Monday Morning Chuck #74231

Einstein's original Theory of Relativity was:
if Chuck Norris kicks you, your relatives will feel it.

I'm on the road with Bumper doing a Down East tour. Why do I feel the need to mention that? Because I'm eating donairs at KOD, and you aren't.

Consider yourselves lucky that you don't need to smell my breath.

xo
motherbumper

one, two, three

How did she know that I love tulips? Because she's that kind of woman.

Today my Dad, Bumper, and I met with the lovely Jessica of Daysgoby.

She showered me with those beautiful flowers for my blogiversary (what? Blue Mountain didn't send you a reminder? It isn't a national holiday - yet).

She demonstrated incredible restraint and didn't beat me with a stick when I bounded across the restaurant and wrapped myself around her like a feral monkey. Mind you, it was like a good kind of feral monkey who doesn't throw poop, but a scary monkey nonetheless. No really, I did. I saw her drive up and I bounced outta of my chair and loped across the room like a lunatic. She probably wished she'd kept driving.

The fact that she didn't mace me made me love her even more.

We had one of those visits that felt like five minutes though logic tells me that it was at least an hour or two. We could have talked all day - whipping each other with tangents that you just wanted to pursue. Meeting bloggers and making real life friends is a work hazard. A potential hazard I'm willing to risk.

If I didn't know better, I'd think Jessica was related to me - I swear (and so does my Dad) that she was my sister. But after heavily quizzing both my parents, I established she wasn't. Too bad. That would have been fun - and worthy of a post and a few hundred therapy sessions (for her because joining this family = LUNACY).

Anyhow, she probably will have my IP blocked by the end of tonight, but that's okay - I know where she lives.

Oh yes, and it is my TWO year blogiversary today and it was celebrated in style. I met a beautiful fellow blogger AND I was Kawasakied. Screw modesty, I'm stoked to be on AllTop. What a way to start year three. I'm bringing on the tantrums folks because THREE is gonna be a hell of a ride.

No whiskers on kittens

It's a battle not to get attached to material things. Minimalist lifestyle has always attracted me but unfortunately my pack rat tendencies prevent any hope of living carefree.

Boxes haunt both us of and every so often SB and I go through and try, oh we try, to get rid of the non-essentials.

And by non-essentials, I mean the faded to dull memories.

But the ticket stubs and silly trinkets remain. The diaries pile up (though I did successfully drop the teen books - NATCH! you can only imagine the fodder I would have for posts if I'd kept that particular drivel). Bottom line, I try not to get too attached to these memory keepers.

It's a losing battle.

Meet Horkey and my mid-twenties diary who did not have a name.
Horky the Donkey puppet (I didn't name him) belonged to all the children in my family but being the youngest, I kept him safe. He's missing an eye, wood shavings leak out of head and his coat is worn from years of companionship but he's still beautiful to me. He never ever let me down and holds many of my secrets.

The diary from my twenties reminds me of many things. I am a compulsive ripper of magazines and newspapers. This is brimming with things I dreamed about at that time, lists of things I MUST DO, books I must read, movies I must enjoy. Some of those lists are near complete, some never attempted (sea kayaking - check! mountain drive across Canada, nope, make a quilt - not gonna happen anytime soon). I may show this to Bumper when she is older so maybe she won't think I was sooo square. Glimpses of her single mom might bond us closer together. Yes Bumper, mommy did have a life pre-baby, pre-marriage.

Now these are some other things that I keep close. These are tangible proof of previous generations. These are things of my grandmothers. The seal skin hat is from my maternal grandmother. She wore it all the time and it's one of the few things I remember about her - besides the chocolate covered digestives and Ryan's Hope. Many years later after she passed, my aunt asked me what I remembered about her and I mentioned the hat. A few weeks later this hat arrived in the mail. This aunt and I were never particularly close but the gesture brought us to another level.

The two spectacular purses belonged to my other Nanny. I found them in a drawer in one of her bedrooms when I was teen and asked her about them. She laughed, didn't give much detail and gave them to me. If you knew her, you'd think these purses weren't her "style" but after learning the most about her at her 90th birthday roast thrown by her small town, I realized there is so much more to that woman than I will ever, ever know. These purses will remind me of that each time Bumper and I try to find a common ground.

Remember Bumper - I was a baby, girl, teen, and woman before I added mother to the resume.

This post is part of Sweetney and Her Bad Mother's Friday Flashback/Friday Foto Frenzy combo - "a photo-centric post that may or may not involve a flashback (although bonus points are awarded for keeping it flashback-y.) The topic: "My Favorite Thing," or "These Are A Few Of... etc" (in case you have more than one.) Self-explanatory: what object (or objects) in your home (note: NOT child, pet or partner) is your favorite thing, the thing that you would be most likely to grab first in a fire, the thing that you gaze upon and murmur, lovingly, MINE? Bonus points if it's something from your youth or childhood."

Other flashback (constantly updated - as in: where is yours?)
Girl's Gone Child
Sweetney
Mrs. Flinger
whoorl
Oh, The Joy
IzzyMom
Her Bad Mother
Breed Em And Weep
Mamalogues

Leave me a comment and link if you join in pleaseandthankyouverymuch so I can you to da list.

Part 2 of my answers to your kick-as* questions continues next week.

I should be careful when I ask - part 1

So this is part one in answering the questions I asked for and you posed to find out the Tale of Motherbumper and what makes her tick like a cuckoo clock:

Shania wanted to know:

How I refrain from gloating about that adorable child in every post. She thinks she couldn't do the same.

Bumper's agent won't let me without heavy royalties - do you know how much that kid charges for an appearance - IT'S UNREAL!

