Monday, March 9, 2009

795 Probably isnt a good thing, right??

So I was reading an online article from a local columnist. She had decided to take some time away from her desk due to stress. She had taken a stress test and she was given a score of 552. Apparently anything over 300 is 80% indicative of having a major illness within the next 2 years. She provided a handy link so her loyal readers could take part as well. I did it.

I came back with the stunning score of 795. I always thought I was ahead of the curve, but 795. Really?? Now I can kinda get why my Doctor always want to talk about my stress levels. Click here
to take the test your self. See if you can beat me!

Thursday, March 5, 2009

Tuesday, March 3, 2009

This REALLY pisses me off.

This REALLY pisses me off. I found this image while looking for duck porn. That's what my husband calls my obsessive behaviour of searching the Internet for hours, merely looking at horses.

Some people don't deserve to own pets/livestock or have children. For the stupid dumb f*ckery of this image, this person deserves neither. Anyone who knows horses can see all sorts of catastrophes happening thanks to this dumb sh*ts urge to look good for the camera.

This stellar human being is longing a horse over a solid fence into a field filled with other horses. Stupid stupid stupid. By the looks of it the poor guy has to jump over a post which is right in front of the fence as well. Just as an aside, if that horse was to hit that fence the fence rails are positioned on the posts so that much damage would be done to the horses legs before the rail popped out. Again, stupid, stupid, stupid.

I just hope the twit of a woman has the skill to let out the line when that horse lands on the other side. That poor guy is giving it a good go. He is doing a good job cleaning up the humans mess, making sure things don't turn out tragic. The horses ability to be selfless in making the humans stay safe, and look good never sense to amaze me. I will say as well there is a healthy dose of self preservation as well, but even the fact his old guy approached the fence and is giving it a try says allot for his character. Consider that as a horse approaches a jump it disappears from view thanks to where their eyes are placed. This horse deserves an apology from its handler. It takes some sort of cruelty or spirit, mean spiritedness, or sheer ignorance to take that trust this horse is showing and abusing it in this way.

OK. Rant done.

Best Use of a Baby in Cinema EVER


Saturday, February 28, 2009

The Post Everyone Does

Well as some of you may know my life has been turned up side down of late by a whirlwind of political activity. I have yet to grocery shop in the last three weeks so we are now officially living on freezer burnt pizza, meat I put in the freezer at least a year ago and the reminisces of various mixed veggies bags previously long forgotten in their dark hide-y holes of my deep freeze. So posting regularly on this blog has been relegated to the back burner some what. I will be posting again regularly soon after the 25th of March. So in the mean time think I will post links to baby/kid stuff I couldn't live without when baby girl was small, that I cant live without now or that I cant live without in my professional life working with kids. My things always seem to have stories to go with them. So if the entertaining I might add them as well. To start this off, behold;

This is something I use every single day but at the beginning didn't really want.

I was militant about researching strollers before baby girl came along. I knew what I wanted the stroller to be able to do. I knew how much I would have to pay for said stroller. (then about $400.00 I think) I decided I wanted the Peg Perego Uno.

At the time there was only one store in my city that sold the Peg Perego strollers as instock items. Time for us was of the essence. I was past my due date by over a week. We needed a stroller. So after several research trips and trial runs we were ready to lay down our money and take out prize home. Only thing is, on the day we went the store was having a massive clear out sale of all last years models. But being who I am I marched over to the Uno of my choice (the very last one in the store) barely pausing to glance at the women, about 7 months pregnant and the man gazing at the Uno.

They still had that newbie look. Touching the stroller, trying out the closing mechanism in an inept way. They were asking all the newbie, uneducated questions. I was the professor of strollers. I knew every feature, colour combination available. I knew that strollers weight and dimensions closed and open. I knew about the double shocks. I knew about the available options for special order. I knew about the warranty. I had studied that stroller, I knew it inside and out. Heck deserved that stroller.

