to manage, at most, three things effectively at any given time. At present this is my two jobs and my household. Blogging and self care are steadily losing ground.
I'm nearly at the point where I need to give my belly a name, a constant faithful companion is she. She has a newly discovered love of pop. For those of you not from Saskatchewan or North Dakota, that's 'soda'. I never used to like pop. I could take it or leave it UNLESS it was mixed with my other best gal pal, Vodka. Or, when I was dieting, I consumed copious amounts of diet pop in an effort to stop consuming copious amounts of cookies. It worked, sometimes.
Now though, I prefer to have regular, fully sugared pop in addition to any number of other poor choices. I get winded from going up the stairs. My knee hurts.
I'm not Biggest Loser material yet but at 34, I feel like I really shouldn't have any physical ailments.
So do something about it, right?
Right.
Some of the problem lies in the fact I am never truly motivated to lose weight unless I am 100% belittling and demeaning myself and my gluttonous ways and have a full hate on for my body. That's not really fun but usually keeps me going.
Another problem is I am considerably more laid back than I was back when I was an employee of Hell. When I was there, I was miserable all of the time and so it was pretty easy to also hate my body and enjoy the punishment of a spin class. For those 55 minutes or so I didn't have to think about how much I hated my job, how underappreciated I and my co-workers were, how messed up the whole system is. I just had to focus on the burning pain in my legs, trying not to fall off of my bike and breathing.
At present, when I think about a spin class and think about how uncomfortable it was and how my legs burned? I think that I truly must belong on my couch watching Big Brother. Then when I can't read a bedtime story to my children without the aid of an oxygen tank, because I had to go upstairs first, I think it may just be worth it.
Stay tuned. Find out whether I succumb to the evils of exercise or the more comfortable, but equally evil life of a sedentary woman who eventually will be unable to shave her own legs without assistance thanks to growing girth and complete loss of core strength thereby necessitating bathing in my own filth while my husband shaves them for me. Sexy, no?
No.
Darn.
As does eating healthy. And exercising. Forever and ever I've only been able to manage, at most, three things effectively at any given time. At present this is my two jobs and my household. Blogging and self care are steadily losing ground.
I'm nearly at the point where I need to give my belly a name, a constant faithful companion is she. She has a newly discovered love of pop. For those of you not from Saskatchewan or North Dakota, that's 'soda'. I never used to like pop. I could take it or leave it UNLESS it was mixed with my other best gal pal, Vodka. Or, when I was dieting, I consumed copious amounts of diet pop in an effort to stop consuming copious amounts of cookies. It worked, sometimes.
Now though, I prefer to have regular, fully sugared pop in addition to any number of other poor choices. I get winded from going up the stairs. My knee hurts.
I'm not Biggest Loser material yet but at 34, I feel like I really shouldn't have any physical ailments.
So do something about it, right?
Right.
Some of the problem lies in the fact I am never truly motivated to lose weight unless I am 100% belittling and demeaning myself and my gluttonous ways and have a full hate on for my body. That's not really fun but usually keeps me going.
Another problem is I am considerably more laid back than I was back when I was an employee of Hell. When I was there, I was miserable all of the time and so it was pretty easy to also hate my body and enjoy the punishment of a spin class. For those 55 minutes or so I didn't have to think about how much I hated my job, how underappreciated I and my co-workers were, how messed up the whole system is. I just had to focus on the burning pain in my legs, trying not to fall off of my bike and breathing.
At present, when I think about a spin class and think about how uncomfortable it was and how my legs burned? I think that I truly must belong on my couch watching Big Brother. Then when I can't read a bedtime story to my children without the aid of an oxygen tank, because I had to go upstairs first, I think it may just be worth it.
Stay tuned. Find out whether I succumb to the evils of exercise or the more comfortable, but equally evil life of a sedentary woman who eventually will be unable to shave her own legs without assistance thanks to growing girth and complete loss of core strength thereby necessitating bathing in my own filth while my husband shaves them for me. Sexy, no?
No.
Darn.
Saturday, August 6, 2011
The Church of Penny Lane
This morning I had two visitors at my door. I wondered who the heck would be coming to our house this morning and using the front door, no less. I peered out the window and immediately figured out who and also immediately wondered why.