My homegirl kgirl gave me a pop quiz:

If you could transplant anything East Coast to the T-dot, what would it be? (I'm from Nova Scotia for those who don't know)

I took liberties (who? moi? liberties? never - ha!) and made a list:

• My parents.
• The friendly, look-me-in-the-eye attitude.
• The ocean with A REAL beach.
• The awesome recycling and composting program (T-dot is at least trying).
• The zen of a city like Halifax that is part Buddhist community, part artisan colony, part University town, part mariner, with a whole lotta Trailer Park Boy.

no relation but a whole lot in common

Do you think you'll ever move back?

Do you know how often I think about that? DO YOU? Oh wait, you can't read my mind. You are so lucky. Anyhow, I would prefer transplanting the East up here.

If you could transplant anything T-dot to the East Coast, what would it be?

Nothing - enough of the T-dot invades and educates themselves in Halifax's plethora of Universities every single year so the annual infusion of the T-dot's youth is enough for now. Oh and every bar owner / bartender seemed to be from T-dot and made the move because they preferred the East Coast lifestyle to Tdot so it's not like you can't throw a rock and hit someone from Toronto.

Not that we throw rocks at Torontonians. Well not anymore since the legislation came in ordering us to stop picking on Toronto.

Wait I take that back - Toronto has wickedly good shopping. I'd transplant all the shoe stores. TAKE THAT!

Do you think I should join a gym?

Nah, I'll just start throwing rocks and you can run for exercise.

Ali wanted to know:

what's your biggest pet peeve?

Well when I was in the corporate world, my biggest pet peeve was people who took credit of others work. It happens so often that it's sickening. One becomes very insulated which is not conducive to team work and it just sucks.

So a sweeping statement of dishonesty as being biggest pet peeve. Oh and that fuzzy ice that forms on top of ice cream and popsicles when the freezer decides it hates you. HUGE PET PEEVE.

Darling Ali also asked:

what's YOUR most annoying habit?

Where to start? Taking on more work than I can possibly handle. Right now is an example. I love LOVE being busy but sometimes I just go overboard.

Also I sigh a lot and it drives SB bonkers.

Oh and I'm self-deprecating and nice to the point where some people want to stick a fork in me. I'm trying to control that one because I've realized that some folks out there have taken advantage of it. Now while I do play one in the blogosphere, I'm not stupid in real life (though I am nice) so I just deal with it in another way (how's that for a cloak and dagger answer?).

Oh gawd, I'm boring you aren't I?

I'm skipping a few of the next questions posed (I'm trying to answer in order) because the answers are stand alone posts. So I will skip to the lovely Mandy who asked:

What date do you wish you had never gone on and why?

So many to pick from... but I will settle for the one that always surfaces first:

I cannot for the life of me remember his name - seriously - but I met him through some friends. He didn't register on my radar but I apparently registered on his. He looked like the lead singer from A-Ha which wasn't too bad in my 19 year old books.

take on me - NOT

Quick backstory: I was always the single girl growing up - I dated every so often but I loved being single. Yet everyone would be fixing me up all the freakin' time - which was fine but OMG I met some wackos.

Back to AHa boy: so he bugged his friend for my number, and after some begging I decided why the hell not? He called to ask me to a movie which seemed very benign. How bad could it go?

yah riiiiight

So I meet him at the coffee house around the corner from the theatre about 30 mins before the show so we can chat - you know - get to know each other in safe setting. Well it turns out (not sure if this was planned) the movie wasn't starting for an hour so we had lots of time to talk.

Correction: HE had lots of time to talk.

This wasn't nervous chatter - this was completely all over the place talk where he basically gave me his opinion on everything from politics (scary), womens rights (almost walked out on that one), music (nothing in common), children (wtf? - we were 19), in addition to a host of other things including opinions on common acquaintances.

I wanted to walk out but honestly - I'm not great at being rude and I convinced myself "just make it the end of the movie and run". No backbone in my 19 year old self.

Finally it was movie time. We entered the theatre sat down and the movie started. I was so thankful for the relative silence.

Then he did the stretch - you know "the textbook date stretch: arm lands behind girls head a la Ritchie on Happy Days trying to be the Fonz".

I immediately stood up, excused myself to go to the loo and walked out of the theatre, straight to the local where I knew my friends would be playing pool and snapped in half the guy who convinced me to give up my digits.

GET THIS: he called a few days later and didn't mention a thing. And asked me out again. I found backbone and said NO!

OK - enough for now. Part two coming soon.

Nervous Habit?

It's Wordless Wednesday again.

This time featuring my daughter's newest habit since the haircut: hair twirling.


Hair knot done without aid of elastic or "styling products" of any kind (including her preferred choice of peanut butter or apple sauce - neither approved by Paul Mitchell - which incidentally work great if you don't mind possible bugs in hair - or at least I'm pretty sure if I used either "product" I'd wake up covered in ants but I digress - 'bout time eh?)

Other peeps doing Wordless Wednesday - check 'em out here.

Be Still My Beating Heart

OK - I'm working on all the freakin' kick a*s questions you asked AND OMG thank you for your awesomeness and supplying me with post fodder.

Holy crap - you know how I'm so long-winded? Well some of those questions require answers that are freaking essays. I'll try to be succinct (ha! who am I fooling) but right now I will supply with some outrage (or at least I think it will outrage you - oh gawd, I hope it does).

Apparently some brainfart in the UK made an online game aimed at tweens (hate the term but you know who I'm talking about) - and the game encourages the wee ones to compete with other tweens using an online doll. This doll can have breast enhancements, crash diets, and other little girl dreams!

OH BE STILL MY MOTHERLY HEART - NO SERIOUSLY - IT STOPPED WHEN I READ THIS ARTICLE.

And I quote from CNN International article I tripped upon:

Girls are encouraged to compete against each other to become the "hottest, coolest, most famous bimbo in the whole world."

WHA???? WTF???? OMFG????

