fudge

While I was trying to multitask this morning - drink coffee, answer buziness-type emails, prepare snacks for post-gymnastics feast - yes while I was trying to be SUPERMOM (because I am, oh yes I am) - Bumper played quietly in her room.

The quiet part should have been a dead give away that trouble was afoot. Oh and afoot it was - bfeet truth be told.

Bumper smeared a tin of cradle cap salve all over her head. It's made of palm oil, olive oil, cocoa butter, and all sorts of essential oils including lavender and patchouli. It's thick. And goopey. And water resistant - very very water resistant.

OMG - THREE SHAMPOOS LATER and she's still as greasy as we began - except now there is bubbles stuck in with the grease.

Have I ever mentioned how much Bumper hates (abhors, loathes, etc) having her hair washed?

We really only wash her hair when completely desperate and honestly it's a two adult job.

It's akin to wrestling an angry badger - an angry badger on PCP who just got served a restraining order by his former girlfriend and he now lives in a van DOWN BY THE RIVER.

So here I was - alone with Bumper - washing her hair and praying that the neighbours will not phone Child Services because the screams - OMG the screams - and somehow in all of this, I was delusional enough to think we could make gymnastics on time.

Eventually I came to my senses, realized that this stuff was going nowhere and gymnastics would be too dangerous with my greased up monkey.

So I've spent the day with a greasy, hippy-smelling toddler which really isn't as fun as it sounds.

I can't quite put my finger on who she reminds me of... omg... yes I do:



Any suggestions? Besides not comparing my child to Nick Nolte?

A whole new world...

... for sleeping. Emmett discovered Bumper's doll bed:

it's Wordless Wednesday now let me sleep

Scroll down the post below if you want actual words strung together like I know what I'm talking about - or something like that.

humpty dumpty sat on a blog

So Blah month is almost over.

Well that's what I call January. I know I'm not alone on thinking January sucks monkey balls because I read in your posts (yeah, I'm talking about you - and you too). Most folks ooze mopey and extreme tiredness (myself included).

HIBERNATION IS A VERY ATTRACTIVE OPTION AT THIS POINT IN TIME.

Why not? I've packed on a layer of fat over the Holidays, my body can feed on that while I slumber until... let's say May to be safe.

Might as well make those belly rolls work for me (hear that muffin-top? I want you to work - but with no exertion from me, okay?).

And totally off tangent: leave it to the wonderfully off-beat and innovative Germans to create a nude airline. Seriously, do you really want to sit on the seats of that plane? Gives a whole new meaning to skid marks on the runway doesn't it? Please, please let them have plastic covers on the seat.

Now we swerve to the left and hit NoMeatPoWeek updates:

Hump day in NoMeatPoWeek and so far I've been veggie all the way.

Monday I recorded over at BlogHers Act Canada.

Tuesday night there was a close call involving precious, precious (*drool*) pepperoni but my will power won and I ate the veggie pizza.


Actually Tuesday was crap-day all-day but at least there was no meat. Kids has KD for lunch and I ate along it with them. And yes, I do expect that nomination for Homemaker of the Year to come any day now.

Today: pancakes for breakfast and I had veggie pizza leftovers for lunch. Tonight I've planned spaghetti with tomato sauce and yummy garlic bread.

I know - keep down your excitement folks. Hold onto your seats, the inspiration never ends in these parts.

But wait, there is more:

Tomorrow we are having Potato Soup for dinner!

Yes I needed to add that "!" at the end because OH MY HOLY HECK this is a boring post.

The ol' creative box on top of me slopping shoulders is in serious need of an irrigation - digging out some of that primordial gunk that keeps plugging up my blogging abilities is required stat.

Wait a sec, do I have blogstipation? Seriously, I'm just filled to the brim with half-baked, immature observations that just don't fit together (in fact, see this very post for an example of this affliction).

Thank goodness January will be over soon because I can't take it anymore. The only thing that keeps me going is I keep telling myself that at least it's not February.

What do you mean February starts this Friday? OMG, didn't they do that last year? What the hell is up with these kill-joy months all falling one after the other? This is so cruel.