Nonetheless, I opened the door. I did not open the screen door but this did not stop the young man for launching into conversation. Turns out, as luck would have it, he was here, with his friend Ken, to tell me about God.
yay.
So Buddy (I can't remember his name) proceeded to let me know there are 36 churches in Moose Jaw and asked what I think God thinks about this.
My reply: "I don't think He minds."
This did not sit well with Buddy and he started to read to me from his pamphlet some shit about one true God and how this one 'true' God probably isn't thrilled with Moose Jaw and their penchant for choosing their own ways to worship. Those weren't exactly his words.
At this point, I politely, if somewhat coldly, shared I didn't want to waste anymore of his time and wished him a good day.
I don't even know if I believe in God but if there is a God, the one that I believe in doesn't care if you're Catholic, Lutheran, Buddhist or Mennonite. The God I would choose to believe in only wants people to live a life where they try their best not to hurt others, not to cheat, lie or steal and to be nice.
The God I would choose to believe in does not want Buddy & Ken coming to my house on an otherwise pleasant Saturday morning telling me that He doesn't like people going to different churches to worship. I'm not sure what denomination Buddy & Ken are. Jehovah Witness maybe? I'm not sure. I don't know enough about them to tell. It's a guess pure & simple. I only know they aren't Mormon because they didn't say they were Elders or refer to themselves as 'Brother'. I know a little more about our Mormon friends because my ex-husband took a super fun for all journey there for awhile.
To me, this sort of "God only wants one church" belief is akin to racism. I'm pretty sure God doesn't promote that either. Come to think of it, I should've told Buddy & Ken that I needed to go because my (fill in the race blank) Lesbian lover was waiting for me upstairs for a session of Saturday morning lovemaking followed by a Ouija Board session. I have a feeling Ken & Buddy do not support same sex marriage. No confirmation, just an inkling.
So to end today's lesson in Penny Lane Religion: I don't know if I believe in God. I do know I believe in treating people equally and fairly. I do know that I believe people deserve this equal and fair treatment no matter their age, sex, gender, race or sexual preference. I think, if there is a God, he feels the same way and if he doesn't?
I'll carry on just the same. I will speak openly against racism, sexism, and homophobes. I will teach my children to do the same. I will continue to respect those who choose to worship the God they believe in.
And, I will not hope Ken and Buddy get stung by wasps today, eat a bad 7-11 burrito and get the runs without a bathroom in sight.
Nonetheless, I opened the door. I did not open the screen door but this did not stop the young man for launching into conversation. Turns out, as luck would have it, he was here, with his friend Ken, to tell me about God.
yay.
So Buddy (I can't remember his name) proceeded to let me know there are 36 churches in Moose Jaw and asked what I think God thinks about this.
My reply: "I don't think He minds."
This did not sit well with Buddy and he started to read to me from his pamphlet some shit about one true God and how this one 'true' God probably isn't thrilled with Moose Jaw and their penchant for choosing their own ways to worship. Those weren't exactly his words.
At this point, I politely, if somewhat coldly, shared I didn't want to waste anymore of his time and wished him a good day.
I don't even know if I believe in God but if there is a God, the one that I believe in doesn't care if you're Catholic, Lutheran, Buddhist or Mennonite. The God I would choose to believe in only wants people to live a life where they try their best not to hurt others, not to cheat, lie or steal and to be nice.
The God I would choose to believe in does not want Buddy & Ken coming to my house on an otherwise pleasant Saturday morning telling me that He doesn't like people going to different churches to worship. I'm not sure what denomination Buddy & Ken are. Jehovah Witness maybe? I'm not sure. I don't know enough about them to tell. It's a guess pure & simple. I only know they aren't Mormon because they didn't say they were Elders or refer to themselves as 'Brother'. I know a little more about our Mormon friends because my ex-husband took a super fun for all journey there for awhile.
To me, this sort of "God only wants one church" belief is akin to racism. I'm pretty sure God doesn't promote that either. Come to think of it, I should've told Buddy & Ken that I needed to go because my (fill in the race blank) Lesbian lover was waiting for me upstairs for a session of Saturday morning lovemaking followed by a Ouija Board session. I have a feeling Ken & Buddy do not support same sex marriage. No confirmation, just an inkling.