So I pounced. I took that stroller right from under that pregnant woman's nose. Did I feel guilty? Not for a second. As I said before I DESERVED that stroller. The shocked look on the other parents-to-be didn't phase me for a second. I was a mother lion, I went in for the kill and was dragging home the feast. No room for emotion. This was all business. I had no qualms about taking my brand spanking new, orange stroller home and leaving the shaking, rounded form of a pregnant women crying in my wake. "Talk about classless" was my thinking. Imagine crying over a stroller!

The only thing that made me waver was the $400.00. $400.00 would essentially wipe out the last of my baby gear account. I knew I had most of what I needed, but four hundred dollars. That's a significant amount.

It was that blasted husband of mine. He wavered. He broke under the flood of tears the other preggo let loose. He saw my doubt on my face as I watched the store clerk write up the sales slip. He reasoned with me that if I had some doubt over paying the $400.00 then maybe this was divine intervention that I should get the smaller Pliko P3 instead of the Uno. It took a solid 15 minutes of him trying to reason with my hormone inflamed brain and the visual of the other woman sobbing into her husbands shoulder for me to let loose my death grip on the handle bar of my chosen stroller. Up until I let go, I was convinced that the only divine intervention was that we had a store clerk that could write up a sales receipt as fast as I throw away my pre preggo ethics.

In the end I did let go. I got the 'satisfaction' of knowing I had taken the 'high road' (read; got to watch the tears suddenly dry and a look of smug satisfaction spread on the other woman's face.) To my mortification as I watched them leave with my stroller, I felt hot pin pricks of tears behind my eyes and a large hormonal lump form at the base of my throat. I looked at the sales clerk and she ushered us to the Pliko P3s.

Well believe it or not, I am so glad she did. My stroller is perfect. It has taken a massive beating thanks to yours truly, the husband and baby girl. We have taken it on hikes where strollers are not meant to go, umpteen laps of the off leash dog park. Its been to the beach, over sand dunes and into the water. We have used it as a shopping cart and I have personally used it as a makeshift walker after an especially nasty ice storm. It hasn't let us down yet. Its super light, small enough we can fit it and our dogs in the back of our van if pressed. Its so very maneuverable and in the summer its not so closed in to make baby girl hot and claustrophobic. All in all it was the best buy of our baby gear.

Our idea of spending more on the things we use everyday has worked out really well for us. This is an item I use every single day and need for it to work well in all situations, in all weather. The Peg Perego Pliko P3 does just that. I recommend this stroller, very, very highly.

Thursday, February 26, 2009

As of late I have been looking for child care for baby girl. As a fully formed Early Childhood Educator with a level two certificate, minted circa 2004, I knew there was a shortage. But I guess all I can say is I didn't KNOW know.

I haven't been able to find anything in a day care so now I have down graded to looking for a 'babysitter'. This morning at 2:30 am I woke up in a cold sweat about finding someone to look after what is, essentially, my heart and soul crawling around out side my body. So I stopped at I replied to a few postings of university students looking to make a little money under the table. I was pretty positive I would find someone i could be happy with.

Then I got my responses back.

I was SHOCKED by how many used the colloquialism "dat" for the word "that". I am sorry. But if you use "dat" in a email to what is a prospective employer, you are not going to look after my child. If you have an obviously all consuming fear of capital letters, periods and all other forms of grammar, and you are not ee cummings, you may not spend time with my child.

Thank goodness for the love and support of friends and family. I think I have enough people offering to help baby girl now wont be forced to spend time with people who use "wass up" or "what ev's" with a straight face.

Wednesday, February 25, 2009

Wordless Wednesday

So I have noticed a lot of blogs do Wordless Wednesdays. A lot of them put in pretty photos of things they are interested in. Well I want to do my own version. I am going to put up two things that will brighten my week up, even if no one else appreciates them. In the spirit of "its by blog so I can do what ever the hell I want" I am going to have Foto Fridays and Somewhat Wordless Wednesdays.
So today is my first installment. My favorite show on TV right now is Bones. I laugh every time I watch it. Its not too gross or scary for me. (seeing as how I am a huge wuss, its hard to find a crime show I can watch, no CSI anything for me.) And lets face it, they have some, ahem, very talented actors on the program... Enjoy.

Thursday, February 19, 2009

So this is interesting.....

