Uninteresting and tiresome; dull.

I am pregnant and about to burst!  As a result I am tired alot of the time.  My son and I try to get outside as much as possible and stay away from the TV.  We go for walks to the library, the store, the park or just for a walk.   If we stay inside we read, play toys and make cookies.  However, a lot of my time is still spent half asleep.  I try to stay awake but this baby just sucks the life right out of me, so I must have my nap every day.

As a result I sometimes feel like I am not doing enough to keep him entertained and I feel badly about that.  The other day as I was putting him to bed for the night I said

“Do you think mommy is boring?” 

to which he replied “No!”

“Are you sure mommy isn’t boring?” 

“You are not boring mommy.”

“Thanks babe, I love you.”

*Pause*

“Mommy, what’s boring?”

Happy Birthday baby!

Today The Boy turns three.

Thats right, I said THREE!

Holy sweet corn salsa, it seems like just yesterday I was holding him in the hospital.

Happy birthday to my baby.

“It burns! Oooh it burns!” *

We had a simply mah-va-lous time at “The Last Supper” this weekend. Here is but a taste of the joy that was had.

After we were finished with our appetizers, I noticed that my father had soup splattered all over his white shirt.

I used this fact to tease him, “you can dress him up…”

He seemed to think that was unfair so he waited until his meal came and dumped it in my lap.

Thanks Dad.

* a phrase that I actually had cause to use this weekend.

We’re off to see the wizard…

We are leaving soon! It is almost 7 am and we are going to my parents house at 8. yay. I am actually quite excited about this. I love “The Last Supper”, I get to see a lot of the family and eat. What could possibly be better than eating? Nothing, except maybe eating cake. Anyhoo, it should be fun, or horrific I can’t decide.

I have 2 presents to give while I am there… One belated birthday gift for my sister and one father’s day prezzie for my grammie. HA, you thought I was going to say father! Well I was, but I don’t want to be too predictable. Gotta shake things up!

Goodbye and goodluck!

BQotD from Mama C-Ta
*I mean come on when isn’t wearing soaking breast pads, lugging around a breast pump and picturing your baby crying out Mama fun?*

When our relatives are at home, we have to think of all their good points or it would be impossible to endure them.

The Hubband’s Grandma is here visiting….for a week. Actually its not a bad thing at all. We are having quite a good time going around town showing her the sights. The only thing that could be better is if it would STOP RAINING for one damn second! Good lord, its been raining on and off since she got here on Monday. I am freaking hating the rain.

On saturday we are all going up home for “The Last Supper” which is when my Grammie takes the whole family out for dinner once a year. When Grandma decided to come visit we found out that “The Last Supper” was on her final day here so my family invited her along. Isn’t that special? You better believe it!

BQotD from Mama C-ta
*This could the super power I always wanted.*

The first half of our lives is ruined by our parents, and the second half by our children.

The Boy is driving me completely insane. He has entered the lovely phase “I won’t listen to anything you say and will scream all day”. Delightful. Abso-fucking-lutly deelightful.
He has also decided that he will scream while he is laughing. The most annoying sound on the planet? A small child scream-laughing. Ow.
The other day he didn’t want to come inside, he wanted to stay in the car. Ok, I picked him up and tried to carry him inside. I stress tried. He squirmed so much I lost my grip and he fell and hit his head on the door. Way to go Mom.

I guess I won’t be getting that “Mother of the Year” award.

Today we went for a drive to run a couple of errands. I promised The Boy a treat if he would be quiet while I talked to someone. He screeched the entire time we were there, then tried to jump down every step on our way out. I picked him up and he freaked out the whole way to the car. I then informed him we would not be getting a treat and he would go straight to bed when we got home. So he rewarded me with a screaming rendition of “I want my treat!”, “We can’t go home! Home is bad!” and ” Don’t say no! No is yucky!”.

Can someone take him until he is 18, at which point I can release him into the wild?