I'm going back to bed.

do not measure my intelligence or gullibility by reading this post

While watching Scott Baio is 45... and Single this evening, I said out loud without thinking twice:

"This must be an old show."

Because the segment began with a panoramic shot featuring the Capitol Records Tower.

Because the Capitol Records Tower was destroyed right?

In a.. during a... that time that something like 12 huge tornadoes tore through Los Angles and...

omg.... that was a movie.


Do not judge me for the following reasons:

• Watching Scott Baio is 45... and Single (I know that you know EXACTLY which show I am talking about)
• Thinking that Day After Tomorrow with Jake was real

Note my priority. I can take you thinking that I believe L.A. was recently decimated but not that I was watching SB45AS. Go figure.

Hell knows that I can't blame any of my strange thought patterns on my recent diet change to vegetarian (Day One: NaMeatPoWeek digested over at BlogHers Act Canada) so I will blame sleep deprivation.

Come on now, it's totally, totally plausible.

dinner tonight - the usual place?

Last night I realized my last post - the one where I appear to be under the influence of something - possibly evil clowns - yes that one - well that was my 300th post.

Three-hundredth.

Am I supposed to do something? Receive something? A plaque? Do I get a telegram from the Queen? Maybe the Queen of Spain? Do telegrams even exist anymore?

Is there a special anniversary theme like those for consumer-driven gift hungry wedding celebrations? Three-hundred could be arsenic or seaborgium. Both sound intriguing (and quite possibly deadly).

Anyhow, I thought that the number 300 appeared significant but quickly realized that in the whole scheme of things - it really wasn't.

So I got over it and moved on in life.

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

Before giving birth, I was a somewhat organized person. But any semblance to organization was blown to hell in a hand basket the day my water broke.

It would be little exaggeration to say I've been treading water ever since. Sure my legs are stronger now but oh my holy heck - all organizations skills have had to adapt to working in traumatic conditions.

That said, back in my days of pre-baby "I'm going to be a perfect mom" delusions, a meal plan was something I envisioned doing for my family and budget but (omg stop laughing... I know you are laughing at the insanity of that statement because you know I'd never pull that off... oh come on, stop it please) BUT you guessed it: it will be a slow day in Toddlerville the day that manage to organize a meal plan.

So we wing it most weeks. I try to plan two or three meals and then work around that slim plan. Basically I'm always scrambling to the store last-minute OR sending SB a shopping list on those afternoons where Bumper (and therefore I) won't survive a grocery shopping trip.

And I've got to admit: when it comes to pre-planning meals, I'm kind of paranoid about meat (I'm convinced it will go bad fast). So I like to cook it ASAP same-day as purchase which makes it difficult to pre-shop a meat-included meal.

And since I'm making admissions: I don't really like the meat prep. Sure, I love to eat it most of the time but handling it raw... ewwwww.

Oh and forget about frozen meat - defrosting requires a lot of coordination. You know, like remembering to take it out of the freezer.

Anyhow, to get to the point (oh yes, there is a point) there is a really cool challenge going on over at The League of Maternal Justice - who have partnered up with the super fine BlogHers Act Canada and equally super cool Green Mom Finds. The challenge is to go meat free Monday through Friday this week.

Sold! It means less shopping and handling of bloody stuff (literally).

There are recipes to be shared and there are prizes involved which translates to triple word score. Check out the deets here:

So yes, you have been warned. This week I will probably be talking about how green, healthy, light, and airy I'm feeling.

And possibly gassy because I'm not sure if my body is ready to be filled with vegetables and other assorted healthy items.

I have been meaning to take care of the body I was issued, but I was also kind of waiting until the invention of a non-invasive day surgery procedure that would cure all ails with no repercussions.

Since that might not be a possibility, I think I will start with a challenge because I'm kind of a competitive person. Okay, not kind of but completely. So I'm going meat free this week, which means the family is going meat free this week.

Oh wait, before I sign up I need to confirm: Do Cadbury Easter Cream eggs count as meat? (please PLEASE say no).

