Da Bump

oh she loves to dance, she loves to boogie, oh yes, my baby loves disco

Hey, it's my first video and your first glimpse of Bumper in action. Incentive provided by PBN and Baby Loves Disco.

Hey! Don't diss the editing man, I did my darndiddlydarndest.

Happy Friday y'all.

This is the number six

Some of the nice and kind folks that commented on my guest post over yonder, asked what would rank higher than a three on my scale for my embarrassing moments.

If you don't know what I'm talking about, go over yonder and read an an example of a three over at Her Bad Mother's blog, I'll wait.

All done?

Good. So now you know that a three is we can move right along because I've found a six in my ol' memory box thingy on my shoulders.

It is not a long story and I know I'm not the only one who has done this SO PLEASE share with me. It will make me feel so much better and perhaps less 6-ish about the whole thing. And all depending on your support (see how I transferred all that responsibility onto your shoulders?) maybe, just maybe, I'll even downgrade this to a 3 or something more manageable.

*** so our scene opens with a recently post-partum frazzled new mommy***

OK, so I had this baby right?

And after I had this baby I lost interest in my appearance for a while.

The only thing I cared about was dealing with this little human who seemed completely dependent on me. And sleep. I cared a lot about sleep.

And the only things I thought about post-partum were "WTF just happened?" and "OMG I want to sleepzzzzzzzzzz-wah... I'm awake, I'm awake...zzzzzz".

These thoughts occupied my mind with such a world's-worst-roomate kind of quality that my fashion sense moved out.

I spent days in a small rotation of stretched-out pyjama pants and nursing shirts. The term sleepwear ceased to exist in my realm (or is that fiefdom?).

This loss of fashion sense soon spread to my ability to dress.

Shirts seemed to more trouble than they were worth. The pulling over the head thing fifty times a day - all done for fear of smothering suckling child, yes... well that pulling over the head thing was becoming a major pain in the butt. It was eating into my sleep time.

So I did what any smart lady would do, I stopped wearing a shirt for the majority of the day. Who cared? Not me.

It became such a norm for me that I didn't even notice one day that I had answered the door for the delivery guy - and I wasn't wearing a shirt. I was just wearing a nursing bra. Unhooked.

*** and scene ***

And why doest this common (oh please let it be common) event rank a six? Because it happened multiple times. And I'm 90% certain it happened to the same delivery guy more than once.

Please stay tuned to this channel for more titillating tales from Motherbumper's Scales of Embarrassment.

queen of bats

Remember Leona Helmsley, the slap-happy hotelier? The "Queen of Mean" from the 80s? Jailed for tax evasion? Yes her. Sorry I couldn't bare to put up a photo of her mean scowl so I put this one up instead... isn't it a cute lil' Maltese puppy?

Well back to Leona, who passed away last week. GET THIS: she left a 12 million dollar trust fund to her Maltese dog, Trouble, and nothing to two of her grandkids for "reasons that are known to them".

Her other grandchildren get a nice chunk of change but only if they visit their grandparents grave annually.

Her chauffeur was left one hundred thousand dollars.

I'm always amazed at people who bitch from beyond the grave. Based on how I'm feeling today, I'd probably be tempted to act just like that if asked to write my will right now.

Bumper did nap yesterday BUT at the expense of going to bed super late and whoa, just because she can, she got up super duper early today!

FUN TIMES!

Right now she is buzzing around the living room on whine power, making demands for play-clay, cookies, Dora, and juice.

She got the juice and play-clay. I get the tequila and valium.

Oh who am I foolin'? No one, because if my will was being written this morning, Bumper would still get it all. She's too cute to torture from beyond the grave.

Ask me later today if that is still true.

She has no bats but OMG SHE HAS A HOCKEY STICK AND GOLF CLUB! I'm totally screwed. And potentially bruised.

inheritance, schmeritance
can't do much with a Mighty Beans collection

constant motion tests devotion

Nap Strike Two: Electric Bugaloo. I can't find the original Nap Strike: 2007 post but I'll be damned, I know I wrote about it back in July. That was a very long week at the negotiation table and won't be forgotten any time soon.

Now here we are in late August and for some reason, once again naps are really beneath her.

She will go as far to sit in the crib, as long as she is surrounded by her things and able to survey all that she rules (which is uh.. pretty much just her room). And maybe she will play quietly for 20 minutes or so but boredom always sets in. Instead of sleep, the whining starts, then the crying, then shouting which always progresses to screams.

And when I reach my limit, break down from my refusal to answer the demands of a mini-terrorist toddler and go to the door, I always find her, standing right at the end of the bed, clutching her doll or animal-du-jour with a big grin. She squeaks "Hi!" and I find it impossible not to melt.