So to end today's lesson in Penny Lane Religion: I don't know if I believe in God. I do know I believe in treating people equally and fairly. I do know that I believe people deserve this equal and fair treatment no matter their age, sex, gender, race or sexual preference. I think, if there is a God, he feels the same way and if he doesn't?
I'll carry on just the same. I will speak openly against racism, sexism, and homophobes. I will teach my children to do the same. I will continue to respect those who choose to worship the God they believe in.
And, I will not hope Ken and Buddy get stung by wasps today, eat a bad 7-11 burrito and get the runs without a bathroom in sight.
Friday, July 1, 2011
National Holidays & Altercations at Super Wal-Mart
I should begin by wishing all my fellow Canadians the Happiest of Canada Days! Mine was quite unpatriotic. We spent a good part of the day getting ready to go camping tomorrow and then saw Transformers 3. In 3-D. I add that only because it was the first time I'd done so and I liked it.
Part of our camping preparation included a trip to Super Wal-Mart in Regina after dropping off our daughter. She has chosen to instead camp with her best friend and said best friend's family rather than her own. She's 14.
Anyway, off we went. Shopped and shopped and by the time we were done, both my caffeine and patience had worn off. I was unloading the cart and my boys asked me if they could go look at the games. You know, those godforsaken sort of mini-arcade games that you could likely feed $100 to in 10 minutes and still not get a crappy stuffed animal? Those ones. They just wanted to look and since it was right within my line of vision, I let them. My husband and I continued unloading. They continued playing and at one point asked me for money with which to play the game. I said no.
Next time I looked up, the fucking Crypt Keeper (elderly female Greeter) was speaking sternly to my boys. At this point I feel I may have resembled a predator who catches the scent of it's prey. Dramatic? Yes, but I generally come off as very unapproachable unless I make a conscious effort not to (read: I look bitchy ALL of the time; mostly because I am). Then the boys returned to our check out and Reese, my 7 year old, was flushed and trying very hard not to cry.
What. The. Fuck.
For the record (what record, I'm not sure), they were simply pretending to play the game. They were not 'reefing' on the stupid joystick and the goddamn game was out of order anyway. Reese kept telling us that he didn't see the 'Out of Order' sign. We told him that he had done nothing wrong.This is important for later.
Ryan and I begin to discuss this old bitch's fate while we finished checking out. Find a manager? At this point I'd had my fill of people. Oh wait, new detail: Reese tells Ryan that the old bitch grabbed him by the wrist when she approached them. Really?! REALLY?! What is it about MY children that makes people think it is okay to physically discipline them in any way whatsoever? Yes, this was only one woman. I am not at liberty to discuss any and all previous incident(s).
This explains the near tears. He's a sensitive boy but had she just said: "Please don't touch", and left it at that, I doubt he would've looked quite as stricken.
So, we took our boys and made our way to the doors. Myself, 5'7", of formidable size and looking motherfucking pissed off, followed by my 6'4" 250 lb+ husband, appearing equally pissed off. I walk faster than my spouse on any given day, and I was mad, and his ankle was sore, and he was pushing the cart, so he was more than a few steps behind.
I beelined for her. Ryan said he watched her see me and attempt to avoid. Um, guess what Grandma, you have nowhere to go. Stay at the fucking door and greet me. Once confronted, one of us on each side, she kept repeating: "The machine is broken". My husband replied: "How are they going to make it any more broken?" He was like a machine. This makes him infuriating to argue with but is super when watching him apply his tactics to others. I shared it was 'unnecessary' to touch my child EVER. She denied it. Um, no. He has no fucking reason to lie and is about as good as hiding his emotions as I am and is a bad liar to boot. HE WAS NOT LYING AND NOW YOU SHALL BURN IN YOU KNOW WHERE AND BY THE THE LOOKS OF YOU, IT WON'T BE LONG.
I walked away, Ryan shared a few more words with her and we left.
We don't spank our children. I did spank my two oldest ones and I regret it. I am older now and more empathetic and do not see how hitting them is going to get any sort of message across about behaviour. Now this old 'see you next Tuesday' does not know this but given she doesn't know my children and is an employee? Hands-the-fuck-off. I am contemplating writing a strongly worded letter.
The rational side of me has only this to say in her defense: She should be retired. She was for real old and her out-of-the-box red hair is not hiding that in any way, shape or form. Must suck, at her age, to have to be a Wal-Mart greeter. That being said, if dealing with the public isn't your "thing", go the fuck home or get a different job.
