tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-249274102024-03-07T20:06:07.627-05:00motherbumpermotherbumperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053978199395919666noreply@blogger.comBlogger622125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24927410.post-9800238847983959282011-05-27T00:45:00.004-04:002011-05-27T00:52:03.480-04:00<div style="text-align: center;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">motherbumper doesn't live here anymore.</span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">but you should have been redirected by now.</span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">just in case that doesn't happen:</span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">continue to <a href="http://motherbumper.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0b5394;">motherbumper's</span></a> new home</span></b></div>motherbumperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053978199395919666noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24927410.post-83807084515245575392011-05-05T17:46:00.000-04:002011-05-05T17:46:21.877-04:00Dust In The Wind<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijWwDU3HfwRSjWaTFZ8ZwaPUFg13I688lqUOpyTNH8mRv0x35Mp_uFNDv8AMjU4Mqv9LAzsjY2Fr7t8OjQByfdDdtoPnqm3IJ3s8x7-9Kv7A94eRqgQrrzSz8fS0Jdsk8L_6xm/s1600/emmett.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijWwDU3HfwRSjWaTFZ8ZwaPUFg13I688lqUOpyTNH8mRv0x35Mp_uFNDv8AMjU4Mqv9LAzsjY2Fr7t8OjQByfdDdtoPnqm3IJ3s8x7-9Kv7A94eRqgQrrzSz8fS0Jdsk8L_6xm/s320/emmett.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
He looks so lonely since <a href="http://www.motherbumper.com/2011/03/last-week-my-little-bear-dallas-passed.html">Dallas</a> has gone. No surprise really. He doesn't show any other signs of mourning -- or at least the ones I've witnessed in my 30+ years of cat relations.<br />
<br />
Recently a black kitten has started visiting our balcony at night and instead of hissing and freaking out at this visitor as per strange-cat protocol, Emmett sits and visits with the little guy (or gal). They sit, with a screen between them, every so often saying a mew.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">*************</div><br />
We received a letter from the <a href="http://www.ovc.uoguelph.ca/">University of Guelph</a> this week. Our vet had made a monetary donation to the veterinary school in Dallas's name and Ontario Veterinary College sent us a letter of thanks and condolence. Both beautiful and good business sense.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">****************</div><br />
There has been a noticeable decrease in dust bunnies since Dallas passed.<br />
<br />
I always endeavor to find positive in every situation.motherbumperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053978199395919666noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24927410.post-91525348415415552642011-04-17T20:07:00.000-04:002011-04-17T20:07:07.759-04:00Bust A Royal MoveIf royal weddings were more like this, I'd probably drag my butt out of bed at 5:00 am to watch.<br />
<br />
<object height="311" width="500"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/Kav0FEhtLug?fs=1&hl=en_US&rel=0"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/Kav0FEhtLug?fs=1&hl=en_US&rel=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="500" height="311"></embed></object><br />
<br />
Personally, this time around I'll just wait for the highlight reel. Haven't bothered to get up for one of these things since the Andrew and Fergie fest way back in the 80s. Don't get me wrong, I have a soft spot for the Royal family but are they worth losing precious, precious sleep over? Nah. How about you, will you wake up for the festivities?motherbumperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053978199395919666noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24927410.post-13463765616370458702011-04-06T08:08:00.000-04:002011-04-06T08:08:45.506-04:00Montage ReduxLast night my daughter had her first drum lesson. We weren't too sure what to expect and set all expectations on low because after all she is the fickle five. She often expressed interest in taking classes and is a great lover of music so we thought we'd give it at least a one lesson try. Heck, might as well try it out somewhere that is not my home.<br />
<br />
The girl has always loved music. I played it often when she was a baby to stave off my boredom and stimulate her brain. We would dance around for long stretches and making her laugh kept me somewhat sane. Her musical tastes have evolved into her own and these days it ranges from ABBA to Bieber to Gaga to Yeah Yeah Yeahs and everything in between. She even has been known to break out some ACDC when the mood calls for it. That girl is most definitely complex.<br />