So this all translates to me losing mommy time (aka mommy surfs and turfs online) and I get frustrated and pound out stubs and stubs of incubating posts that never make it to publish.

Major suckage for the Motherbumpage.

Daytime is my writing time, I'm sharper, less distracted, and not apt to drift away to do things like I do at night (which may or may not include reality tv, foraging for food, or falling asleep).

Anyhoo enough whining on my part. Today I will attempt to exhaust the little lady by noontime and then I will try to be strong (stronger than her) and not give into the whining (hers, not mine).

But I have accomplished some stuff:

I have a new review over at motherbumper's laboratory on a dancing and karaoke game called Boogie for the Wii - go check it out - the picture of Bumper is really freakin' cute, if I say so myself.

There is a new column over at mommyblogstoronto, go check out Ask Mama T and send her your questions. You know and love her as Mama Tulip and now she's helping you with your issues over at MBT. Send her your questions (on anything - I'm serious! Wanna know the best way to clean your oven? wanna know what to do with your annoying best friends husband? wanna know how to get your toddler to nap? Go Ask Mama T - I'm off to send her an email right now askmamat@mommyblogstoronto.com).

Shameless plugs are over. And scene.

ohhhhh shiny button

So I received an award. Twice. Hee.

Two beautiful bloggers awarded me the Nice Matters Award. Which is f'ing mind-blowing considering I swear so much.

In case you don't know, the Nice Matters Award "is for those bloggers who are cool people and awesome blog friends - those who bring tingly feelings and inspiration. Also for those who are a positive influence on our blogging world."

To be called a positive influence makes me feel all nice and mushy inside. Twice!

First I received it from Gabriella over at Our Little Funny Bunny who I've hung out with (live! in person!) and have admired her amazing daughter up close (and believe it or not, she is more beautiful in person). And her mommy is beautiful too. Thank you.

I *heart* Something Baby Blue. I've seen her in her smalls you know. She was one of my roomies extrodinaire at the conference that shall remain unsaid. She is smart, very very smart. She awarded me the Nice Matters Award because I often creep into her head and keep her company. Which is super cool because she does the same. Dammit, she is one of the naughtiest-nice ladies I know. Thank you.

Now I always have trouble awarding these because I think everyone is nice but I couldn't let something so beautiful go by without saying thank you (sixty thousand times).

Hey you noticed two different graphics eh? Well Gabriella awarded the original to me and that naughty&nice Something Blue had me be her partner in crime and polish her sexy button up all fine and dandy (ohhhhhh that sounds naughty!).

Thanks ladies for making me blush.

you showed me yours

The post As Permanent as a Moment You Want to Keep Like an Heirloom, by Girl's Gone Child was my inspiration to ask about everyone's tattoos.

Comments led me to believe that most people with or wanting a tattoo will be more than happy to talk when asked about their artistic selection. So many different folks commented about what they would do if they had the time, money, or support of friends.

I originally wrote the post in order to get some inspiration and that is something I definitely received from reading the comments and posts. Don't worry, no need to hunt me down - I haven't stolen anyone's ideas, I found my inspiration from reflecting on why people committed to such a permanent reminder of a point in the past.

People who wrote posts are linked below. I thank each of you for sharing. If you write one and want to add it the list just leave me a link in the comments. Enjoy!

Mommy 911: Ink

Motomom: The Painted Lady

Not So Sage: My Third-Life Crisis

SciFi Dad: TRS: Fire in the Hole! AND Ink

GOnelsons: You're always on my mind, or You=Armadillo

The Cerebral Mom: The fable my tattoo tells me...

~Perfect~: Sign of Saturn

It's not too late! If I missed your story or want to be added send me an email or leave a link in the comments here. I'll gladly come read and add you to this list.

It's Sunday morning. How the heck did that happen?

Where the heck have I been? OMG, what a weird week.

There have been all these posts swimming around the ol' brain hole and I haven't been able to catch them to share with you.

Seriously. Every time I sit down to write something happens.

Big brain farts or something - the writing starts and then THUD, it hits a wall.

So I had to take some time off.

Today I have a huge collection of post stubs that I am now going to pound out for the remainder of the time allotted to me by Bumper. She's at the park with SB and this is my writing time.

So regardless of my mood, I must write during these hours. Kinda like school - which sucks because I had the hardest time at school.

Yup, I was a seriously lousy student because if I wasn't "in the mood" or a better word would be "inspired", I couldn't learn, produce, or work. That was hard. These horrible marks would come home to my parents each semester and the grief would start. School was torture for me.

Actually, I'd give my left nut (if I had one) to be back in school with my current brain.

I'd kick butt and show 'em I'm not a flake. But odds are I'd still crash somewhere. If I was a betting woman (and I am!) I would put my money on sciences - regardless of the fact that I have a science degree.