Baby girl feels better when I sing to her hits from The Culture Club. This morning she has been persistently whiny. Shes feeling sick still, and I am OK (so far) with the crying because how shes feeling, she deserves to share the pain.

This morning I found she loves her some Karma Chameleon. I wanted (read desperately needed) a shower (needed to scrub the snot off me) but she was not interested in letting me shower. So while we were both in the shower, her sitting on the floor of the tub, me frantically scrubbing my hair, we found our mutual love of singing eighties Brit Pop in the shower. I sang, she bopped and sang along. I changed the words, but I was impressed with her taste in melodies. She is most certainly my child. I remember thinking when I was about 4 that Boy George was funny name for such a pretty lady on the cover of my Moms record. I remember having a conversation with my mother about (what I can now identify as cross dressing and transgenderedism) it and how I just didn't believe her that she was in fact, a he. You see, I thought 'her' eye make up was "glam-o-rama"

Tuesday, February 17, 2009

Mamma's Can See Past the Mucous

I love that baby. Man, I love her more then the sun is high, further than the stars and the moon. I just spent 15 minutes rocking my very sick baby girl back to sleep.

She was dripping, gargling with so much ick, standing at the side of her crib quietly sobbing. I came into her room and she reached for me. I scooped her up, settled into the rocking chair. She snugged her hand under the collar of my night shirt, against my skin and settled her head into the crook of my arm. (only after rubbing the remaining ick I couldn't swipe with a Kleenex, all over my chest) She sighed and as I rocked her, little snores mimicked the creak of the wood floor. Sigh. Even at her sickest, most mucous filled I still love her so much I can barely breathe, and I'm not the one with a cold.

Just wanted to share.

The perils of baby groups

Last week baby girl and I made the rounds to four different baby groups. At each one there were children (notice the plural) who were sick enough to make me wince. Mucous flying everywhere. NOT pretty. Now baby girl is sick. Sick sick. Shes flinging mucous everywhere in an attempt to evade the Kleenex's I keep trying to mop up some of it with. Yuck. Its just yuck around here.

I try Internets, I really try to not gag when she buries her face into the crock of my neck. The thing is, I know that once she lifts her head she will leave behind a sticky, scummy mess of nasal junk all over my neck, shoulder and the ends of my hair. I will be able to feel it through my shirt. Its those moments I feel so frustrated and (I'll admit it) angry at those who bring their little ones to a baby group when they are so obviously sick. I understand how claustrophobic you can feel spending all day locked up in the house with a small child. Trust me, I get it. But oh man its way worse when they are sick. But I beg all mommies and daddies out there, please don't share the misery.

I guess in some ways I might just be projecting my guilt, the whirlwind of "Mommy and Me" drowned baby girl and I both. I over did it. I feel this compulsion I cant explain to go out and do everything that there is to do. I want to cram as much fun in as possible, and in the process have seemed to have made us both miserable.

I think I have learned my lesson Internets. One "mommy and me" thing per week. And if there is a sick kid, leave immediately.

Sunday, February 15, 2009

Somebody's missing the point....

This might be the funniest example of stick-up-the-assedness I have ever seen from Corporate America. Jill N. Johnson deserve a medal for keeping the stick so far up there.

She returns victorious ????

So its the day after my Micheal's run. That place exhausts me. I mean afterwords, for the rest of the day I was bone weary. Mentally exhausted. I had made this trip with my intrepid sister and at one point I was convinced Micheal's had eaten her. I searched and searched and searched but the walls of frames, do it your self rugs and paint by numbers had seemed to swallow her whole. I mourned and then picked out another roll of ribbon. After I found her and we escaped from Micheal's we discussed our mutual psychological exhaustion and emotional rawness back at her house. We realized its because that place demands that you must pay attention to what you are buying and you have to make decision after decision after decision. And quite soon after you enter through their doors you loose all sense of perspective. You begin to think that choosing the right kind of glitter might be the single most important decision of your entire life. At one point yesterday I was convinced that my choosing the exact right dye to dye the fondant for baby girls cake might either make or break baby girls whole birthday. Never mind that but, THAT DYE COULD RUIN MY BABY GIRLS WHOLE YEAR!! I felts for a brief moment that if the fondant wasn't the exact right colour that would meant hat obviously all the guests would think that I love baby girl less and that I am obviously a failure as a mother. The panic was sitting in the back of my throat, and I knew I had to back away from the cake decorating aisle. Quickly. I managed to get what I needed in under 2 hours. (well done me)
So today I am attempting to start my trial run of the birthday cake to end birthday cakes. It will be large, round, green and hopefully have an Iggle Piggle on it. Internets, stay tuned in. Photos to come.