What kind of p*doph*le sick f*ck troll (and I'm being incredibly polite) dreams this crap up? Oh let me copy another quote from the same article:

Nicolas Jacquart, the 23-year-old Web designer from Tooting, south London, who created it was quoted in the Daily Mail as saying: "It is not a bad influence for young children. They learn to take care of their bimbos. The missions and goals are morally sound and teach children about the real world."

Oh and get this - the game is called Miss Bimbo. Just f'ing wonderful.

We are going off-grid and moving to that cabin in the woods. See y'all later - I've got some butter to churn.

Here's a bucket to collect all the puke from reading all about Miss Bimbo.

Monday Morning Chuck #62673

There is no theory of evolution. Just a list of creatures Chuck Norris has allowed to live.

Well that solves that debate, doesn't it? I've also renamed this weekly segment "Monday Morning Chuck" because inspiration isn't my strong point and I have an endless supply of Chuck Norris images.

So the other day I was rooting around in my drawers (ahem... that sounds naughty... I'll leave it in because that's about as R rated as you are going to get in these parts... ahem) and I came across a few pairs of smalls that never had been worn before.

They were purchased long before baby. Heck, they were pre-wedding - back from the day when I could fit into those jeans. The ones that make me cry each time I run across in them in the back of the closet. Perhaps you know the ones I speak of? Many folks seem to have a pair that have inspired a post or twenty.

Anyhow, I pull out these unworn smalls and after realizing man, I really need to Spring clean - like OMG have I even done any Spring cleaning since giving birth? - I decided to wear them.

You know those elastics that bind the brocolli together at the market, the wide ones that are too small for any real purpose other than binding brocolli together yet I could probably locate more than 200 in the various drawers of my kitchen? Yes those ones. Well wearing one of those elastics would have been more comfortable than wearing these smalls.

For trying to squeeze into those damn things, you can just call me the:
Once I regained feeling in my lower extremity (after surgical removal of delusionpants) I came to the conclusion that slim hips are highly overrated. So shut-up main stream media and Hollywood, this lady is no longer under your spell. Blood circulation is a good thing.

Did I mention I'm sick AGAIN? This is going down as the coldest, snowy, sicky Winter in recent memory. Spring had better get her a*s here soon because I'm gonna go mad. MAD YOU HEAR? (like I haven't already).

Happy Monday y'all.

got chocolate?

gmphga chmphpolatph?
(translation: got chocolate?)

Happy Easter to all those who celebrate.

We are having a traditional lunch of ham, potato, broccoli, carrots, and corn all finished with more chocolate eggs. I also picked up what I hope is a nice Reisling to compliment the ham. Bought local (save for the corn & carrots) for the foot print thang.

Reisling is new to me - I'm a red person but I figured I'd follow the "rules" that my eighth grade French teacher drilled into our heads. Seriously, we were quizzed on what wines complimented which meals in 8th grade French. Now that's education.

Bumper's first egg hunt ended moments ago (I figured the earlier she eats the candy, the more daylight hours can be used to burn the sugar). It was a roaring success. A marshmallow egg is slowly being consumed and she won't stop talking about how good it tastes. I can't help but notice how much lint sticks to these things once unwrapped. Good thing toddlers aren't fussy.

"Mmmmm mommy, this is yummy."
"Yes Bumper, it is yummy - chocolate will never let you down. Let that be your lesson today."

So if you need some good reading to go with all that chocolate, here are some of my favorite sk*rts from the past week:

• ultimate peep show for real
• black guy asks the nation for change
• complete season 1 recap of LOST done in LOLspeak
• what celebs would look like if they moved to Saskatchewan

Now I'm back to track my standing in the basketball pool because I'll be damned if I let Chag, Whit, SciFi Dad, or Sarah kick my a*s. And Backpacking Dad - I'll be catching up soon, ya'hear?

And yes, I'm going to answer all those questions I solicited on my last post. Keep 'em coming - if you want to know what make motherbumper tick, leave me a question in the comments. No topic too sensitive (she sez with treppy-dition).

Lost for the Ages

First Assertagirl brought me immense relief when she pointed out Bumper looks more like Amelie rather than the editor of Vogue (and my little girl is definitely quirky in that beautiful Amelie way if I say so myself):


Well holy heck, it's a relief to have no more Wintour flashes and glimpses - too much attitude for me to deal with. So now it's Amelie. Cool I can deal with that.

But then Kittenpie brought up Ramona Quimby and well... that cannot be denied, both in nature and looks:

Well I'll be darned, doesn't that look like her? If Ramona is tough enough to be tattooed on your arm, well that's good enough for me.

That is a relief, and thank you for letting me sleep at night. To think that I could have been raising a Prada loving devil was hard to wrap my mind around.

Though she would probably get me into that legendary closet at Vogue AND send lots of free shoes my way.

And bags. And maybe some clothes. And definitely some make-up. I'm mean, I AM her mother after all.

Maybe I should rethink this.

Anyhow - have you been over to MommyBlogsToronto lately? This week, four of the fantastic bloggers over there wrote some kick ash stuff: Shooting for Hip (IRL: Don Mills Diva), Pick of the Litter (the librarian with sass aka Life of Pie), Restauranter (yummy it's The Petite Gourmand), and Mama Drama (the blogger formerly known as #, now known as nomotherearth). All great reads, let me tell you. You're welcome.

UNRELATED TANGENT!

So I was waiting for the bus at the subway station this morning and the conversation of two older ladies caught my attention (picture Maude's mom and Betty White + 20 years - didn't really watch the show).

OK, so I was eavesdropping out of boredom and they were the only other ones around the station. I had no book and forgot my iPod and they were talking loud enough for me to hear so what's a girl to do?