But I'm totally off topic. I'm going to work on turning stubs into full limbs and also catch up on my blog surfing. See you all soon.

xo
Motherbumper

call the sitter

She got a pair new shoes and I'm blog sitting for Her Bad Mother today. Come on over ya'll.

Damn, these toddler shoes are beginning to add up. It seems like she needs a new pair every month. Her feet have got to stop growing soon... right? Hey... why are you all laughing?

The Bat

It was the look in her eyes that first tipped me off. It's a glint of planning something funny and seeing an opportunity for execution.

This was the next thing I saw:


She had been playing with her oversized baseball bat when she saw an opportunity she just couldn't pass up. I was crouched down on the ground, trying to photograph her.

"HEAD!" was all I heard when she ran at me.

Next thing I know it's a tangle of toddler, large plastic weapon. my head, and obviously very dull defences.

I'm afraid I might have flashbacks. Oh yes, that's how traumatic it was.

Though also apparently incredibly humorous to a toddler.

After a few more head-bashings, lame deflections, and no success with distraction tactics, the bat was taken away by me and placed behind a closed door.

Whining ensued.

Soon it melted down to crying.

Bat. B-b-b-b-a-a-a-t-t (said with extremely sad voice). B-b-b-a-t.

SB suggested he could try to show her how to play with the bat in a more civilized way.

I wished him luck, double checked our insurance policy and decided to finish the laundry.

While collecting stuff together to go the laundry room, Bumper came trooping down the hallway with the (very oversized and scary looking) bat and happiness in her step.

She came to a full stop in the living room and held out her bat.

SB suggested she find a ball so they could play with the bat.

Instead of searching for a ball, Bumper turned to me, put the bat up with her arms out straight and yelled "HEAD!" - all while headed my way.

That bat is going to get "lost" tonight, right to the back of the closet.

I blame two things: too many Sopranos marathons while pregnant and SB. She obviously inherited his amazing baseball skills because she never missed when attacking me today.

I have lumps to prove it.

*************************
I'm putting together a page for the tattoo post which I hope to have it up by the end of this week. There are some great stories out there so keep on telling, and commenting. Thank you.

Oh and I'm still talking about the my Swedish fetish, IKEA, over at eco-trippin'.

And last but not least (drumroll please...):

The results of the vote are in - go read all about it over at Blog Hers ACT Canada - head on over and read the action plan. Go on now, GO!

go on now - or I'll bat ya'

Sweden Rocks

The new IKEA catalogue is out and for me, that is the best form of porn out there.

Seriously - it is.

I take the annual catalogue and lock myself in the bathroom for as long as possible (when you've got a toddler, that's about two minutes).

I plan on hitting the Ikea this weekend ("what's that?" asks SB - you heard me, I'm rushing the Swedes).

I want this, that, those things, and some of those meatballs (yes, Kittenpie, I go there for the meatballs).

My loins ache for Swedish innovation.

Speaking of Swedish loins:

NO, NO, NO - not those loins, I'm talking about my undies from tattoo post. Those are from H&M, another Swedish place that makes me drool.

I go ga-ga everytime I go into that store. Wicked price points! Overwhelming merchandising! Fun accessories! Uber cool toddler stuff! Can you tell I worked in retail for years?

Actually, I was visiting Nadine of Martinis for Milk the other day and she pulled out the H&M Fall flyer which made me squeal like a little girl. Seriously. it was so embarrassing, but the fact that she had already picked out a few outfits for Bumper made me super giggly.

*****************************

Wow, I'm grooving on the comments on the body art post. LOVING THEM!

I loved reading the inspirations for Mama Tulip and Jennie of GOnelsons. And I've seen Kittenpie's and so I already loved her choice.

It also sounds like many people want at least one done and all I got to say for those who fear the pain: I can't say it's painless but it's more irritating than painful (IMO).

*****************************

So lets see what I learned this week.

Hmmmm...

If I'm your friend, I'm not to be trusted to carry body parts if it's required of me. Most family member can breathe easy but I will remind them to stay on their toes (and to not lose any).

I like tattoos and have wanted one since I was a kid so apparently I could have been a delinquent, trouble maker, and risk taker.

Yet I chose to develop a meatball fetish instead.

So overall analysis of this week:

My parents got off easy (though I'm not sure they would agree).

********************************

edited to update the wrong date on the last day to vote (thanks HBM):

This Sunday is the last day to vote on the BlogHers ACT Canada enviro-issue focus ().

Click on the button below to participate in the survey (pretty please) and a huge thank you.



Have a great weekend ya'll.

I'll show me mine, if you show me yours...

Of course I can't force you to show me yours but I'd love it if you did.