BQotD from Chookooloonks
*Eventually I recovered (because you never want to show fear to someone who you think may be possessed), and I smiled at her and told her I was fine, and then she smiled back at me, and then she licked my shoulder.*

“O bliss! O poop-poop! O my! O my!”

A random story about my misspent youth.

This is actually about me when I was 2 or 3 years old. I never knew about this at all, I do not remember this happening and have never heard this story until yesterday when I was talking to my parents.

I was telling my mom and dad about The Boy and his adventures in potty training. Then my Dad mentioned “the time you pooped on the steps of the building supply store”…what, what? Apparently my parents, my uncle and aunt, their daughter and I were out and about one day walking the streets of Woodstock NB. I had to go to the bathroom but decided not to tell anyone. I simply walked up the steps of a store, hauled down my pants and dropped a doody on the landing. My cousin walked up and tried to go as well, then my dad and uncle saw us and kept walking! The pretended they didn’t have any idea who the weirdos defecating in public were. My mother and her sister came upon us and freaked! My poor poor mother. Not only having to admit that, yes this poopy child is hers but then having to clean up everything. I’m sorry mom…you can take comfort in knowing that your grandson is well on his way to driving me off the deep end too!

BQotD from All & Sundry
*I do not like the cardboard striptease and I MOST DEFINITELY do not like the startling “pah!” and the sudden emergence of dough, all pale and fleshy and…moist. *

His parentage is never in question.

So today The Boy went to the bathroom all by himself. Yay!

Then he came out of the bathroom with no pants on and his underwear on his head.

He takes after his father, I swear.

A Letter to my Mother

Dear Mom

When I called you last night I didn’t expect to have the conversation that we did. It wasn’t particularly enlightening or revolutionary, it was just easy. I really enjoy talking to you – as much as you seem to think I don’t. I love our chats, I only wish we lived near to each other so I could talk to you more often.

In 2002 when you had your aneurysm, I was devastated. I was out of the country with my new boyfriend working for the summer when he got time off work to drive me over 900 km to see you in the hospital. (This was when I knew he was a keeper.) I came home for a couple of weeks to help Dad so he could go back to work. When you got out of the hospital you needed to be cared for completely. We had to make your meals, help you around because you were very unsteady on your feet, and Dad had to take showers with you (eww) because you refused to do it, and because you needed a hand.

It was strange to be there, taking care of a mother who up until that point had never asked me, or anyone else for that matter, for help with anything. You were independent, outspoken, and fiercely funny. You slowly recovered and are as close to the “old” mom as you will ever be. It’s hard to wrap my mind around what happened to you, it feels almost as though you died and now I have a different mom. You are different but somehow still the same. It’s hard to tell now when you are joking, you have such a dry sense of humour that was hard to spot before! Now you say things that make no sense sometimes, so I often wonder when you are serious or not. Now that I talk to you more and more it’s easier to tell when you are joking.

There are things about you that I notice as different – You’re voice is higher pitched but you still speak your mind. Although now you have almost no impulse control so we get to experience the wonderful awkward – ness that happened when you told a boy at church that had been away at school – “My you’ve gotten fat!”

You always had trouble with words in that you would say dishwasher when you meant fridge, or say dad’s name when talking to me, or run through a list of words until you got the one you wanted, but now that is much worse. Much funnier too, like when you say dishwasher and mean car or when you were first home from the hospital and would call me daughter because you couldn’t remember my name. Well maybe that last one wasn’t really funny.

What was hilarious was when you were in the hospital and I told you I was your favourite so when anyone asked you who I was, that’s what you said “My favourite” Ha, that made me laugh. Also when your sister came to visit and we talked about painting your face like Gene Simmons in KISS while you were sleeping. Good times.

Speaking of good times, I feel that these last few years since your operation have been great. I am forever grateful that we didn’t lose you, and thankful for every moment spent together. I feel that we are closer now than we would have been, that we share more things with each other. I find you telling me things about your life that I never knew ( don’t worry I won’t spill your sordid life story here! hee hee ) and I find myself telling you things I never thought I would share with my mother.