Now that we have established that I'm a snoop, let me regurgitate what was overheard. I came in just as their conversation went something like this:

Diane*:Who do you think Jack wants to be with?
Lydia*: (no hesitation) Kate. Definitely Kate.
Diane: If I was Kate I'd like Sawyer.
Lydia: Well if I was her, I'd be with Sayid.
Diane: Reeeee-ally?
Lydia: Yes. I like foreign men. My first husband was Irish.

* names have been changed because I didn't steal their purses to find out their handles. Bad security camera angles - motherbumper is no fool.

I almost started to add my two cents but stopped myself for no reason other than I was enjoying how a LOST talk was progressing between two women who appeared to be in their late 60s (and I'm being nice). They looked more like Wayne Newton fans rather than LOST junkies.

Obviously I have no idea what older people watch because I couldn't think of one show to compare to the popularity of LOST. Must brush up on geriatric pop culture.

In case you are wondering - the bus came before Desmond was mentioned (you know they had to have talked about him at some point - Lydia's husband was foreign and all). Seriously, I would have totally pegged them for Jack ladies. You really do learn something new every day.

TANGENT VEERS ELSEWHERE.

Anyhow, I'm over at motherbumper's laboratory reviewing the latest dvd offering from Bob the Builder (CAN WE READ IT? YES WE CAN!).

Oh and because I have lemming tendencies: what do you want to know about me? what questions about motherbumper don't let you sleep at night? I'm trying to write my "About Me" section but each time I start it, it bores me to tears - so please help me spice it up. What do you want to know about the blogger called motherbumper?

fade to black

Not Nolte

Just to prove how awesome a parent I can be, Bumper hasn't had a haircut since... oh sweet juju - I don't have a clue when.

That's probably why incidents like "lookin' like Nolte" have been happening over the past few weeks.

The kid has bangs down to her knees and walks into walls.

I really should have noticed before she was starting to look (and incidentally act) like Captain Caveman.

Such fond childhood memories I have of Captain Caveman.

Oh how motherbumper loved that show growing up. His signature yell rocked and I L-O-V-E-D it to death. Totally drove more than one person crazy with that annoying catch phrasish yelly thing.

When playing with the neighbourhood kids, I never wanted to be one of the teen angel sidekicks, I wanted to be the club-wielding, outta-control, crime-solving, hair-covered, and recently defrosted hero.

This may explain my strange relationship with girly stuff - eg. I love make-up but am too lazy to wear it. No relation - I'm just lazy? Okay , whatever.

But I'm getting way off topic. Oh and the topic btw is Wordless Wednesday - which I have once again failed (I moved my WW below this post but left the haircut photo here).

Yup - look at all those words above these ones. Oh well - better luck next week.

Anyhow - Bumper got her hair cut and looks so darn cute I rub my eyes each time she looks at me and gives me the entire teenage attitude to the max.

four days clean and sober injury-free

No more Nolte but maybe a bit of Anna?

I'm in so much trouble. And in for so much attitude.

bumper - is that you my child?

Dreaming of the old days

Wordless Wednesday

remembering the good old days
(my baby needs new shoes)

Monday Morning Inspirational #50394

Holy Moley and some more, it's 10:45 and it feels like I've been parked in front of my laptop all day without finishing one freakin' thing I set out to do with any degree of satisfaction. That sucks the big one.

Not that I really did get to spend the entire day in laptopland, it just seems like whenever I wasn't tending to a sick person (SB), my parents (it was totally reciprocal or I would have kicked them to the curb), a leprechaun hopped up on that visit from my parents (who left for the safety of their own hotel), or tending to basic human functions and bare minimum for family duties - well I was in front of this laptop.

And I didn't even get my Monday Morning Inspirational up for your morning commute. I feel like I must have let somebody down. Beuller? Beuller?

Anyhow, I hope that by posting it tonight, it will make your Tuesday commute more confusing. Motherbumper aims to disorientate.

Without further whining, whinging, or gasping for air, I present Sir Norris and his inspirational thoughts for the day:

If you can see Chuck Norris, Chuck Norris can see you.

If you can't see Chuck Norris, you may only have seconds to live.

What is this to inspire you to do? I dunno, live in constant fear and you'll be more productive. Yup - you just witnessed a motherbumper brain cramp.

Wait! There's more. Remember last week's Chuck pic?

Because it's hard to resist a jean that stretches just so - due to a hidden gusset - this had to be shared with you fine folks.

I present the average man wearing his Chuck Norris endorsed designer denim:

It will knock 'em out BABY!

Gotta enlarge to enjoy the crotch shot.
[Editor: I'm sure that statement was probably completely unintentional but I'm leaving it in for your reading amusement.]

Is it just me, or do you think that Chuck may have hand picked the model himself?

Chuck at the go-see for denim model: "It's like looking in a mirror - you are almost the most handsome manly man ever - you're hired!".

roll with fashion

Now I know the REAL REASON blogrolls went out of fashion.

Back in the day when I was a junior miss in the world of blogging, blogrolls were everywhere. Everyone sported one on their sidebar in some way or another and honestly, it was fun to see your name in lights.

But then a somewhat silent backlash happened. Some folks started grumbling about how blogrolls were unfair "I link to her/him/MC Hammer/Xenu but he/she/it/don't touch this doesn't link to me and that sucks". Some thought it felt like a popularity contest. So blogrolls kinda disappeared. Some blogrolls seem to be sent to burn in delete hell, while most became dusty and buried. Blogrolls seemed to be no longer in fashion.

Being a die-hard lemming (who constantly falls outta line to talk to the kids under the back stair having a smoke) I deleted my once mighty blogroll. It actually happened after noticing a few bloggers I faithful read and who had once linked to me - no longer did.

Yes - I'm that immature.

It's not like their entire blogrolls disappeared -which would have been just fine - it was that I was culled (along with others). I'd be lying if it didn't feel like a craptastic paper cut to my throat. So I retaliated in the most immature yet equitable way I could think of - I just dropped my entire freakin' blogroll. No post about it - no fanfare or invitation to the burning - I just dropped it from the bar o'sides.