HEY! Whoa there. I'm not talking about your ta-tas, whoo-hoos, ding-dongs, or ring-a-ling ding-dangs. I'm talking body art.

I've seen the posts out there, I know there are lots of people out there with tats. Lovely tattoos done for beautiful reasons.

Here is mine:



Least muffiney top photo and due to pasty white flesh, flash makes mine look kinda sorry but I love it.

HEY! Stop making fun of my apple covered undies. Your just jealous and want your own pair.

I had my tattoo done about ten years ago. Dreaming of getting one ever since I was a kid (seriously), I did recognize the permanence and importance of selecting something I could literally live with forever, so I waited what felt like forever.

Elephants have always been that animal for me. Sure, I love cats, dogs, monkeys, tigers, and all the beautiful (and not so beautiful) beasts but elephants fascinate me.

First time I saw a live elephant was at the Circus Vargas. My dad took us to an old school circus when it came to town (complete with freak show - oh how politically incorrect).

The elephants towered over all the beasts and to see small children riding on top during the intermission was awe inducing.

Now don't go all PETA on me, I wouldn't go to an animal-based circus these days even if they paid me, but this was in the early days of animal rights.

The elephants were completely 100% mind-blowing to this seven year old.

Over the years, any opportunity to see an elephant and all animals was not passed up. Demands for zoo visits in every city we went on vacation were high up on my list of things to do. I remember being crushed the day it rained in Quebec City - that was zoo day! I never did get to that zoo. My home town didn't have an exotic zoo. Lots of fun farms and wildlife preserves, but no elephants for me.

When in Thailand, elephants were seen more frequently. Sometimes used for labour and mostly as tourist attractions, it was heartbreaking to see it each and every time. The conditions were sad and maddening inducing feelings of helplessness. Some handlers were better than others, but overall it was a sad experience.

During my psychology undergrad, I took a course in animal behaviour. While elephants weren't part of the regular curriculum, my prof listened to me babble on about my love of the pachyderms (and monkeys) and encouraged me to read the book "When Elephants Weep: The emotional lives of animals" (I was able to do a paper for extra credit - score!). This book was eye-opening and solidified my love.

Elephants are matriarchal, remember their dead, communicate over vast distances via vibrations, to just to name a few fascinating facts (fascinating to me). And any female that can stand being pregnant for 22 months gets a standing ovation from me.

So upon completion of that book, I decided on my tattoo.

[I also cannot help but mention another elephant book that floats my boat: The White Bone by Barbara Gowdy. Think Watership Down with elephants but I read this post tattoo.]

So, wanna share your body art story?

Pictures aren't necessary (but nice) and like other people's purses and bags, I love reading people's stories about body art. Leave me a comment, I want to read your story. Maybe you've already posted about it. So in theory, this a meme - share and I'll make the links here so others can enjoy your story.

BTW - I'm looking for inspiration for my next piece of body art and where else could be a better inspiration but inside the conversation of this loving circle of friends (some new, some old, and some never met).

And don't worry, I won't "steal" your tattoo because tats are like baby names: territorial. I'm looking for inspiration.

how good a friend am I?

That's what I asked myself after reading a news story about a biker who didn't notice that his lower leg had been amputated when he ran into a barrier.

He then proceeded to drive another mile before stopping.

Apparently his friend picked up his leg and brought it to him (unfortunately it was too crushed to reattach).

Now that's a good friend.

I'm not sure if I'd be able to pick up my friends severed, crushed leg and bring it to them.

I guess I would.

Actually, I guess it would depend on who the friend was.

I know I'd do it for family, no questions asked (there may be an exception in there, but that is neither here nor there). Wait. Did I say that? Guess I did.

Moving past my family issues... I guess I would do it for a friend.

But how about a co-worker? Would I do it for a co-worker or better yet, a stranger? Wow, there's a lot to think about from this.

I'd like to say that I would, but I can't say yes with certainty. If I was a bullshitter and wanted you to all like me, I'd say yes but I can't lie: I'm not sure if I'd do it for just anyone.

Raw meat grosses me out and I have trouble handling snot, poop, and other assorted bodily fluids (oh but I deal, oh yes I do).

I almost fainted the first time Bumper drew blood from a fall (shhhhhh.. SB doesn't know I almost fainted, I tried to act all parental-like).

I think I'd faint if I saw a severed limb.

Yup, I'm pretty sure I'd pass out.

Do you think you could do it? Assuming you could do it for family, is there anyone you think you couldn't pick up a severed body part for? 'Fess up folks.

So what you are saying momma -
is if I fall, you aren't sure if you can handle it?
Grrrrrrrrrrreat

mommy woke up with a headache

Woke up with head pain and no editing skills

So I will post my favorite photo from this past week



She looks like she is about to crack a joke and she probably did.

It made me smile, how about you?