Care to join in NoMeatPoWeek? What's the worst thing that could happen? You feel healthy? Save on the food bill? Seriously, what's stopping you?

lollipops aren't made of meat, right?
okay, I'm in

Build it and it will disappoint

Have I mentioned before that I don't like clowns?

It's so hard to keep track of the weaknesses I have shared and confessed on this blog (let's see: tendencies to exhibit traits of chocoholism, blogitis, control-freakage, delusions of grandeur, OCD... I should really start a spreadsheet).

Anyhow, the point is: I really hate clowns.

In fact, as a child I used to often dress like a clown on Hallowe'en because because I thought that clowns were the scariest boogeymen of them all (Hey Dad, any pics of me in that orange with green ruffles get up? Send them please).

Now in my usual confessional way, I must admit that there was a brief dabble with pierrots during the early 80s but what teenage girl didn't succumb to the romantic fluffiness of those mimes?

I'm pretty sure that the use of pierrot accessories as accents in my teenage bedroom decor (use accents people, ACCENTS - they really can pull a room together) - was due to the exotic sounds of saying something like "see how this pierrot poster and the doll on the bookcase really gives my room a certain je ne sais quoi?".

To my ignorant and immature ears, saying pierrot (and je ne said quoi) sounded grown-up and deliciously foreign and not at all neurotic or betraying my addiction to bad craft and decorating projects at all.

Anyhow, except for that brief stint with lilac satin ceramic pierrot dolls and posters, my fear of clowns has been strong.

OMG SWEET JUJU - why am I talking about clowns? I've totally lost my train of thought and I know there was a point in here somewhere...

OH RIGHT - this is what I was going to talk about:

I was writing a little bubbly and blurby snippet about this article found online last week and I needed to confirm the meaning of a particular phobia to make sure I was using it correctly (the fact checkers and quality assurance team at motherbumper is A-1).

So my minions were fact-checking the phobia reference when they pointed this one for me:
Coulrophobia. New and improved because it's not just restricted to EVIL clowns anymore. This kinda makes me feel all warm and fuzzy... and normal. I know that you beg to differ when it comes to labelling me "normal" but if the internetz tells me that I'm socially acceptable, then I'm one happy camper.

And another totally warped tangent that will lead you no closer to the end of this post:

My research department also pointed this phobia out to me. Wedged between two perfectly acceptable phobias is this one:
Hexakosioihexekontahexaphobia. Which means if any children afflicted with this particular phobia will probably blow up on first introduction to my daughter and her iTunes. We will have to screen her school chums closely. That won't wash over well with the other parents, I'm sure of that.

So without further ado or abuse of the English language, the article that started it all:

Apparently CSIS (think: Canada's version of MI5 CIA really good "listeners" national security service) has a museum.

But no one is allowed in without the proper security clearance.

Which means, it probably is not very crowded on weekends and is a great place for folks with agoraphobic* tendencies. Well at least those that have the proper security clearance.
* YES !YES! that is the phobia that started it all!

And the best part is - the museum has a gift shop. Once again a great place to do your shopping if you want to avoid the crowds. But only if you have the proper security clearance.

How much do you want to bet that they have have t-shirts ing the gift shop that say:

"I spied on your mother"
or
"I know what you did last summer... no really, I do"

Kind of anticlimatic when you get to the end, eh?

one part random, two parts me

First I saw this meme over at Ewe are Here and thought it was super cool. I'd totally buy Smoke Bomb based on artwork alone.

This one grabbed me (many don't but that is neither here nor there... why am I rambling?) anyhow... this one grabbed me because of fun factor: you are randomly assigned a band name, album name, and art work - you put it together and VOILA! You have a new profession of album artist.

Just think, sometime in the future some first year arts student might be taking a hit off a bong and cruising album cover artwork looking for hidden meaning or drug references in the graphics. And that little stoner who is flunking psychology 101 because he can't stay awake in class, well that same kid might spend an hour trying to figure out "what does this all mean, man?" when staring at one of your creations. Little does Fun Bobby know this "work of deep meaning" was randomly generated by someones mom. Or dad. Or (ack!) someone over 30 man. That is really trippy man.