But it never seemed right. That's why I put out the call to populate my sidebar again (see it there? Under my woefully inadequate About Me link? "I tread lightly with a big stick" - yup that's my blogroll).

Well it's no where near done but I've officially been declared insane because of all the cutting and OMG ALL THE F'ING DAMN IT ALL TO HELL PASTING it takes to make a blogroll. So if I missed you leave me a comment (with a link please) and I'll update it because if I have to proofread it myself, I may just cry.

And no body wants to make motherbumper cry, do they? Oh and what was the REAL REASON blogrolls went out of fashion? It's because who in their right mind wants to build and maintain these things? OH MY GAWD - I may just be able to use this in a court of law when I sue someone for my new found carpal tunnel syndrome. Yah, I'm looking at you - or maybe you in the back.

So yes, IMO blogrolls weren't the norm anymore out of sheer laziness.

Anyhow - overdramatic? Perhaps... but that's the kind of gal I am.

kickin' butt in the kindergarten ring

Note to Self: pull shower curtain next time I'm feeling a brave wave of truthiness.

Thank you for not mentioning how dirty my bathroom walls look. Cleaning grout? Not my cup of tea. I do it but not as often as required. Cleaning 300 year old grout that was never cleaned by previous tenant, not a satisfying job. I have my limits and they are way lower than that.

Thankfully no one mentioned it and thank you for all the nice comments (motherbumper shifts uncomfortably in her seat - not good with positive feedback - too positive and it upsets the shaky balance that I call my insane life). But thank you.

And am I the only one who says "truthiness" like "toothiness"?

Anyhow, today I'm busy building my new blogroll so this is one of those non-post posts. Thank you for all your linky permission and flippancy. So far no one has been booted from the list but I'm itching to meet my first belligerent patron. Come on now, tempt me to go all bouncer on your a*s. Actually, don't if you are over five years of age.

Since I'm cutting and pasting myself into further insanity, I'll leave you with a motherbumper public service announcement. See this innocent looking snack that caught my eye at the store?


It said "oh motherbumper, you know you want it. Oh yah baby, you want it bad".

Why are snacks always so sl*tty?

Anyhow, this snack is the work of the devil.

The ingredients haven't been read yet, but I'm hoping that it includes creamed snouts, puréed testicles, and lots and lots of formaldehyde. That way I may actually be able to stop eating they gooey goodness. Must never buy again. I feel like I'm going to go into a sugar coma.

They are the devils work I say, the DEVIL.

btw - nothing like oreos in taste and it really just looks like the oreos pudgy cousin - what's up with that? and don't even get me started on the excessive packaging (actually that's enough for me to never buy them again but OMG why did I have to try them?)

Oh and Greeblemonkey totally forced me to take this damn quiz so that I could establish how much of a horrible adult I am and of course - I scored high. Actually, it's designed to help you assess how many grubby and gang member 5 year olds can you take on if you were swarmed by them... because that would NEVER EVER happen. This is the stuff you don't hear about on the news because they don't want to cause wide-spread panic.

23
Anyhow, I can apparently take on 23 of those lil' stinkers before becoming overwhelmed. Pretty sure it's because I said there might be little to no issue in using one of knocked-out/injured 5 year olds as a shield and/or projectile. Because seriously, if they are just going to lay on the ground, they might as well be used for protection.

What? Oh please... I'd like to see you take on a damn swarm of 23 five-year olds.

OK, for a non-post post, this is pretty freakin' long. So I'll cut it off here.

Wait - did I already mention that I'm also over at The League of Maternal Justice today? I'm participating in the PBN Blog Blast (with prizes) for Zwaggle, a really cool environmentally and parent friendly online swap site. Go check it out if you have any baby gear eating up precious shoe space in your closet.

Now it's back to cutting and pasting for motherbumper. Cut. Paste. Cut. Paste. Go. Insane. But make lots of linky love. Mmmm linky love.

Portrait of a Truthiness as a Youngish Woman

Updated: with more linky love - right around the bottom, the links, not the love.

Sorry 'bout that James Joyce.

Anyhow, not many know this but I silently stalk this big time blogger that you probably all know named Sweetney (I will not share a picture of the shrine I built to her and her dog) and only recently did I start leaving the odd (trust me:odd - like start a police file odd) comment on her site.

Blog stalking is so immature but whatever, I never said I was all lady-like and growed-up. Oh no I didn't.

Focus motherbumper, get back on track and stop giving the prosecution any more ammo.

So today over at Her Bad Mother's lair, she is talking all about Sweetney's invitation to reveal yourself and all about truthiness. And I thought: motherbumper, you can do this. It's ballsy, balls which I don't possess, but ballsy nonetheless. And I like ballsy. Let's just leave it at that.

Isn't that a great word, truthiness?

It's a state I perpetually live in. Truthiness to me is not black, not white, just the way things are in my mind. Sometimes I forget that motherhood has kicked the last remnants of [media-defined] hotness I once possessed out the door. SB still sees it, I still feel it, but when I walk outside and catch glimpses of my reflection, I literally stop short.

I never thought that I'd be one of those people that (cue sinister dun dun dun duh music) LET THEMSELVES GO (*crash of cymbals*).

But you know, I haven't really let myself go. I still bathe. And I've just prioritized differently. Make-up, non-yoga pant outfits, and the other trappings of superficial beauty are low down on the list, and truthfully (or should I say, truthinessly) I do it just for the ladies now. When I get together with my friends, I'll slap on the war paint.

Kinda reminds me of a story I once read about Saudi women who appear fully veiled in public but underneath wore bright, borderline gaudy, super sexy outfits and full make-up. All for other woman, who were the only ones to see their peacock greatness besides family. Crazy but I get it. But that isn't really related to what I'm saying.