Then the real me takes over and wishes I would've went off on her a little harder.
I recognize this does not paint me in a favourable light but if you haven't figured out by now that I'm mean, I can't help you. Mean and protective of things that are mine.
In hindsight, she's lucky I didn't drop her.
Happy Canada Day!
Part of our camping preparation included a trip to Super Wal-Mart in Regina after dropping off our daughter. She has chosen to instead camp with her best friend and said best friend's family rather than her own. She's 14.
Anyway, off we went. Shopped and shopped and by the time we were done, both my caffeine and patience had worn off. I was unloading the cart and my boys asked me if they could go look at the games. You know, those godforsaken sort of mini-arcade games that you could likely feed $100 to in 10 minutes and still not get a crappy stuffed animal? Those ones. They just wanted to look and since it was right within my line of vision, I let them. My husband and I continued unloading. They continued playing and at one point asked me for money with which to play the game. I said no.
Next time I looked up, the fucking Crypt Keeper (elderly female Greeter) was speaking sternly to my boys. At this point I feel I may have resembled a predator who catches the scent of it's prey. Dramatic? Yes, but I generally come off as very unapproachable unless I make a conscious effort not to (read: I look bitchy ALL of the time; mostly because I am). Then the boys returned to our check out and Reese, my 7 year old, was flushed and trying very hard not to cry.
What. The. Fuck.
For the record (what record, I'm not sure), they were simply pretending to play the game. They were not 'reefing' on the stupid joystick and the goddamn game was out of order anyway. Reese kept telling us that he didn't see the 'Out of Order' sign. We told him that he had done nothing wrong.This is important for later.
Ryan and I begin to discuss this old bitch's fate while we finished checking out. Find a manager? At this point I'd had my fill of people. Oh wait, new detail: Reese tells Ryan that the old bitch grabbed him by the wrist when she approached them. Really?! REALLY?! What is it about MY children that makes people think it is okay to physically discipline them in any way whatsoever? Yes, this was only one woman. I am not at liberty to discuss any and all previous incident(s).
This explains the near tears. He's a sensitive boy but had she just said: "Please don't touch", and left it at that, I doubt he would've looked quite as stricken.
So, we took our boys and made our way to the doors. Myself, 5'7", of formidable size and looking motherfucking pissed off, followed by my 6'4" 250 lb+ husband, appearing equally pissed off. I walk faster than my spouse on any given day, and I was mad, and his ankle was sore, and he was pushing the cart, so he was more than a few steps behind.
I beelined for her. Ryan said he watched her see me and attempt to avoid. Um, guess what Grandma, you have nowhere to go. Stay at the fucking door and greet me. Once confronted, one of us on each side, she kept repeating: "The machine is broken". My husband replied: "How are they going to make it any more broken?" He was like a machine. This makes him infuriating to argue with but is super when watching him apply his tactics to others. I shared it was 'unnecessary' to touch my child EVER. She denied it. Um, no. He has no fucking reason to lie and is about as good as hiding his emotions as I am and is a bad liar to boot. HE WAS NOT LYING AND NOW YOU SHALL BURN IN YOU KNOW WHERE AND BY THE THE LOOKS OF YOU, IT WON'T BE LONG.
I walked away, Ryan shared a few more words with her and we left.
We don't spank our children. I did spank my two oldest ones and I regret it. I am older now and more empathetic and do not see how hitting them is going to get any sort of message across about behaviour. Now this old 'see you next Tuesday' does not know this but given she doesn't know my children and is an employee? Hands-the-fuck-off. I am contemplating writing a strongly worded letter.
The rational side of me has only this to say in her defense: She should be retired. She was for real old and her out-of-the-box red hair is not hiding that in any way, shape or form. Must suck, at her age, to have to be a Wal-Mart greeter. That being said, if dealing with the public isn't your "thing", go the fuck home or get a different job.
Then the real me takes over and wishes I would've went off on her a little harder.
I recognize this does not paint me in a favourable light but if you haven't figured out by now that I'm mean, I can't help you. Mean and protective of things that are mine.
In hindsight, she's lucky I didn't drop her.
Happy Canada Day!