Anyhow, it turns out I got tagged for this same meme over at Something Baby Blue and her results are totally stunning.

It's a hard act to follow. But I love this kind of meme because it's creative all art like, it's random, and in some cases - it can look pretty convincing.

I'm a visual person and I used to stare at album art work - the ones that encased real vinyl record albums - imagine that! I was totally hyper about the condition of those sleeves and would have to be strong armed to lend albums because dented corners on my works of art was painful to endure. Only slightly melodramtic, no?

So without further ado, motherbumper makes some album art!

The latest album from Hear and Now "end up owning you".

original photo by i.d.i.o.t

And we can't forget the new release from The Earth Girls Are Easy "friends who frequent it".

original photo by andre bernard

So this is how you do it (the meme rules copied directly from SBB **):

1. The first title on this page is the name of your band.

2. The last four words of the very last quote is the title of your album. Click the "New Random Quotations" button for more.

3. The third picture on this page will be your album cover. You then take the photo and add your band name and the album title to it, then post your picture. Please don't forget to give credit.

** This is rock and roll. Rules are made to be broken!

If you want to join in leave me a comment but I'm also going to tag some folks because I think they would have fun with this.

Mrs. Chicky
Chag at Cynical Dad
Mac & Cheese

TAG - YOU'RE IT!

It's Monday and I need a shower

Thankfully the scantily clad toy (toy... does that term apply here?) has fallen by the wayside and no interest has been shown all weekend.

This is good. Very good.

But that don't mean that this mama doesn't have a back up plan. With the aid of her acquaintance Mickey aka: Knuckles - if the tart makes a resurgence in popularity a little "accident" might be arranged. Let's hope it doesn't come to that.

Anyhow, Mr. Potato Head is back and it's like all of the sudden Bumper gets it.

Eyes go here, ears go there, mouth down there and nose smack in the middle. She is conforming folks! Maybe she will blend in enough so that Big Brother doesn't tag her as a trouble-maker.

That's right little one, lull them into thinking you conform and then get them from the inside out... oh wait, did I type that out loud? Moving right along from my anarchist dreams for my child and plans for taking the man down from the inside...

Back to vegetable modelling: Bumper puts dashes of her style where ever she goes

Hypnotic isn't he? I feel like he is the king of the gangsta' potatoes. If he had pants, they would be falling down. If he had a drink, it would be a jumbo-size jug of Sunny-D. Yup, he could hang in our 'hood. Seriously, he looks like half the teens on my street.

Anyhow, it's been an exciting weekend around these parts. Bumper has a full fledged cousin - her first - and we are all very happy. Cousin (who has not been given a bloggy name yet) arrived almost a week early, coming in at 10 lb 2 oz.... which means she is basically already half the size of Bumper. Everyone is doing well and Bumper is itching to go visit. Actually we all are - not itching, we have cream for that - but we all want to see Miss New Cousin as soon as possible.

Speaking of bouncing babies - the reason I've been light on posts and deep thoughts as of late is because of side-project I've been working on for the past week. With the fine ladies known as Mayberry Mom and Motherhood Uncensored and about a gazillion other bloggers (give or take a million), I've been building some virtual jukeboxes for Mothergoosemouse's baby shower.


The shower theme is Take Cover, Mothergoosemouse - because she's having a boy. Get it? Take cover because golden showers are forecast? Get it, GET IT? Pee-pee tee-pee's are in mass order... hee hee... oh golly, I can only imagine what are my keyword searches going to look like from this post.

Yup every song is related to umbrellas, rain, boys, and the colour blue - go join in the fun and send the lovely Mothergoosemouse best wishes on the upcoming arrival.

Join in with a post on raising a boy, listen to some tunes and find out how you can win a really cool prize. Come one now, scare, I mean share with us your boy-raising trials and tribulations and make sure the mighty fine Mothergoosemouse knows what fun is ahead.