Want some good posts to read?

Go to Cynical Dad - it's a heavy post but will give you lots to think about regarding parents reactions to their child's medical diagnosis.

Want to laugh and wince in pain - go see Kyla at the Journey, her recent brush with nature made me giggle and gasp (oh that sounds naughty).

That's a good start for the day - thinking stuff and funny stuff.

WWB&JD?

Have you been over to BlogHers ACT Canada lately? We are running a survey to decide on the enviro-issue and need your input.

This survey runs for one week only and your input is greatly appreciated. Go read more via the links above or click on the button below to participate in the survey:



A big green hug and thank you for all those who participate!

*****************************

On the lighter side of things, if you are looking for a crude story for your Monday morning, here you go:

Last night SB and I were making dinner together. Actually, we were running interference for entertianing Bumper and taking turns at trying to assemble a meal.

Because it's too hot to use the oven we opted for a quick stove top meal. No more salads and sandwiches, those took up the last four hundred meals during Oh The Humidity '07* or maybe it just seems like it's been that long.
* if I was a news station, that is what I would call this summer

So, what's easier than spaghetti? Not much. Maybe ice. But ice takes too long and we had bed time routines to enforce.

As I mentioned eons ago, I have a thing for meatballs (see #5 in my "like you didn't already know I'm weird" list).

Yup, I still have a thing for meatballs. I add them to everything that seems meatball worthy. I will eat them any time of day or night. I will eat them in the dark or in the light. I will eat them covered in bread, I will eat them when I'm in bed. I will eat them day or night, if you deny me, I will fight!

Today was no exception to my meatball longings. While SB sauted the peppers and onions, I retrieved my meatball stash from the freezer.

Without hesitation, I started tossing meatballs from the sidelines into the sauce base.

Have I mentioned that SB doesn't really understand my meatball lovefest? He doesn't mind the meatball but he balks at having them offered at every meal (whatever).

Anyhow, after my rain of meatballs, some juvenile adult teasing conversation commenced:

SB: You'd add meatballs to anything

Me: Probably (shrug)

SB: You'd love meatball ice cream

Me: Yes, I probably would (not really thinking about it)

SB: I wonder what meatball ice cream would be called?

Me: (not entirely paying attention) Meatball ice cream?

SB: Ummm... I think it would need something a bit more "Ben & Jerry" sounding...

Me: (blank stare... probably thinking about meatballs)

SB: How about balls deep?

(If you don't know what that means, it's a vulgar sexual term. If you do know what it means, you are naughty, naughty, naughty - and probably a friend of mine).

the world is mine!

The world is MINE and my mother is a nutbar!

The unintentional purse meme is cracking me up - pleeeeeeese tell me if you have done it because I want to see [total, total voyeur].

Check out the birth of a meme over at Her Bad Mother.

Anyone who travels by subway [or any form of public transportation] in a big city understands the importance of having something to concentrate on while getting from A to B. I forgot a book when I went out last night which meant I spent a lot of time staring at my feet. I find feet are the safest place to focus the eyes because anywhere else can set off fellow travellers.

It's probably one of the first things I figured out after moving to Toronto - looking at a person too long can open up cans of whoop ass so I find the foot admiration the easiest and safest place to look.

Even window staring can cause trouble because you'll always find a paranoid, or self-centred individual who thinks you are watching them via reflection - trust me, it happens.

So back to last night, I forgot reading material and had very little distraction besides my crazy, crazy thoughts.

And because it's Friday and I'm beyond tired, I'm going to share my cracked thoughts:

What celebrities would I watch read the phone book - which folks would I pay for tickets to hear and watch read the book with the weakest plot. And here is what I figured out:

(1) Kevin Spacey could read the "how to and city wide info" section (maybe he would sing it, the guy is super talented)
(2) Viggo Mortenson could read A - Q (this would be gripping)
(3) James Gandolfini would finish off R - Z

Actually I would watch Viggo read the entire thing but Kevin cracks me up and I've got this weird thing for Tony Soprano. Scary isn't it.

Anyhow, I'm glad it's end of the week, I've had too many late nights this week and there is potential for an early bedtime tonight.

Because obviously I'm so tired that my thought process is really screwy.

Let's leave it at this: New review up at Motherbumper's Laboratory: a follow-up to an early review, the second volume of Your Baby Can Read series.

Girly stuff

So I'm at the park with Bumper, doing park things when I notice this lone woman sitting in the shade reading a book.

She's at a picnic table reading what appears to be a MCAT/LSAT type book.

Placed next to her on the table is a very expensive looking purse - Fendi maybe or is that Gucci? It's hard to tell from where I'm standing. But regardless, it's expensive looking.

She starts to root around in the purse and she pulls out a case and puts on her reading glasses. Completely normal thing to do when reading.

