Y U No Blog?

Ahoy hoy! Did you miss me? Probably not.

But one of my two readers did ask me lately why I haven’t done much blogging. The first part of the answer is simple. I’m just too damn busy. Between parenting, marking massive grade 12 assignments, and doing midterm reports, I barely had time to wipe my ass, let alone blog (sorry if that was graphic. No I’m not). The other reason is just a general lack of inspiration. If I blogged in the last two weeks it would have been the standard litany of parenting a 20 month old; more illness, defiance, a sleep regression, and a massive explosion in language development. Yawn city.

BUUUUUUUT, I saw this article today, and I got all sorts of inspired. O’s 2nd birthday is rapidly approaching, and conveniently my favourite homegirl Gwynnie threw a party for Banana or Jesus or whichever one is the boy. I want to take all the lessons from her on how to make this O’s best (read: second) birthday shindig yet.

So apparently the party took place in her backyard. Now that she’s a struggling single mom, bitch has to be economical. Supposedly there was a giant bouncy house. I refuse to believe this. First of all, that is fun, and Gwyneth don’t *do* fun. Second of all, is that not a major liability? I hope she had neck braces on hand just in case one of her kids’ hire-a-friends face planted. I mean really, Gwyneth. Are you that doped up on Xanax from your conscious uncoupling that you failed to think about the risk associated with that? Or did someone remove the stick from your ass recently (but only temporarily of course)?

Also, the article asserts that she served….wait for it…HOT DOGS with FRITOS! No effing way. I think the article forgot to ask the specific details of said hot dogs with fritos. The hot dogs were 100% organic seitan with no filler or bi-product, and the “bun” was spelt and amaranth. The “fritos” were not actually corn chips (Um, hello Monsanto!), but were made of quinoa and lentils. Bitch straight up lied to the press!

Lastly, the party goers left with t-shirts with customized airbrush designs. Aren’t airbrushes toxic? Like, for the environment and for the people inhaling them? Now I’m officially convinced that the Xanax done changed her. I give this party a D-, the D standing for DANGEREFFINGOUS. I don’t approve of a single aspect of it, nor did it give me any viable ideas for O’s 2nd birthday. I guess we’ll go to McDonalds and play in the playground there (hope we don’t get diphtheria), and eat Happy Meals. Cuz pretty sure that plan is still a billion times more safe than her party. Hate her. Always and forever.

Games for 20 Month Olds

Oh hai! I’m sure many of you have seen this blog going viral recently. It’s essentially about the pressure on moms today to constantly entertain, stimulate, and spoil their children. The author asserts that she refuses to give into this, and I wholeheartedly agree with her. It’s a known fact on this blog that I don’t do much with O. When we’re home with her during the evenings and weekends, it’s usually pretty low key. I’d be lying if I said I don’t feel pressure to give her a variety of rich experiences (zoos, amusements parks, crafts, learning experiences out and about, etc.), but she is truly happiest when she’s at home, just playing, reading, watching a little TV, and interacting with us.

That being said, I thought I’d share with you some of games that she’s into these days, which require absolutely no real effort or cash.

1. Ring Around the Rosy – I guess she learned this one at daycare, because all of the sudden one day she started asking us for “Whoa-see” and grabbed our hands. Now she makes us go around and around in that circle about a hundred times before she tires of it. She “sings” along by adding a word in here and there (her version of the song is like this: “Whoa-see, whoa-see, posy, ashes, ashes…DOOOOOOOOOOWN!”) All I have to say about this one, is there’s nothing like an upbeat song about how everyone died in the Bubonic Plague to get ya moving and shaking.

2. Hide and Seek – This one is still a work in progress. I’ll say “Count to five while I hide,” and she’ll stand up against the wall (with her eyes completely open) going “Two four, two four, two four” (close enough kid), until I hide. Then she’ll come running after me. She hasn’t quite mastered playing it the other way around. I stand against the wall counting and tell her to hide, but she literally stands beside me the entire time. Then when I open my eyes, she squeals with delight because I’ve “found” her when she never left. Hashtag: nogenius

3. Imagination Station – There’s little doubt that at this age, toddlers have a fantastic imagination. O’s favourite thing to do is pretend she’s making soup in a sand castle bucket, and stir it with a shovel. She walks around for minutes trying to feed us the soup she’s made, saying “Yummmmy” as she aggressively pushes the shovel into our face. She also likes to pretend she’s an adult. She’ll ask for a smoothie or a drink in this plastic Starbucks cup I have and say, “Coffee mommy!” Little grown up in the making.