I'm avoiding the dare of truthiness.

Deep breath and here it goes. This is what 38 in the AM with no make-up, combined with motherhood looks like (sorry 'bout the flash, motherbumper is no Karsh):
Come on now, I dare you to do the same.

Update:
There is a Flickr group for Self-Portrait Truthiness set up by Sweetney and here are some other nekkid faces of the morning:
HBM
Sweetney
Breed 'Em & Weep
Missus Mamalogues
Mrs. Flinger
Ms. MotherBumper
Izzy
OTJ
Blog Chocolate


(if you do this, paste the other bloggers in your post - if you dare - post that is, not link - duh)

Raggamuffin Diva

Look Ma, No Words (almost)

Peanut butter on face? check. Sunglasses? check. Total attitude? Triple check. My Raggamuffin Diva is in da' house.

Join in and check out the other WW participants over at the Wordless Wednesday blog.

easy peasy

I'm going old school and making a blogroll.

Now that that fact has sunk in, let the peer pressure guide you.

You know you want to join. You know you wanna.

So leave me a link to your blog and I'll add you. See? In the words of one of my secret fetishes - droolicious Jamie Oliver: "EASY PEASY".

Rules:

• Nice people only. Nasty people need not apply. Holy CareBear that sounded lame.
• You must read me at least once a year (I set the bar low folks)
• You must love Chuck Norris

Odds are I already have you on the list I'm building but I'd hate to leave anyone out of the party in my head.

Because we all know it's all in my head folks, all in my head. And there is lots of trippy, hippy, slippy stuff in there - and chocolate - lots and lots of chocolate.

Monday Morning Inspirational #45789

"Chuck Norris puts the laughter back in manslaughter."

- from a shrine dedicated to Norris at a U.S. military helicopter hub in Baghdad

Can never discount the power of Chuck Norris - so sayeth motherbumper. No go forth and kick Monday's a*s.

it depends on your definition of saving

Losing an hour this weekend totally screwed me up. I was already behind because of the plague that poxed me (and thankfully just me - not Bumper or SB lucky b**tards) last week. But losing another hour just threw me for a loop.

Everything always seems strange for the first day of daylight saving and I can never keep straight which way the clock changed. I constantly have to repeat [in my head hopefully] "Spring forward, Fall back" to remember. Yes, motherbumper is a has shades of moron in her brain.

Oh and those rat-b*stard smart clocks built into everything really confused matters. Half the clocks we have around our home download the time from somewhere out there *waves hand vaguely towards the window*, while all our simpleton appliances depend on my simian-at-best guesstimation of time. This creates a five-minute lag in time across our tiny two-bedroom apartment. Absolutely astounding.

Cripes, how can the tv be smarter than me? Real nice boost to my ego LG.

Somehow Bumper fell asleep at the dinner table tonight which made no sense so I'm blaming daylight savings. If she wakes up at the butt crack of dawn tomorrow, I'm blaming daylight savings. If it snows more tomorrow, I'm blaming daylight savings. Stub my toe? That's right - it was that intangible b*stard daylight saving.

Anyhow, now that my own personal plague has been downgraded to an inconvenient cough I'm able to keep my head upright for longer period of times. Which means if I had an hour, I could possibly make a dent in the 4000 bloglines that scream at me each time I dare look OR just maybe I could write an interesting post finally without the aid of my friend NyQuil.

Yes that's what I'd do if I had say, one hour of time to do such fun things.

No problem. I'll just freeze time - why not? I already caused a five minute wrinkle in time in my home... I'll just find a way to pause it.

Damn you, daylight savings.

My little music box dancer

On almost any given late summer evenings in 1976, a young motherbumper could be found with her girl 'hood posse, practising her cartwheels, front walkovers, and the dare-devil "look ma, no hands" rounder cartwheels.

I was a Nadia Comaneci wanna-be of the nth degree. My sister could play "Nadia's Theme" on the piano - which I requested endlessly - and I wanted to be her. She was the darling of the Montreal Olympics that year and all the girls in my posse dreamed of perfect 10s in our gymnastics future.

Other girls had more talent than little ol' me, but that didn't stop me from dreaming of future Olympic gold. To me, it seemed like I was the only girl in the neighbourhood that didn't take official gymnastic lessons, so I used to force them to teach me everything they learned, and beg for all riveting details of who could do what, the equipment layout, how they chalked the hands, and how to solve the age-old issue of spandex wedgies (best advice: don't do it in front of the judges, just work through it).

We would design our Olympic outfits, hair styles, and practice our podium stances. Yup, we were going for gold. I actually miss the never ending Olympic passion felt as a child but somehow I find it each time the heart-swelling opening ceremony of any Olympic games is on tv. When Canada comes trooping in, my eyes never fail to well up.

That was many moons ago but the passion never died. I'll watch gymnastics any chance I get. So you can imagine my joy when I discovered our recreation department had affordable gymnastics classes for the wee ones.

Bumper started in the 6-18mth old class and much to my joy: she loved it. We now have advanced to the 2-3 year old class and by far her favourite piece of equipment is the trampoline, with the horizontal bars, and vault further behind. I love that she enjoys it as much as I did when I was a kid. Of course, she's way more flexible and dare devil than her ol' mom and that just makes me beam even more.

I'll never push her into advancing into more structured gymnastic lessons because the passion needs to be there. For now, playing with the equipment and watching her bounce with abandon on the trampoline is enough.

But I'd be lying if I didn't admit that I dream that the passion is in her heart and that maybe she can score that Wheaties box cover that her mom didn't get.

This post is part of the today's Parent Bloggers Network Blog Blast that focuses on activities you do with your child that you did as a kid. The sponsor is Highlights magazine who is celebrating their 60th Anniversary (60! woah - lookin' good) and has a new magazine for the 2-6 age set called High Five. Join in the blast for a chance to will a cool prize.

somebody slap me

Thanks for all your congrats on my new sk*rt gig! You made me feel even happier about it (which I didn't think was possible). Please come visit me and sk*rt cool stuff so I can share it with the world.