I watch her some more. She reaches into her purse again and pulls something out without having to root around.

Good Gravy - she pulled out corn on the cob, unwrapped, no napkin, nothing protecting it from the purse contents or vice versa, and she mows into this cob like no ones business.

Is it just me or is it strange to have unwrapped, fully cooked corn on the cob in your purse? I understand a lunchbag, or even a baggie in the purse, but unwrapped?

Actually, since we are talking about purses, it's high time I mention that I've always had a purse aversion.

Girls who carried purses in my school invited taunts of being girly (woah, what a concept at an ALL GIRLS school). Being tough and rebellious was coveted and girls who worried about their make-up, enough to warrent a purse, were called slugs*.
why slugs? I'm not sure - the name had been inherited from previous generations in our school and it worked well.

Being a conforming non-conformist, I was never know for being overtly girly but I did occasionally channel Holly Golightly and carried a purse for smokes and liqueur carrying only. BUT only vintage purses from second hand shops and good will. Nothing new or god-forbid, trendy.

Now that I think about it, I guess I have never really shaken my purse-phobia.

I do own purses now - my fave is a wool houndstooth Kate Spade that I bought off eBay during my PPD months. Marathon nursing sessions drive you to do strange things (but the purse is so cute, functional, and well priced).

(I must stop with the justifications... but I can't... did I mention it matches my winter coat perfectly?).

The rest of my purses were snagged over the years at Zara sale time and are in strange offbeat colours and very seventies.

Where was I going with this... oh yes, what do I carry in my backpack since I don't carry a purse on a daily basis. I will now turn my backpack upside down and share the contents:

• the infamous dah-dee! c'ock which holds my subway tokens
• one of my little black books for jotting down post ideas and things I should be doing for MBT
• a wad of Dora stickers (aka BRIBES)
• grocery list: catfood, litter, toilet paper (it's all about pussy and shit these days)
• one lip balm in strawberry sorbet - yummy and I'm totally addicted
• one super awesome Origins lip balm in sugar cane - totally top swag from BlogHer that came in the cutest carry bag that I don't want to dirty up with my daily romps so I just carry the lip balm that I received from Emily & Cooper from The Motherhood.
  
• one fake-fur leopard (?) purse that has all my cards, id, and money (I *heart* the dollar store)
• a pen to write down stuff in the black book (ohhh turquoise - how girly)
• a receipt for groceries that has coupons on the back that I will never ever use
• no corn on the cob
  

I'm sure you are riveted to your seats but seriously, do you carry anything "strange" in your bag/purse?

I really love to be a voyeur into other people's world and holy heck, rifling through a purse or medicine cabinet can tell you tons about that persons life (or current medical conditions).

The strangest thing I used to carry in my bag was prep-H.

Back when I was single, foot-loose and fancy-free (translation: drinking on week nights), I often had the prep-H in my bag so when I got up in the AM and had to go to work, I could rub some on the eye-lids to reduce swelling - because it really works well on tired, swollen eyes after a night of partying.

AND I'll be damned, when I went to find a link for Prep-H - they mention using it for a face cream on the Canadian site.

Woah - I was way ahead of my time.

mid week bullets

I guess I shouldn't be surprized, but my top search keywords hits this week were:

• skidoo suit fashion - Fashion - really? I don't think skidoo suits qualify as fashion.
• bedroom smells - I hope you aren't looking to me for a solution - or worse, as a source.

In other news:

• If you haven't seen the promo video for Hot & Bothered- which was filmed at BlogHer - you must check it out. I think a hole might have been burned in the ozone by the looks of things. YOWZERS!
• I reviewed the movie rental 300. I think it may have been called 300 for the amount of money shots made during the entire film.
• I'm still trying to be green and I'm challenging myself to make some easy changes - so I posted it at eco-trippin'.
• Anybody mind telling me when my daughter grew up? Because last time I checked she was a baby - now she's freakin' kid - who do I call to stop this?

stop distracting me lady - Dora is on

to the max(i)

One story I can tell from living with all the skaters is this one:

As I said before, it was a mix of ladies and gentlemen living in this duplex. The duplex sported a total of five bedrooms, but had only two (really groddy) bathrooms.

Four girls and six guys needed more bathroom space than these two had to offer.

Since both sides of the duplex were mixed gender, both bathrooms sported a large supply of *ahem* feminine products. Tampons galore, maxis, minis, lightdays, you name it, there was a box of it on every shelf.

Living with so many unrelated people, regardless of gender, can breed unspoken suspicions when things start disappearing. So when the maxi pads in both bathrooms started disappearing at a lightening speed rate, accusations began to rumble around the homestead.