Monday, June 27, 2011
Cookie Monster is Not to Blame
My child is currently watching 'Super Why'. This is a relatively new children's show as far as I'm aware and he likes it. I am bitchy already and when I overheard some character on the show had lots their red basket with "lots of healthy snacks in it" I became irritated.
When I was a child, Cookie Monster ate cookies and I turned out fine. I was not an obese child. I'm a little bit of a chubby bunny now but this has nothing to do with Cookie Monster binging on cookies as it has to do with my sugar/carb/vodka/TV addictions. None of which were fostered by Cookie Monster. I was a skinny child. My parents did not allow us Oreos, Kraft Dinner, any cereal except for Cornflakes, Rice Krispies, Cheerios, Puffed Wheat and once in awhile we had Alpha-Bits.
They were not mean. We didn't have Oreos because my mom baked her ass off all of the time. If I was eating cookies they were homemade. And believe me, I ate cookies. I snuck cookies like a motherf*cker. I became the queen of stealth. Macaroni & Cheese was also a homemade affair. As was bread. Pancakes and french toast made from scratch.
Chips and pop were a treat once in awhile. Not an everyday staple.
My point is, my parents made these decisions for us. So even though Cookie Monster was on his way to Type 2 Diabetes my parents had the forethought not to let us eat only cookies. I know, I'm as blown away as you are.
The kids watching Super Why or watching the new and improved Cookie Monster enjoy cookies as a "sometimes snack" have little choice as to what they are being fed. What four year old is going to say: "No Thanks Mom, I'll pass on the cookies and enjoy some baby carrots instead. The weird big headed kids on Super Why only eat healthy snacks and I want to be just like them." ? This does not happen.
The kids who this kind of propaganda is geared towards have no choice in the matter. They don't go grocery shopping. It's not their choice to have juice in their bottle but they'll drink it. And if you gave your child juice in a bottle, yes I'm judging you. Just as your small child will be judged by every adult that gets a look at their rotted out front teeth. Pop is even better.
Where has all the common sense gone? I admit I lost a little of it myself. My children seem to require more entertaining then I'm prepared to engage in. Then I flashed back to my own childhood and being told, under no uncertain terms, to play outside. And so I did, probably after whining, but I usually enjoyed myself. It dawned on me, then, that I can make my kids go outside and play and not feel guilty about it. Seems pretty simple but apparently I get caught up in more parental guilt than I'm aware. Which is scary because I don't want to raise any assholes and that what happens when the Juniors of the world are entirely catered to and never made to do anything they don't want to do.
Yes, my children are allowed Oreos, on occasion (to be honest this is largely due to the fact that if we kept them in the house all of the time I would easily weigh 200 pounds). Kraft Dinner on many occasions. Chips and pop remain a sometimes treat. I try to ensure vegetables are a part of their day, even if it's just some cut up cucumbers at supper. I make some stuff from scratch but am nowhere the baker or cook my mother is. We could do better, as a family, with our eating and continually try to do just that. And not because Cookie Monster no longer eats cookies all of the time or because the weird big-headed kids on Super Why eat healthy snacks and the Wonder Pets prefer celery after saving the day.
All of this wisdom shared it should be noted that the fair was in town this weekend and by the time we got home, I was the one with a stomachache after molesting a bag of cotton candy, enjoying a soft pretzel, a large lemonade, a medium Iced Tea, one dry rib (they were burnt) and a couple of mini donuts.
Those Super Why kids would be really disappointed but given my head is pretty much in proportion to my body (I have a big head, literally, hats are an issue) and theirs are not, I still win.
When I was a child, Cookie Monster ate cookies and I turned out fine. I was not an obese child. I'm a little bit of a chubby bunny now but this has nothing to do with Cookie Monster binging on cookies as it has to do with my sugar/carb/vodka/TV addictions. None of which were fostered by Cookie Monster. I was a skinny child. My parents did not allow us Oreos, Kraft Dinner, any cereal except for Cornflakes, Rice Krispies, Cheerios, Puffed Wheat and once in awhile we had Alpha-Bits.
They were not mean. We didn't have Oreos because my mom baked her ass off all of the time. If I was eating cookies they were homemade. And believe me, I ate cookies. I snuck cookies like a motherf*cker. I became the queen of stealth. Macaroni & Cheese was also a homemade affair. As was bread. Pancakes and french toast made from scratch.
Chips and pop were a treat once in awhile. Not an everyday staple.