So last night before her bedtime, Bumper was jumping on the couch and telling her Dad about her day. Somehow their conversation wandered off on a nonsensical tangent (that's my girl) that found itself at "Bumper's first pajama party" and who she'd invite.

We were throwing names at her and she would laugh and nod in agreement that they would be on the super cool pj party list.

Then we started throwing silly made up names at her which made her laugh harder, then SB suggested that she invites some kid named "Shrugger". She stopped cold and said a firm no.

SB and I looked at each other and asked (with obvious intrigue) why this imaginary Shrugger wasn't allowed at her pajama party?

"Because he's a boy and he likes me."

Reaction of both parents: nervous laughter mixed with horror.

Where the heck did a 29 month old little girl pick that sort of thing up?

Her interactions with boys (outside of family) is limited to a once a week gym class (where she surprisingly doesn't interact with the boys - at all) and one of her friends "older" brother who at age five, isn't the least bit interesting in discussing romance - Transformers? Yes. Girls? No freakin' way!

On our front, we never tease her about boys in that way and none of her books or television exposures involve "romance" of any degree. We would like her to avoid the crummy, I mean wonderful but painful world of romance for as long as possible thankyouverymuch (yes I realize I've been abusing that run on word of late, but I will use it as often as I like, thankyouverymuch).

I find it a smidge distressing and now I'm having this nature versus nurture debate in my head. Trying to find all influential variables, possible exposure, and for the love of chocolate - a possible hypothesis. Oh my head hurts and it isn't just he quick dry cement's fault.

What's she going to be like as a teen? We're sunk if she's boy crazy already.

Overreaction? Most likely yes, but still.... where did my iddy biddy little baby go? (WAH!). Does anyone else find something familiar in this reaction? Am I alone? Am I turning into Carrie's mom?

Moving right along (Why yes, I do live next to the De Nile river where suppressing anxiety is a required for survival).

The lovely Christina over at A Mommy Story gave me an award for being Sassy (you have to say it like you mean it - sass-seeeee!) which is super cool because it totally matches my new Dorothy Hamill inspired haircut I got this past weekend. The haircut actually leans very Vidal Sassoon which makes me wonder if the hairdresser pulled an 70's make-over on me.

Let me pass the joy of this sweet and sassy award to some deserving Sass makers I have met in my blog travels: My favorite UK blog friend over at Where Ewe Go, There Ewe Are (love the new green diggs) and Jennie who always makes me laugh and/or sigh over at GoNelsons. Both are super sassy (in a totally empowered way) and deserve the bling.

Okay, I'm going to curl back up on the couch, complain to no one in particular about his killer cold, and make sure my daughter doesn't pull another stunt like yesterdays "I'm going to open the food colouring and pour it all over my body and the floor while my momma takes a two-second shower" stunt. Fun f'ing times, fun f'ing times.

a heck of a lot better than being pantzed

Any long time reader of motherbumper (Hi Dad!) knows that films and fine television have always been a passion of mine but I rarily talk about my other entertainment related passion. I like the seedier side of movies and the boob tube. Oh get your mind out of the gutter, I'm talking what famous people do when off the clock. OK, so in the case of famewh*re Paris Hilton put your mind back in the gutter.

Have I ever mentioned that I have a slight addiction to celebrity gossip? Or that a steady diet of Hello!, US weekly and an occasional Star may have played a huge part in my recovery during the post partum days? (Fully weaned now and no longer required because found salacious and suitable blog replacements.) Or that I visit as many as gossipy and snarky blogs as humanly possible some celebrity gossip blogs almost every hour day?

No?

Some might peg me as one of those people that would not enjoy the obvious annoyance of celebrities or that I'm intolerant of those who photograph or report on them (or pap and smear) without the benefit of an interview or invitation. But I'm confident that some (not all) of these celebs would do anything just short of public cannibalism to maintain the interest of that desired foe.

Now others would say I have fun reading about all these crazy celebrity quirks and quarks immensely. Perhaps I find it slightly reassuring of their human biology by watching the rich &/or famous do the everyday, mundane, crap that we do - including experiencing sh*tty relationships and such. But they do it all soap-opera-like because they have money and hairdressers etcetera.

Honestly, I fall somewhere in between (though leaning slightly more towards the second theory). Sure, I can go cold turkey - but like some addicts - I'd rather not thankyouverymuch.

So - as usual - where the H-E- double hockey sticks am I going with this? (sorry, hockey game happening in HD to my immediate left and is more than slightly distracting).

Well I finally found a positive outlet for my film/tv/gossip habit. Those wonderful sk*rt ladies asked for editors and I heard my calling. Something I love to do (telling folks about great posts) that can be done in short little two minutes bursts between toddler wrangling and what ever other distractions are thrown my way.

Lucky for me, they agreed and here I am: one of the new sk*rt editors in the sometimes tawdry arena of Arts & Entertainment (must be said in your best Bill Curtis voice.)

SWEET.

So what does that mean?

Well first up, things have been updated over there, the layout is new, how rankings happen has changed, and you get to see all the editor (that's me!) picks for each of the categories. You really should go over and check it out.

I know it's hard to picture motherbumper being giggly and all but I seriously was when I got that email after watching LOST last week. Oh my holy heck it was a double whammy of the cool kind. So if you are a sk*rt member or plan on joining, look me up (bumper) and I'll add you as a friend. Because I like friends. If you are mean, you need not apply. I don't like meanies. I'm kinda simple like that. It's better for my health.

Oh and now that all my court ordered restraining orders have expired, I can start making as many friends where ever I want again. Oh. Did I say that outloud?