My roomie and I were convinced that one of the least popular girl (among the ladies) was the source of this "theft". It was a hard call since we had all synced-up* and were using the supplies at the same time.
* for any readers who haven't lived with pre-menopausal females en masse, the visit from Aunt Flo tends to get syncronized rather quickly. It's always fun to figure out who is the true alpha-female in the group and who has the most pull with the lunar calendar. TMI? Too bad, consider that your biology lesson for the day.

That unpopular girl was the primary target because she was a tight-wad when it came to everything. She had been caught on more than one occasion begging for smokes when she was down to her last deck and then she would not share when the favour was asked in return. She never contributed to the McD's run yet always ordered and ate. You get the picture. She was not a loyal friend and couldn't be trusted at all - but that is a whole other bag of kittens and stories that are not for this post.

Anyhoooo... as with all rumbles of rumour, the whispers came to a head and a confrontation mature discussion was required. We ganged up on asked her if she had been pilfering the mattresses pads and let's just say she was uber-offended and ran off to cry to her boyfriend.

As the fates would have it we, the accusers, were soon to eat crow to the max.

It was a Sunday when the "discussion" with accused girl happened and that was the day favoured by the skaters for getting together and hitting the streets.

Near dark, the younger crew would head back to our house to relax and discuss the accomplishments and accidents of the day.

That particular Sunday, we (the accusers) were sitting around the living room, post confrontation, when the boys tumbled in, dropping their decks, stripping their elbow and knee protection, and stinky runners everywhere.

That's when we saw it.

We all noticed it pretty much at the same time.

There, in the pile of crap the boys had just dumped on the floor was the missing stash.

The boys had been lining their knee pads with our maxi pads.

Apparently, they are really good at soaking up the sweat.

After that we bought the guys their own stash (we did the shopping, they did the paying) and all was well.

I don't think anyone formally apologized to that girl - pride is a bitch.

Oh yes, we also discovered that the tampons were being used as firecracker mufflers.

I never said anyone living in that house was particularly mature.

motherbumpertown

source

During one summer in the nineties, I shared a duplex with a group of friends. We all had regular retailish jobs, most of us on break from school and we all loved to party (hard). Weekends started on Thursday and ended on Tuesday. It was a fun time to be twenty-one.

All the guys who lived there (we had rented out both sides of the house) were involved in skateboarding to one degree to another. One of my closet buddies was an engineering student who was working in a lumber yard. He was always happy to help build half-pipes with the younger kids that dropped by the local skate shop. Nothing makes a half-pipe more dangerous than bad math and crappy materials.

By association, most of the girls who lived in the house knew endless facts about the sport.

We watched all the same pro videos, knew the terms, the pro names, and much of the surrounding culture. Each of us were adamant that none of us were a typical (and in our opinion lame) betty.

We spent more than a far share of time trying to perfect dropping-in, hurting ourselves trying tricks, and scouting out cool (and usually forbidden) trick locations for the more hard-core skaters.

Personally I sucked and was very far from cool by any stretch of the imagination but that didn't matter, I wasn't scared and that earned me a little bit of respect. Honestly, the only reason I tried 99% of this stuff was just to find out what was the allure. Some of my friends lived and dreamed by the board. Some were strict vegans, only drank on occasion, worked long hours for that great trick, planned heavily for that "out of bounds" location, and lived by a very disciplined code.

Of course it's been years since I have even seen a board up close. Are decks still wide? Vans still acceptable? Regardless, it fascinates me and I still stop to watch whenever I flip past something on the sport.

Watching, it's like a small travel back in time, to that absolutely complicated and f'd up time that now appears so simple.

I know the sport has evolved and is now more acceptable and widespread. As with anything, it's pushing the limits with these extreme demos and competitions. So when SB showed me this clip the other day, I had one of the fast little flashbacks - but this one was cut short by a "OMG THAT HAD TO HURT" moment.

It is freakishly amazing watching the slow-mo's in this clip and what happened to his shoes.


Anyhow, back when I lived with that group the times were amazingly fun, tough, and extreme in many different ways.

If the stories were uniquely mine, I'd be more apt to share, but so many folks were involved that I would have to choose what to tell very carefully. I have to respect those who cannot grant me permission.

Those times ended stained and bad a few years later, some my fault, some other peoples contributions but it doesn't matter now. We all busted apart around the seams and very few still remain friends.

I remember mostly good times and forget most of the hard times. And another thing for certain is that I am always grateful that I've lived a very full and colourful life.

does it taste like chicken?

New movie review up over at Motherbumper's Laboratory: Zodiac.

****************************

When I was a kid, the camps I attended were on the more "square" side.

No weenie roasts or lake swimming for motherbumper, I went to French camp. Not to learn how to kiss (though that did happen) but to attend language classes and do more urbane things such as horseback riding or photography.