Happy Monday!

Houston, we have a little problem

Look away! The horror!

OMG, THE HORROR!

This is not what you want to see on your laptop.

A nickel does not belong in that slot. I don't even know what you can use a nickel to buy these days, but I know for a fact that it is not sold from inside my laptop.

Thankfully, it came out easily enough but still - what else has she been putting in there? Better not be like that other incident.

In less exciting news (is that possible?), I got sick of the baby poop and made something more traditional.

Trust me, watching your child squeeze, chop, and shape something that looks like feces is really too much to take. Pink? I can handle that. Kinda looks like raw beef... oh crap... next time I'll do blue.

Hey - does anybody remember the amazing movie "The River's Edge" about a guy who kills his girlfriend and the reaction of his peers? One of the best teen movies of the 80's IMO. Anyhow, the drug dealer named Feck - played by Dennis Hopper - I could never remember his name and always called him Feces... like "did Feces just take off with John?".

Yup, that's my feces story - hey wake up! I'm sure I can pull a better poop story off but it's Saturday and I'm lazy...

But moving onto the problem referenced in title, let me present the perpetrator:
A well-meant gift delivered directly to Bumper.

When she opened the gift bag, we both let out a squeal.

Hers of glee, mine of horror that I really freakin' hope sounded like glee.

And of course Bumper loves this doll and her mini bobble-head dog and mini bobble-head duck (???). Why bobble-head? Why a duck?

I couldn't help but feel like paparazzi when snapping photos of the latest edition to the growing mass of toys that threaten to collapse upon this family at any moment, leaving us to struggle under a tide of toys that surely will be unforgiving.

Bumper acts like she's the dolls bouncer, protector of the wackiest entourage outside of Britney's. It's kinda weird.

It's also weird to have a small doll wearing lingerie around the house. Strangely, the first time around, I typed linguine which is equally disturbing yet easier to accept.

predictable (or am I?)

So I bet you are here saying

"oh motherbumper, it's Wednesday which means it's Wordless Wednesday and I bet you aren't going to be able to shut-up long enough to call yourself wordless and you're going to put up a picture that you can't stop chittering about."

Hmmmmmph!

[That was the sound of motherbumper trying to be quiet]

OK - so you are completely correct half-right. I can't shut up.

Now why I think you would all berate me if given half the chance, really speaks loudly about my confident and sunny little disposition.

So-called professionals call my condition:

"self-deprecation ad nauseum with serious brevis iratus mulier syndrome*".

* linky love and adulation to anyone who correctly identifies this latin term - except for my Dad, he can't enter because he already gets my adulation AND knows how kooky I am

They have written reams and reams of psychological journals about my syndrome and there are plans for a Lifetime movie (I'm hoping we can get Molly Ringwald to play me, but odds are Valerie Bertinelli will get the part. Which of course, begs the question: Is there a God? Apparently, that question will be answered once the role of motherbumper has been cast because if it's Molly Ringwald - then world religions just scored a goal).

But long of short: today is Wordless Wednesday and I have once again (like every other week) failed to be wordless. But unlike the other weeks, I'm also photoless thus making Wordless Wednesday null and void.

Instead, I offer you my recipe for home made play clay. So many people marvelled at the fact that I make my own. My play clay is 100% guaranteed to be non-toxic unless you like toxins. In that case, replace vegetable oil with raw crude.

Seriously folks, if I can make this, you can make this. TRUST ME*.

* My lawyer says that I must stop saying that and that I'm obligated to say that I am not responsible for any incidents - even good ones - that come from sharing this recipe. This statement just cost me 150 bucks in legal fees.

So here it goes:

motherbumper's idiot-proof *play clay

1 cup of all purpose flour
1/2 cup of salt
2 tsp cream of tartar

Mix the dry ingredients in a saucepan and add:
1 cup of water
food colouring (you've been warned about combining colours)
1 tbsp oil (not baby or motor - veg/sunflower/olive all work nice)

Combine this mess over medium heat until it gets thick - kinda like bread dough. This usually takes a few minutes on a conventional electric stove and the thickening can happen suddenly. Like: BAM! it's thick and it's gonna take over a remote Japanese village if you don't keep it in check.