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That being said, their imaginations are double edged swords. Yesterday evening I was home alone with her and all of the sudden she waved at nothing and said, “Hello!” I asked her who she was waving at, and she responded, “A man.” Gulp. You serious? Please tell me you’re not. If not, good thing hubby is a realtor, because we may need to explore our options…

Little Miss Bossypants

Sorry, Tina Fey, please don’t sue.

little-miss-bossy

20 months, and all the sudden my daughter thinks she runs the show. For a while now, she’s been saying “hold it” for almost everything. She insists on holding things herself, and refusing our help. She’s always been an independent and stubborn kid, but now she’s saying some other things that are just downright bossy. Yesterday I was home with her because she was sick (four days of super high fevers and night pukes…kill me now), and some of the things she said cracked me right up. I built her a make-shift bed on the floor, and when I lay down in it, she said, “MOVE!” Umm, really? Who replaced my child with a total betch? And then when I closed my eyes and pretended to sleep, she screamed, “NO! Not tired!” Are you sure about that doll? I’m fairly certain when you wake me up at 3 am and puke in my hair, that I am, indeed, tired. You don’t get to dictate that. Also, her new thing is stalling before bedtime by running into other rooms and hiding. It’s not endearing, not even a little.

Please bring me back my immobile slash mute infant, k thanks.

Also, also, I’m not one to schadenfreude on celebrity divorces (yeah I did just say that, mostly in case I have new readers and they still think I’m a nice person because they don’t know me yet), but guess what? My antagonist Gwynnie and her husband Chris Martin are DUNZO! I know, I know, this is the shocker of the century. We all thought they had the most amazing marriage, right? Well, apparently not. But that article I just linked to is basically the best. It says Chris couldn’t handle her strict parenting rules (no TV, ‘rexic diet, etc.). QUEL SURPRISE! Frankly I’m surprised he tolerated her pretentious ass as long as he did. I love that she called their breakup “Conscious Uncoupling.” I would have titled it, “Forever Alone.” Gwynnie, you have no friends. XO, Me.

The Fine Line Between Praise and Craze

Confession: My daughter is spoiled.

Not in the financial sense (yet), but she is literally showered with attention every waking hour we’re with her. Evenings and weekends are all about her, and we take our playing with her, feeding her, and caring for her very seriously. And why not, right? They’re only this little for a very short amount of time, and we already miss out on so much when she’s at daycare during the week. We also tend to shower her with praise A LOT. Whether it’s a puzzle she’s done by herself, or dropped it like it’s hot to a Katy Perry song, we are *always* telling her how amazing she is. Oh, and did I mention we let her do just about anything she wants? Dinner in front of the TV? Sure! Climbing on the railing? 100%! According to my mother, O has never heard the word no, and I’m more or less the most lenient (negligent?) mother in the world.

So I think it’s completely fair to say this – we are totally f*cking up our child.

Something’s gotta give, or else O will be just like many of my students in 15 years. A year ago, I wrote about helicopter parents and the consequences of smothering teenagers. If you over-advocate for your child, get too involved in their affairs, don’t give them consequences or reprimand them for their actions, and praise them too much for trivial things (ahem…dancing toddler), children/teenagers turn into monsters. I’ve seen it firsthand. They become self-involved and develop a ridiculous sense of entitlement that is usually entirely delusional. They lack respect for authority and are defiant, and just generally are completely reliant on their parents to do everything for them. I’ve encountered so many teenagers over the years who I firmly believe will have their mom in with them during a job interview, and will more than likely live at home until they’re 40, screaming “Ma…make me a snack!” It’s not right. I do not want this for my child.

Thank goodness there’s still hope for little O. She’s still young enough that I can turn this around. She’s still sweet as a peach, and not even remotely monstrous. Maybe I need to praise her less often. Just for the big things. Maybe I need to be a little more firm with her. Maybe I should let her play a little more independently. Maybe I should dote on her less and stop telling her every 5 minutes how pretty she is, or how smart she is. Maybe I should make her a sibling so my attention is divided.

#frumpy

Guys, I really wanna be a high maintenance mom. You know, the one with perfectly manicured nails, hair coloured and perfectly coiffed? So I decided to use this March break as the week to make it happen. But after all was said and done, I had a revelation.