I didn't mind, I was a weak specimen and I even helped my parents select the camps. Yes gentle readers, I was a bit of a snot growing up...

But I'm getting off track here.

I read an article today that made me thankful that I didn't attend this particular camp - God knows what I would have done.

Apparently at a Bible camp called Camp Kadesh in Saskatchewan, a counsellor thought it was a good idea to kill and roast a squirrel over a fire in front of his charges. He first injured the squirrel by throwing a stick at it (what a man!) and then proceeded to kill, skin, and cook the poor creature.

Here are some of the thoughts that ran through my mind when I read this article:

Saint Francis wouldn't approve.

That doesn't sound very Christian to me.

What does Kadesh mean? (It means holy but not holey like the squirrel ended up)

I wonder if that counsellor has the same edition of The Joy of Cooking as me? Because my edition contains some wonderful tips and hints for skinning and cooking a squirrel (click to enlarge).

I also wonder... does it taste like chicken?

hey human, I found a recipe I want to try

Lesser Known Yoga Position #1267: The Maxwell Smart

Oh yes, I'm gonna post about my toddler because I'm a mommyblogger dammit, and proud. Actually I loathe the term mommyblogger but I'm a mommy, I blog, and the chicken suit fits.

OK, let's not go there but let's just say that I'm not posting about diapers, therefore I must be breaking from the norm*.
* apparently at one of the BlogHer07 sessions, someone (in the audience or panel not sure which) said that mommybloggers only post about diapers and other banal shit. I wish I had been there to snort from the back row ('cos that's what I do... maybe if I had a vodka on the way over, I'd get up and fight... but soberity tends to keep my mouth shut). Was anyone at that panel and able to fill me in?

Moving right along (and now I'm worried that this qualifies as "banal"):

Bumper has a new yoga pose and it cracks me up: she likes to use her foot as a phone.

SB already told me about this and I was "like, whatever... she uses dominos and food as phone, big f'ing whoop" but OMG she did it this morning and my brain melted and my heart exploded from the cuteness of it all.

I'm serious, I felt all pink and mushy which is very uncomfortable for me, considering I'm usually the only mom at my local playground wearing black from head to toe. Why that makes me different, I'm not sure but it's the only thing that I seems to make me different in this neck of the woods. I think this requires further analysis.

So Bumper does this total foot to the ear thing and says "daddee... blah, blah, blah... daddee... etc" and I'm all like over-achiever mom and racing for the camcorder, tripping over the piles of laundry, empties, and broken toys - almost spilling my drink*.
* I kid, I only drink in the afternoons

I didn't get to the digi in time, so I sent SB an email extolling the greatness of my progeny (and acknowledging that he had a hand in her amazing powers).

I'd kill for this kind of flexibility. I wonder what the reception is like?

back to life

back to reality...

and sometimes it sucks

Wanna know how to piss motherbumper off?

No? well too bad, stop reading now and move along.

So things to piss motherbumper off:

If you are my right breast, you'd piss me off by leaking like a sieve - forcing me to wear a bulky ol' nursing bra, complete with thick boob pads to stymie the mess (*edit to add: oh yes, in case you are wondering, I've weaned Bumper, not just spraying 'cos I can).

TMI? grossed out? yeah? well so am I.

If you are the weather, you'd piss me off by being so freakin' hot and ungodly humid that the caramel filled drumsticks I decided to buy at the grocery store - you know, because I'M WORTH IT (thanks for letting me know that, L'Oreal) - well those drumsticks melted on the way home and now I'm forced to eat them quickly. I can't really enjoy them because they are so damn soft, but they still include all the pertinent components.

OK - that one didn't piss me off that much but still - I like my drumsticks firm, just like a like my men.

Back to piss off list:

If you are my brain, you'd piss me off by getting the song "unskinny bop" stuck in my head.

And because I don't know the words, I'm forced to just sing the chorus over and over and over and over again.

I've never prayed so hard for a carload of obnoxious teenagers with over-cranked tunes (perhaps that silly Umbrella song) to cruise by the playground therefore sending Poison back to where it belongs - the 6th circle of purgatory and not my head.

Why the 6th circle? I will assume the reason I'm being forced to listen to shitty music is due to the fact that I was a wee bit gluttonous this past weekend.

Which leads me to...

If you are my emotions, you'd piss me off by making me think about the fantastic weekend I had. I'm an emotional wreck thinking about the people I want as neighbours, and the frantic/fantastic good times had - all while trying to beat the clock and trying to cram enough freakin' socializing in to feel satisfied.

Am I satisfied? Nope, I need more people, I NEED MORE BLOGHER!

Reality bites people, reality bites big time. I know I'm not alone on this folks.

wow momma, one more 90's reference
and I was going to have you committed for real