Try to make sure that all the salt is be absorbed (or death is sure to happen - kidding! Just checking to see if you actually are following the recipe. See? Motherbumper is concerned for your family's safety, thankyouverymuch).

Turn your bad boy of dough out onto the counter and relish the kneading of warm, squishy clay. Pretend it's someone you love. Maybe it's someone you love who forgot to pick up the diapers at the store before coming home and forcing you to go out in a blizzard to get these diapers, instead of following through on your threat of using their favorite concert t-shirt for a butt cover. Hit him the clay, punch him it, give it all your anger love. Do all of this therapeutic kneading before your kid gets the clay all messed up with hair, crumbs, dirt, and the remains of Jimmy Hoffa.

Store in an airtight container because this stuff hardens like a mo'fo' if left out for a couple of hours.

You can thank me by spreading the joy and writing a post about your play clay creations, share photos, or tell me how ugly your attempts at making a funky colour turned out.

Let's call it the "Play Clay That Ate The Blogosphere" meme.

Seriously folks, this is a family-oriented meme where (a) kids win because they get play clay and (b) you win because you get to post fodder. See? It's WIN-WIN!

Leave me comment with link if you decide to play along.

* If you come to me and tell me it didn't work, I reserve the right to call you an idiot in the most polite way possible.

yellow and red make...

Today another of my patented, never tested, lacking any scientific-method application, harebrain theories was blown out of the water.

When it's a parenting theory, proving those wrong happens on an hourly basis . Come to think of it, on most days, parenting harebrained theories are proven false at a rate of four per hour.

But basic insignificant, "non-applicable to anything in this world or the next" harebrained theories tend to lack any rigorous testing and therefore file themselves as truth in my brain.

Actually, why I even form these idiotic hypotheses concerning how to parent a toddler* and the multitude of totally trivial events that pepper my life is what really requires examination.
* because I'm wrong - I'm always WRONG

But that topic is no fun to post about. Insanity is all over the place these days: over-examination of minutia is so right now.

And moving right along to that harebrained theory.

Motherbumper's crackpot theory on something so trivial that by reading this post, I'm actually sucking the lifeblood out of you:

When making home made play dough, deviating from the basic food colouring chart on the back of the box of the aforementioned food colouring will result in a pile of the most uninspiring and most depressing doomsday grey clay.

WRONG!

Four drops of neon yellow mixed with two parts neon red makes BABY POOP!


Good thing toddlers don't give a sh*t.

weekly winners

Wanna see some weekly winners?

Sarcastic Mom does (or at least I think she does, well she said she did ... OMG what if she doesn't want to see them? Oh I'm so embarrassed... *slap slap* SNAP OUT OF IT motherbumper! Stop talking to yourself and pull our self-esteem up by the bootstraps - internal lashing stops here).

Let's get out of my head and back to the weekly winners ...

Dallas is a little diva. I love the hanging arm. But like many divas, Dallas has his issues.

Did I ever mention that Dallas has a little "problem" - a little "sniff, sniff problem". Anyone know if there is there a Betty Ford for cats? Cats who sniff LITTER?


Moving right along in the diva world:


In the spirit of one-up-man-ship and not to be topped by a cat, Ms. Drrtyface Diva ups the ante - and WINS!

Happy Sunday folks!

yup - it's another motherbumper PSA

FIRST PSA:
It's that wonderful time of year again! I love today because IT'S DELURKING DAY!

That means I get to come to your house and egg it if you don't leave a comment on my blog

And I know where you hide people, oh yes I do (not really but I'm fresh outta jokes today).

Please say something, even - yes EVEN - if it is to say "you suck" because I've got this carton of eggs that didn't survive yesterday's power outage and I'm itching to use them.

SECOND PSA:
My hatred of HellMart (as I like to call it) is huge BUT I can't say that I never shop there. But help me by never shopping there again.