I like being low maintenance.

Let me start by showing you the before and after.

Before:

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Shameless selfie. No shame.

After:

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I know what you’re thinking. The new ‘do is so much better, right? But you know what? It totally isn’t. I *like* rocking my Snooki-circa-2009 pouff. Sure I look like I don’t give a shit (um, I guess I don’t), but it’s just so easy to get out of the shower, pin your hair back and let it air dry, mop styles. Mops are okay. Don’t hate mops. Between working full time and parenting, I have zero energy to style my hair after I shower. Hell, most days it takes all my strength just to make the shower happen.

This new hair is all sorts of annoying and potentially labour-intensive (I wouldn’t know because I’m dreading the inevitable post-cut solo wash and style). Right now I can only see out of one eye, and that’s a problem because it makes my child 50% less cute when I look at her. I can’t wash dishes or clean up toys, because any time I look down, I’m blinded by hair. It’s itchy and rage inducing, and there are too many damn layers. I miss my mop.

So anyway, now I remember why I only get my hair cut twice a year and why my nails are bare 95% of the time. Taking care of yourself is all well and great, but eff it. I’d rather be frumpy and take care of someone else.

Just For Fun

How funny is toddler language? Every day O discovers new words and her mispronunciations kill me. I also particularly love her constant use of articles. We’ll flip through pictures and I’ll ask her who is in the picture and she’ll say “A mommy!” “A daddy!” “A Livi!” “A Bubbie!” I can’t. Recently we were scrolling through my Instagram feed and came across a picture of Paris Hilton (hangs head in shame…I swear I’ve since unfollowed her). There were dogs in the picture as well (her favourite), so I asked her who was in the picture. Her response? “A mommy!” I cracked up so hard. Let’s hope not kid. That’s one chick who shouldn’t procreate. Also, when we read books with hidden objects underneath flaps and I ask her where something is, she *always* responds with, “There she is!” Like, the object/person/whatever is always female. My little 19 month old feminist. And last but not least, there’s the catch phrases. Whenever she drops food or a toy, or face plants (yes she still does that), she says, “Uh oh!” And sometimes follows it up with “I sorry!” Even cuter than that though, is when she screams, “Oh wow!” Almost anything is worthy of an “Oh wow.” Like, I’ll take a Kleenex out of the box and she’ll say it. I die.

Match the object to O’s hilarious mispronunciation.

1.

 index               2. argyle-sweater-mens

3. index4. index

5. index6. index

7.  index 8. index

9. index

A. Cock

B. A gubby

C. Piler

D. Do do

E. Wayo

F. Boob boobs

G. Onage

H. Potato

I. Lalu

Welcome to my First Drunk Blog Post

Hi friends (and frenemies who read just to schadenfreude my ass)! Welcome to my first drunk blog post. It’s Saturday night and I’ve just started March break (which, no pressure, has to be all sorts of epic because Christmas break was such shit), so of course I’ve had a couple glasses of vino, and I just wanna ask you all something.

Why the hell is everyone pregnant right now with their second child?

And more importantly, why am I not pregnant along with them?

You see, I’m entirely jealous, but at the same time, I don’t really want another one right now. But get this. Whenever I see a preggo, I actually *miss* the sensation of being pregnant. This is not normal considering when I was actually pregnant, I was so miserable and morose and all sorts of not fun to be around. I don’t know what’s going on with me. All I know is I feel pressure to catch up, just like I did when everyone was getting knocked up with their first. Dear Facebook, you rush all my milestones, and I hate you.

But then I think back to last weekend at Walmart. There was a couple in front of me in line with two boys. They looked to be 2 and 4ish. And they were baaaaaaaaad. Like running away and screaming bad. The mom spent the majority of her time in line chasing after them and audibly berating them, while the dad berated the cashier for not entering the diaper coupon code correctly. So much berating. So much stress. And here I am with my sole angel quietly snacking on a Larabar in the cart, while I happily perused a tabloid mag.

Basically the thought of two kids gives me enough anxiety to jump start some major palpitations. The added financial stress. The sharing of my love and attention. The lack of physical space in the house that we have no intentions of leaving any time soon. It’s all too much to bear.

P.S Yes I do recognize this post is a major overshare.

P.P.S. Confession – O is going to daycare all week while I get my hair and nails done, and shop and eat myself into oblivion. Perhaps this selfish behaviour is a fairly good indication that I’m in no way ready for another baby.