My point is, my parents made these decisions for us. So even though Cookie Monster was on his way to Type 2 Diabetes my parents had the forethought not to let us eat only cookies. I know, I'm as blown away as you are.
The kids watching Super Why or watching the new and improved Cookie Monster enjoy cookies as a "sometimes snack" have little choice as to what they are being fed. What four year old is going to say: "No Thanks Mom, I'll pass on the cookies and enjoy some baby carrots instead. The weird big headed kids on Super Why only eat healthy snacks and I want to be just like them." ? This does not happen.
The kids who this kind of propaganda is geared towards have no choice in the matter. They don't go grocery shopping. It's not their choice to have juice in their bottle but they'll drink it. And if you gave your child juice in a bottle, yes I'm judging you. Just as your small child will be judged by every adult that gets a look at their rotted out front teeth. Pop is even better.
Where has all the common sense gone? I admit I lost a little of it myself. My children seem to require more entertaining then I'm prepared to engage in. Then I flashed back to my own childhood and being told, under no uncertain terms, to play outside. And so I did, probably after whining, but I usually enjoyed myself. It dawned on me, then, that I can make my kids go outside and play and not feel guilty about it. Seems pretty simple but apparently I get caught up in more parental guilt than I'm aware. Which is scary because I don't want to raise any assholes and that what happens when the Juniors of the world are entirely catered to and never made to do anything they don't want to do.
Yes, my children are allowed Oreos, on occasion (to be honest this is largely due to the fact that if we kept them in the house all of the time I would easily weigh 200 pounds). Kraft Dinner on many occasions. Chips and pop remain a sometimes treat. I try to ensure vegetables are a part of their day, even if it's just some cut up cucumbers at supper. I make some stuff from scratch but am nowhere the baker or cook my mother is. We could do better, as a family, with our eating and continually try to do just that. And not because Cookie Monster no longer eats cookies all of the time or because the weird big-headed kids on Super Why eat healthy snacks and the Wonder Pets prefer celery after saving the day.
All of this wisdom shared it should be noted that the fair was in town this weekend and by the time we got home, I was the one with a stomachache after molesting a bag of cotton candy, enjoying a soft pretzel, a large lemonade, a medium Iced Tea, one dry rib (they were burnt) and a couple of mini donuts.
Those Super Why kids would be really disappointed but given my head is pretty much in proportion to my body (I have a big head, literally, hats are an issue) and theirs are not, I still win.
Thursday, June 23, 2011
Shave My Back, Ferris
I must first apologize at my lack of posting this week. I have been in a foul mood since Monday. Today I am better. Why? Maybe it's the second day of sunshine in a row. Maybe it's having the time to drink two cups of coffee this morning and reading the papers. Maybe it's because last night was a good night work-wise. I'm not sure but I am sure I like not being miserable.
One of the highlights of my week: My four year old came downstairs, butt naked and paraded a little in front of my husband and I. He loves his naked body and his penis. So I said something to the effect of: "That's right Baby, love that body." That's not as creepy as it sounds. I was making a joke. His response? "Show me your body and I'll shave your back!" This was said with perfect timing and directly to me.
Hm.
I, for the record, do not need my back shaved. I'm a hairy gal, for sure, but the hair is where it's supposed to be. Legs, underarms, etc. I look after all of that on my own. Why he chose that particular response, I'll never know. My husband doesn't even have a hairy back. He doesn't even have a hairy front. He has about 23 chest hairs in total.
Anyway, I enjoyed it but worried and wondered at the same time. Why would I worry? I can handle this kid at four. I love him immensely and he provides me with constant entertainment. At 14, I think it will have turned to worry. 17? I don't even want to think about it. I don't think he's going to be bad in a criminal sense but I do believe he's going to give me a run for my money. His personality combined with his looks (he's cute, I'm not biased, other people say it too-ask 'Stacey' and Sinatra), combined with the fact that he's my 'baby' and may or may not (yes he does) have me wrapped around his little finger?
I think I'm raising Ferris Bueller.
Who doesn't love Ferris Bueller? Except for his sister, Jeannie but that bitch was seriously uptight and it wasn't until she went on vacation with her other family and gave it up to Patrick Swayze (RIP) that she loosened up a little. Rhett, my Ferris, has a sister too. She's 14 so will be on her own by the time things are really getting out of control here. Not that she won't be angry about it and chide me about it. That being said, I know she'll have the presence of mind not to make out with Charlie Sheen. If he's still alive in ten years...