Here is a distraction from my last statement:

Holy crud: The TV is still on and as I sit here and type some business has a commercial with a very elevator-musak sterilized cover of The Beatles Sgt. Pepper's "With a Little Help from My Friends". Apparently we are all to believe that we can all get a little high with a little help from our friends at Hampton by Hilton. Hampton by Hilton, hotel most preferred by university freshman world wide.

OK, so this was a nice little break from my snot filled posts of late - and yes this was my good news I was babbling incoherently about while under the influence of Nyquil and whatnot the past couple of posts.

But for those keeping score: the good shop lollysnot commanded by captain cough remains firmly docked and there has been evidence that a recruitment vessel has been sent to the port of Bumper. I'm bracing for impact. We should be a really fun super duo of phlegm & plague to hang out with over the next few days. Please let me be wrong and that she is immune to whatever the heck I have.

Back to more pleasant things: Look! Shiny new free things: Did I mention there are giveaways over at sk*rt blog to be won? Because of the new look, new editors and newness in general, the sk*rt ladies have over $1,000 in giveaways - just leave a comment at the post over at the sk*rt blog linked right here (giveaway ends March 15th, 2008 - so go now!).

Now I must retreat into my sick lair, only to come out and pick my favorite sk*rts (made by YOU) for the editor's column. So go sk*rt something cool and make my job fun. Agreed? See how easy that was? Easy Peasy.

it's like sandpaper for my nose

As I dragged myself out of bed this morning, two things struck me: (1) today is registration for the city recreation programs so if I even want just one structured thing to do each week with my child, I'd better dust of the credit card STAT and (2) who the hell poured all this quick dry cement into my sinuses?

Seriously, they are filled with leaky, vile, quick-dry and quick-replace cement. For every ounce that drains, a new ounce appears. It's simply amazing. If buildings where constructed with this stuff, nothing would ever collapse. The walls would be disgusting and possibly contagious, but those suckers would never fall.

What kind of beast has the ability to pour this crap, undetected, into my head while I sleep? Doozers? Ack, they would never be so cruel. Industrious, yes, cruel, no.

As I type this this weak little post of illness, I toggle between Blogger and the recreation registration page to refresh the "Maximum Sessions Reached" message. I know better than to develop a severe neck cramp from pressing redial so I can hear the busy signal on the phone or (god forbid) attempt to go in person to register. I've learned a few things since becoming cruise director on this here Poseidon Adventure: The Voyage of the Bumper. Use on-line registration when trying to get on the shuffle-court of preschool fun.

And the learning never stops, why I just learned another lesson today: stop buying such cheap freakin' tissue because oh my holy heck, sand paper would be kinder to my skin than this sh*t I keep using to wipe my delicate smelling device.

So I must stop this tale of almost drowning in my own body mucous before you get completely grossed out. This is - by far - the worst cold I've had this year, if not the past few years. It's productive and obviously that has scored my overachieving virus a fancy bonus of lingering for too many days.

It struck at a bad time (like there is a good one) but I will persevere. Tomorrow I have a post ready to go that promises less contagious subject matter, prizes (no really - not by me but I'm getting ahead of myself), and of course the "my good news" that I babbled about a few posts ago. Yup, I'm leaving this all cliffhangery like that. Cruel ain't it?

Welcome to my head cold: where cruel is served warm, sticky, with extra nuts.

Let them drink NyQuil

Lisa b got me addicted to finding out my 8th grade science score because I wanted to have Jeff Foxworthy hosting my brain matter while I use all my powers to resist the incredible urges to smack some lil' snot and pimple faced know-it-alls around.

But I scored a C - a 73% which incidentally was way better than my real life grade eight science score (or so I imagine - Dad, I'm sure you could confirm this for me).

Anyhow, I wanted to see if I concentrated super hard, didn't rush, and actually read the question and all the answers - AND I kicked butt.

Now I'm composing an email to Sister Mary Margaret to have my school records updated.

Because just maybe, oh maybe - this will be the thing that will just help me get into Harvard Law and show them all that I'm not a complete bimbo!

I'll show that silly ex Warner that my lifestyle isn't frivolous and might have been potentially detrimental to his political ambitions.

Oh wait, I've once again confused my life with that of a movie I saw when trapped in a small space.

In this case, the small space was an airplane (not to be confused with all the plethora of small spaces I've had the pleasure of being crammed in for either hiding or transportation purposes). I think that was the inflight movie when I was travelling to Dallas and because I flew there a bunch of times within a six week period, I had the torturous pleasure of seeing it three, possibly four times. Of course, it only happened once with audio for the entire duration. But still, I was surrounded by Elle and her aura.

Actually it was an okay movie but that is neither here nor there. There are only a few movies I can watch repeatedly - especially in a small space of time: Goodfellas, Surburbia, Ciao Manhattan, and Starship Troopers to name a few. Everyone has a couple, don't they? Kinda like a "if I was stranded on a deserted island" kinda list.

But I'm getting off topic.

What was my topic again? Oh riiiiiiight, I didn't really have one.

So did I mention I also took a quiz to figure out the odds that I'd eat my friends if caught in a blizzard? And I surprised myself by scoring only a 37%.

37%

This surprised me because I usually size everyone up and have the "weak versus the strongest debate" at sighting of first snow flake. You know, because I like to be prepared.

Anyhow, it's Sunday night, I've still got a rotten cold that has left me with a voice so husky, I sound like a future Britney Spears if she never gives up smoking and looks like this. Sexy, n'est pas?

And I've obviously taken too much NyQuil. Hey remember Denis Leary's all-around-offensive Cure for Cancer album with the bit about Sonny and Claus von Bulow and NyQuil (wussy warning: nsfw - lots of f-bombs). That bit makes me laugh every single time. Yeah, NyQuil is trippy man.

I think I should stop this post right about now.

Done.