Saturday, February 14, 2009

Wish me Luck

OK. I am screwing up my courage to enter that hallowed domain of crafty-ness, Micheal's. Filled with scrap booking women intent on finding the perfect sticker-stamp-paper combination Micheal's terrifies the hell outta me. I go in there and feel like I am suddenly transported to a world where everyone's home is decorated in raffia, gingham ribbon and cutesy painted wood cut outs. I feel suffocated by crafts there. Like I am drowning in cheap acrylic paint and being boxed in by floral foam. To be honest I think its the place where fine art goes to die.
Confused by the rows and rows and rows of choices in puff paint and ribbons and artificial flowers I suffer mightily trying to sort my way out of my own self righteousness and secret burning desire to be one of those who can create something using a hot glue gun besides third degree burns.
This is my second trip there in as many weeks. There is only one person on this whole planet that could make me do such a thing. Shes under three feet tall, can't walk yet (but likes to think she can) and has a birthday in the next month. I am attempting to put on my crafting goddess hat and create a birthday cake and invitations that she (and lets be realistic, I ) can be proud of. Wish me luck internets, wish me luck. I will report on the success of my hunting and gathering mission. Here's hoping I find the perfect vellum, card stock combo without too many panic attacks.

Friday, February 13, 2009

An effort to beat back stage fright....

For Fear of a blank page

This is it. I am really doing this.
Eighteen months ago I thought blogs were for those who lived in their parents’ basement at the age of 35, claimed World of War Craft as their number one social activity and were looking for a way to connect with other WW addicts. That or blogs were for insiders wanting to dish dirt on employers they hated. To be honest I was totally unaware of the internet beyond basic searching and email. I had a deep seated fear that would steal my credit card info and that ebay was possibly run by Russian mobster’s intent on stealing my identity.

Then I got in a car accident, and was unable to walk much past the end of my bed without blacking out in pain. At the time of my accident I was 6 months pregnant and more then a little overwhelmed. We had sold our house, couldn’t find one to buy, I got in a car accident, was fired for being injured while pregnant (yes my boss actually said that) my husband lost his job and it was five weeks till Christmas. Not a good time for us.

One day I was trying to keep my mind busy enough to not contemplate what our situation really was and came across On that site there was a bulletin board of other women all expecting their babies around the same time I was. I wasn’t sure what a bulletin board was but I had enough time on my hands to find out. So I did. I became totally addicted. I was on that thing every opportunity I got. I referred to the women on there as my ladies and in conversations between my husband and me, they were making regular appearances. Those wonderful women I now consider my friends and they are my go to folks for advice and support for anything to do with my new role as mommy and as sounding boards for all the weird hormonal/emotional junk that comes along with that title.

A few months after my first introduction to the world of bulletin boards (wow I am a late bloomer) a friend of mine started her own blog. I was surprised. She was a ‘real’ person. She had a ‘real’ life. My world shifted. She told me she read a bunch of blogs from all sorts of people. I was intrigued.
I started looking for these things called blogs. I can now say I am converted to a full time blog consumer. I used to read magazines, now I read blogs. I read them everyday, many multiple times a day. I love being able to peek inside other peoples lives and minds. Now I see that the draw of blogging extends way past those basement dweller types, past mommyblogs, past dieting blogs, past political blogs.
It’s a new (to me) way of reaching out, of creating, of expression. It gives people space to explore what they think, what interests them, how they can fill up a page. It gives people a chance to focus on themselves and their experiences. And when done well, that exploration is always interesting to others. As an avid consumer of blogs I figured it was high time I got me one for myself. So here it is world, my blog.