Winning!
Sorry. Anyway, school is very nearly out, summer is trying to be here and I got a little of my tan on yesterday so as soon as I hit the gym and do some laundry I'll be ready. Not necessarily DTF but I'm not a grenade, even for a 34 year old baseball, soccer, football, hockey mom.
CABS ARE HERE!!
One of the highlights of my week: My four year old came downstairs, butt naked and paraded a little in front of my husband and I. He loves his naked body and his penis. So I said something to the effect of: "That's right Baby, love that body." That's not as creepy as it sounds. I was making a joke. His response? "Show me your body and I'll shave your back!" This was said with perfect timing and directly to me.
Hm.
I, for the record, do not need my back shaved. I'm a hairy gal, for sure, but the hair is where it's supposed to be. Legs, underarms, etc. I look after all of that on my own. Why he chose that particular response, I'll never know. My husband doesn't even have a hairy back. He doesn't even have a hairy front. He has about 23 chest hairs in total.
Anyway, I enjoyed it but worried and wondered at the same time. Why would I worry? I can handle this kid at four. I love him immensely and he provides me with constant entertainment. At 14, I think it will have turned to worry. 17? I don't even want to think about it. I don't think he's going to be bad in a criminal sense but I do believe he's going to give me a run for my money. His personality combined with his looks (he's cute, I'm not biased, other people say it too-ask 'Stacey' and Sinatra), combined with the fact that he's my 'baby' and may or may not (yes he does) have me wrapped around his little finger?
I think I'm raising Ferris Bueller.
Who doesn't love Ferris Bueller? Except for his sister, Jeannie but that bitch was seriously uptight and it wasn't until she went on vacation with her other family and gave it up to Patrick Swayze (RIP) that she loosened up a little. Rhett, my Ferris, has a sister too. She's 14 so will be on her own by the time things are really getting out of control here. Not that she won't be angry about it and chide me about it. That being said, I know she'll have the presence of mind not to make out with Charlie Sheen. If he's still alive in ten years...
Winning!
Sorry. Anyway, school is very nearly out, summer is trying to be here and I got a little of my tan on yesterday so as soon as I hit the gym and do some laundry I'll be ready. Not necessarily DTF but I'm not a grenade, even for a 34 year old baseball, soccer, football, hockey mom.
CABS ARE HERE!!
Friday, June 17, 2011
Cherry Pie Worship
I don't really know where to start. It's raining, so that might be as good as place as any. Not really newsworthy but for the love of God, when will this sucktastic weather end? Right now, in the glorious city of Moose Jaw, Sidewalk Days are taking place. Basically they block off downtown and all the businesses set up outside and there is entertainment, stuff for the kids to do, etc. And given that most of the time the highlight of any given week is the outdoor Polka concert put on in the park for seniors? I kind of look forward to Sidewalk Days. There is shopping. There are mini donuts. Cherry flavoured lemonade. Mini Donuts. Face painting for the kids; those death trap bouncy castle things and MINI DONUTS. Today the rain is keeping us from all of these things.
Now yes I could go anyway and we could don festive ponchos and take umbrellas if for nothing else than a shot at the donuts but it's just not the same. If this rain doesn't let up I'll have to wait another WHOLE WEEK before I can get mini donuts. That's then the fair comes to town.
Moose Jaw really likes to do it up at the end of June/early July and then call 'er a year.
Speaking of the fair, in the next closest city, beautiful Regina (some people say it's the "City that Rhymes with Fun"), their annual fair will be happening in early August. I was reading the paper this morning and noticed that one of the performers will be none other than WARRANT! When I was 13/14, I worshipped Warrant. I was in love with Jani Lane and longed to swept into his 'Heaven' singing arms while his long blond hair flowed in the wind. Have I mentioned my predilection for boys with long hair? It started a young age.