Hey - you in the back! Yes you, the one yelling "HYPOCRITE!".

I am fully aware of my hypocritical ways and because of those transgressions my head hangs low sometimes but you know what they say about bloggers who live in glass houses, don't you? Oh you don't? Ummm... well neither do I but I bet it's witty. So stuff it (as nicely as possible because I'm still happy that you are here reading).

BTW if you look up hypocrite in the dictionary you see this:
But back to the corporation that sucks the lifeblood out of every town it invades.

SB flat out refuses to shop there (which I find sexy) but when we are visiting our family on the farm, the Walpit of Hell is the place to go for diapers. HellMart is in the process of eating up that township, just like it's eating it way across other communities in North America.

And like some other corporations, it has all the same rights as you and me but unlike you and me, if it say - kills something, the corporation can't be held responsible. But that's not what I'm here to talk about - well actually it is sorta: I'm talking about how the largest ring of Hell known as Walmart is putting our children in danger.

So let me just get to the point. See this logo?:
The tagline slays me. Save Money? Well yes, the items are undercutting any possible competition but it also induces shopper to buy more crap so in the long run, not that much money is actually saved by the precious consumer.

And Live Better? Well The League of Maternal Justice has put it best when talking about the Death Bibs. Yes you read that right: DEATH BIBS. If you have purchased any bibs or baby items from Big Blue Hell you will want to read this article.

It makes my blood boil which isn't as heart warming as it sounds.

So leave me a comment and read what The League has to say. And I promise I won't egg your house (today).

bug power

Wordless Wednesday

What else can you do when the power has been out for hours and everything is rotting in the fridge? Oh yes, and it's getting super cold because the heat is off? Why you make your "lady" bug dance, of course!

Obviously the power is now back on and I have priorities straight - blog first, grocery store second.

Mothering Award of the Year right here folks, yup, I'm golden material.

possible explanation

So I took Bumper for her two year check-up today.

Admitting that we didn't get around to doing this until three months after the fact, is the sort of thing that can be safely said outloud around you folks.

Why? Because I know for a fact that I'm not the only one who can't schedule an appointment on time.

Each time I read an admission by a fellow blogger that confirms a bit o' slacker in them (which is nothing like having a bit o'Irish in them - trust me, I know and you can take that for whatever you want) - well, all these small confessions confirm kindred spirits exist everywhere. It's nice to know that perfection in parenting is impossible to attain. Heck, even excellent job well done is a hard one to achieve so why put the pressure on to get it all right. Do the important stuff right and the kid will be a-okay.

But back to the doctor visit, I've got a question: When someone uses the term two-year check up, the "two-year" part is just a guideline, right? There has to be something like 12-months of leeway, right? It's not like she gonna blow up if I don't have her serviced on time (right? RIGHT?).

Well I guess she ain't gonna blow up because according to the card-carrying member* of the Royal College of Physicians and Surgeons we saw today, Bumper is completely and overwhelmingly hitting her milestones and has officially been declared two. Her plaque and letter of certification should be in the mail by end of business today.

Wait a sec.

I assumed the doctor had a card proving doctorness- should I have asked? Is it like the police where you should always ask for ID. Like I'd know a real from a fake. OMG - for all I know those papers on the doc's wall could be certifications for shoe repair. Oh sweet juju, could our doctor be Dr. Nick Riveria? Nah, she doesn't have a beard.

Anyhow, beside the blind trust of actual credentials, we are happy and relieved that Bumper can finally be called two and we've have the paperwork to back it up.

Oh, and I think I've figured out what might be influencing Bumper of late. This little ditty somehow made it into her playlist.

This explains so much.

Left Wing

She's definitely left-winged

It's hard to believe considering her parents - heck 99% of her relatives (save for Great Aunt R but she always has been "different") - well, how does she become left when all her cues and examples have been demonstrated to the contrary?

Nay, despite the representations set before her, Bumper is 100% left.

We noticed it very early on.

From the get go she just took things differently - basically the exact opposite way we would have done it.

Bumper approached everything differently.