All in all I think this aneurysm was a blessing in disguise. A horrible, terrifying, and downright nasty disguise that brought us as mother and daughter closer together. Truthfully I think we all would have appreciated a blessing that was dressed in something a little more tasteful. Maybe a broken leg, or the flu.

Oh well, we can’t change the past, we can only embrace the future and I know I will be embracing every moment of future I have with you.

Love Shna
(Your Favourite)

A Letter to my Little Sister

To my Little Sis

Growing up you were always tailing me. Whether you cared to admit it or not, you were my little shadow. Constantly trying to see what my friends and I were doing and begging me to let you join in the fun. For the most part my friends liked you, and I resented you a lot for that. Growing up you were so mean to me in front of your friends and we fought almost incessantly, but I knew deep down, in your black pit of a heart you loved me. Somewhere, way down, beneath your love of clothes, makeup, shoes and all things shiny, there was a little sisterly love. You would bring it out when I least expected it, surprising me with kindness. To this day it creeps me out when you are nice to me.
I know I can be furiously hard on you, sometimes to the point of being downright nasty. It frustrates me to no end when you disregard what I have to say almost before I say it. I feel that I am older and (somewhat) wiser than you are. Wiser in the fact that I have lived through a lot of the same life experiences as you and have honest, valid and occasionally funny advice to give you. The “Big Sister Gene” in me wants to help you avoid any mistakes I can. It also makes me feel like I failed you as a sister when you do make mistakes, like I should have tried harder to get through to you. Instead I just gave up a lot of the time. Mind you, it is kind of hard to give advice to someone who is as stubborn, pig-headed and ornery as you are. (lets face it…I am too, but that is beside the point!) Sometimes I feel that you don’t respect, trust or value me. Sometimes you can be the most flaky person on the planet. Other times you are so funny and witty that I am insanely happy to be your sister. These three sides are divided about 50/40/10 which makes you really hard to like a lot of the time.
Don’t worry, that doesn’t stop the love! I love you even when I have to fight off the urge to smother you while you sleep.

Love you
Shna

A Letter to my Big Sister

To my Big Sis

I remember when I was little and wanted to play with you and your friends, how you would let me for a little bit but then when you had to talk about “big girl” stuff you kicked me out. I remember how you and I used to absolutely torture our little sister. I remember once when you came home for a visit and went to church with us. One of the older boys said “wow who is that pretty girl?” I remember being so proud to say “She’s my Sister.” I remember how your hair never moved. I remember all the dorks you brought home and how I drove them crazy with silly questions, and they never came back. I remember when you brought home Finn. His hands shook all the time, he was really shy and I remember giving you a hug and saying “This one’s a keeper, I like him.” I remember going to visit you and we would watch movies and when we drove anywhere you always had the rear view mirror positioned so you could see yourself. I remember your wedding, when you married Finn, you were so beautiful. I remember when your first daughter was born. I was so happy and proud to be an Aunt. I remember when you had your second daughter. Again I was so happy, two adorable little girls for me to spoil.

Of all the things I remember, I don’t remember ever being close to you. I don’t remember “knowing” you. I remember the baby voice you used when talking to me. It made me feel small. I remember feeling unimportant. I remember being so tongue tied around you. Being 10 years younger just made me feel like we would never be close. Once I was married and had a child of my own you stopped with the baby voice. You teased me less, made me feel like I was important. We talk more now, but only of trivial things. I am still scared that you won’t like me. I wish we were closer. I wish I could say the things to you that I think. I wish I could tell you that the time we went to Rainbow Valley and Finn yelled at me, you didn’t stand up for me and it really hurt my feelings. I wish I could tell you that sometimes I think your kids are so spoiled they can be downright nasty. I wish I could tell you that it hurts me when you make fun of mom.
I wish I could tell you that despite everything I think you are a great mom. I wish I could tell you that I respect you for how far you’ve come in life. I wish I could tell you that I think you are brave.
I wish I could tell you all of this, but I can’t. I am too scared.

I wish I could give you this letter.

Love you
Shna