Here they are in all their 90s 'Metal' glory:
Yes people, take it all in. The love of my life is the one almost dead center. And frighteningly enough if he had short hair and a perm(I'm not kidding, but in his defense, he stopped perming his hair about 17 years ago), this almost resembles my ex-husband...so yeah, that's super. Anyway, my friend Brigette loved the dark haired one in the lower right hand corner. She & I devoted a great deal of time to the worship of Warrant and practised our head banging to such hits as 'Cherry Pie' and whatever other songs we liked of theirs. To be honest, right now I can only think of Cherry Pie, Heaven, Dirty Rotten Filthy Stinking Rich (I think) and I Saw Red. Jani (pronounced Johnny but spelled cool like that because that's how he rolls) nearly broke my adolescent heart when he sang I Saw Red about whatever groupie slut it was that cheated on him and broke his sensitive rocker heart.
I saw Warrant ten years ago at Minnedosa. An outdoor rock concert event. Jani had gained a few pounds and had a thinning bob. I'm concerned what ten more years may have done to my young love crush. Will that stop me from going? I don't think so. Why not cling to my youth? It just dawned on me that it was 20 years ago when posters of these guys adorned my bedroom wall. And yes, I had an entire wall devoted to Warrant.
One for Warrant, one for Poison, one for Bon Jovi and one for Skid Row. I think a few Motley Crue posters may have made their way into the mix as well. No New Kids on the Block for this girl! I was far too cool, edgy and 'raw' for that boy (man?) band. Mariah Carey? No thank you. Milli Vanilli? Yes, they snuck in their too. For shame, I know.
So today on this rainy day ruining yet another day of supposed summer? Maybe I will Google Warrant. Try to find some videos on You Tube and maybe talk my husband into donning a long blond wig and lip syncing to Cherry Pie and see where the day takes us...
Or not because the children do not have school today. So they are here. In the house. Because it's raining. Maybe I'll just start drinking instead....
Now yes I could go anyway and we could don festive ponchos and take umbrellas if for nothing else than a shot at the donuts but it's just not the same. If this rain doesn't let up I'll have to wait another WHOLE WEEK before I can get mini donuts. That's then the fair comes to town.
Moose Jaw really likes to do it up at the end of June/early July and then call 'er a year.
Speaking of the fair, in the next closest city, beautiful Regina (some people say it's the "City that Rhymes with Fun"), their annual fair will be happening in early August. I was reading the paper this morning and noticed that one of the performers will be none other than WARRANT! When I was 13/14, I worshipped Warrant. I was in love with Jani Lane and longed to swept into his 'Heaven' singing arms while his long blond hair flowed in the wind. Have I mentioned my predilection for boys with long hair? It started a young age.
Here they are in all their 90s 'Metal' glory:
Yes people, take it all in. The love of my life is the one almost dead center. And frighteningly enough if he had short hair and a perm(I'm not kidding, but in his defense, he stopped perming his hair about 17 years ago), this almost resembles my ex-husband...so yeah, that's super. Anyway, my friend Brigette loved the dark haired one in the lower right hand corner. She & I devoted a great deal of time to the worship of Warrant and practised our head banging to such hits as 'Cherry Pie' and whatever other songs we liked of theirs. To be honest, right now I can only think of Cherry Pie, Heaven, Dirty Rotten Filthy Stinking Rich (I think) and I Saw Red. Jani (pronounced Johnny but spelled cool like that because that's how he rolls) nearly broke my adolescent heart when he sang I Saw Red about whatever groupie slut it was that cheated on him and broke his sensitive rocker heart.
I saw Warrant ten years ago at Minnedosa. An outdoor rock concert event. Jani had gained a few pounds and had a thinning bob. I'm concerned what ten more years may have done to my young love crush. Will that stop me from going? I don't think so. Why not cling to my youth? It just dawned on me that it was 20 years ago when posters of these guys adorned my bedroom wall. And yes, I had an entire wall devoted to Warrant.
One for Warrant, one for Poison, one for Bon Jovi and one for Skid Row. I think a few Motley Crue posters may have made their way into the mix as well. No New Kids on the Block for this girl! I was far too cool, edgy and 'raw' for that boy (man?) band. Mariah Carey? No thank you. Milli Vanilli? Yes, they snuck in their too. For shame, I know.
So today on this rainy day ruining yet another day of supposed summer? Maybe I will Google Warrant. Try to find some videos on You Tube and maybe talk my husband into donning a long blond wig and lip syncing to Cherry Pie and see where the day takes us...
Or not because the children do not have school today. So they are here. In the house. Because it's raining. Maybe I'll just start drinking instead....
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