Yup - our daughter is inexplicably left-handed and we "righties"* just don't know how to deal with it.
* in ability not that political mumbo-jumbo witchcraft - but I was raised to not discuss "that" topic on my site lest you be eating dinner while enjoying my post and then you get all "what a rude blogger" on my butt. Don't even get me started on religion.

I googled leftorium and much to my shagrin surprize - these stores exist - all over the freakin' world. Ned Flanders dream wasn't that far-fetched after all.

Oh crap. Will she need special equipment when she goes to school? Are we going to have to fill out paperwork to request this stuff?

Are we going to have to join the school parenty participation thingy to ensure she isn't left behind - because we are the kind of parents that don't want to be too ... ummm... for lack of a better word "be involved"? It would seriously cut into our social lives*.
* if we had one

Back when I was in grade school, there was always at least one kid who arrived at the first day and started whining making inquiries about a left-handed desk. I can still see George the caretaker rolling of his eyes because he was always in charge of delivering the desk. That desk that usually threw off the classroom symmetry. Oh how that bugged the OCD side of me.

OK - I'm totally kidding.

Not about my OCD-side but about the entire left-handed thing. No hate mail / comments please.

I love and respect both hands and all their wonderful abilities. I really, really do. Feel the love with which ever hand you want to use.

So yah - big deal, Bumper's left handed.

According to my ability to google stuff besides pictures of Viggo Mortensen nekkid research her left-handed brain processes information using a "visual simultaneous" method which is far superior to our right-handed brains feeble "linear sequential" method.

How I get food into my mouth, walk without injury, and use the potty is beyond me. At least I can count how many times I bump into the wall and fall off the toilet.
Oh and also according to my research she will be a crack-ninja because the martial arts will come to her like she lives in The Matrix (ed. note: that may be a possible exaggeration).

That fact alone might explain my last post.

Let's just hope that I will stop driving my kid nuts by handing everything to her the "right" way and trying to help her the "right" way - it's just a matter of time before she starts muttering "stupid mommy" under her breath.

from resolve to dissolve

Lately as I cruise around the 'sphere, I've read at least a dozen bloggers and their new resolutions (why does this seem to happen at the same time each year? Got me... *shrug* - it's like that pumpkin thing every October).

All the declarations seem realistic and attainable yet most are prefaced or punctuated with disclaimers. Disclaimers of probable failure, improbability of success, and predictions of a futile attempt at whatever each has set out to accomplish.

Before slobbering baby 2008 toddled in and kicked out old man 2007, I debated making my declarations. My declarations of probable failure. But then I got scared. Scared to come back and read what I set out to do*, knowing that I once again procrastinated and f**ked up.
* yup, I read my archives once in a while... mostly this is a form of self-torture... admit it, you do it too

How negative, you say (yes I'm reading your thoughts... if you're not frightened, you should be).

Well you're right, I am being super negative. And the lack of confidence that seeps and oozes out of this post stinks. Stinks like you and your significant other went to an all-you-can-eat bean-dip and beer party, spent the night in an airless room, and awoke to find the door is locked from the outside. And you don't have the key. It stinks real bad.

So I'm going to open the window a crack and let in some much needed air.

Hey, that could be my resolution.

No, no, not to solve that flatulence problem that plagues my family - the thing about being less negative. Perhaps I could endeavour to be less negative.

Nah. That would require too much effort. Being negative is so much easier and we are still not getting much sleep around bumperland. Let's forget that shit.

Moving right along - this is the current state of things in the land that bumper built:

What is it with year two and the accompanying emotional spectrum that spins like a roulette wheel in Casino RoyHell?

One minute she's all sunshine & lollipops (emphasis on lollipops because she loves bribes lollipops), next minute she's that feral child from the videos shown in abnormal psychology 101.

Seriously folks, for those feral fun-times, I either need to find one of these suits:

source
or hire a body guard. But she'd probably make a body guard cry too.

Oh well. At least I'm not talking about how Nap Strike: 2007 has entered year two.

So let's have three cheers for taking the low road. Here's to negativity in 2008!