<br />
Some nights her musical selections melt my heart with requests for The Immigrant Song or Superstar before bedtime. Listening to her decipher lyrics reminds me of being a kid glued to the stereo and pouring over lyric sheets.<br />
<br />
Anyway. The lesson went well and after it was done her teacher selected a set of sticks to help her practice her rhythms on a pillow at home. Turns out the best sticks for her hands are from the Phil Collins collection. Trust me when I say that those drum sticks are the only things from any Phil Collins collection that will cross the threshold of my home. *<i>cue mass exodus of insulted Phil Collins fans</i>*<br />
<br />
The drum teacher handed her the sticks on the way out and the wide look in her eyes when she whispered to me '<i>can I keep these</i>?' washed away any doubt that she had fun.<br />
<br />
On the walk home she started to hit anything that produced a noise while she richotiated around in that typical 5 yo pinball fasjion. As she dragged the sticks along a fence while dancing to the song in her head, she became a classic music montage from an 80s film.<br />
<br />
And it was beautiful.motherbumperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053978199395919666noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24927410.post-60768400165771452582011-03-31T22:31:00.001-04:002011-03-31T23:31:57.140-04:00It's Not Wrong That I Wanted To Clip It's WingsI really, really, really, <b><i>like really</i></b> miss reading and writing posts during my down time. #FreeTimeIsAMyth #GoodThingILoveWork #AndMoney<br />
<br />
Usually that statement would be said on <a href="http://twitter.com/#!/motherbumper" target="_blank">Twitter</a> but it wasn't because that thought meant so much more to me than 140 could ever get across.<br />
<br />
Not that there wouldn't be many friends on Twitter who would instantly feel the familiar without the benefit of a post and reply with something in '<i>preaching to the choir</i>' genre -- because I'm confident there would be plenty of people out there who would completely understand.<br />
<br />
And not because my tweets are thoughtless (okay, maybe they are 9<s>0%</s> 10% of the time) because my personal rule is to count to ten and read it again before sending anything out there -- and personal rules apply at least <s>10%</s> 90% of the time. Twitter is important to me. Twitter is how I keep one toe in mah commun-i-tee. Twitter is integral to my sanity (not really). Twitter is my life-line during the day (really). But I also think Twitter killed the Bloggio Star. My comments became @s and the illusion of knowing what was going on out *there* felt like a reality on Twitter until making time for a quick flip through the reader lead me to feel more disconnected than ever.<br />
<br />
But I digress.<br />
<br />
That first statement didn't become a tweet because I needed to prove to myself that thoughts could once again gorge themselves and gain weight before going on a diet of editing. Also the need to prove that I could be an active participant in the blogging community by -- wait for it -- writing a post (how novel!) was badly needed.<br />
<br />
Last year I had made a personal pledge to spend more time writing, reading, and commenting on posts just like back in the 'old days'. I set a really realistic goal of two comments a day because we all know that reading blogs is like falling down the rabbit hole and finding a couple of posts where something can be added is easy enough. In the beginning it was easy, goals were met times five. It felt good and it felt like I was catching up with old friends because that was exactly what it was -- reading about their lives and thoughts instead of just the headlines.<br />
<br />
Then as all things do with annoying regularity, things began to fall apart. Streaks where there was no time to read and/or comment -- much less time for write -- lasted for days which stretched to weeks and then... well like I said, it all fell apart.<br />
<br />
So here I am, flexing my typing fingers, favoring them over my Blackberry thumbs, and not tweeting.motherbumperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053978199395919666noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24927410.post-63185516321838892542011-03-16T21:32:00.002-04:002011-03-16T21:34:33.874-04:00Free Association Time! Nipples, Rings, and Pupils.Unbelievable. <br />
<br />
At our dinner table this evening the conversation was about the differences between nipples and pupils. Apparently they sound too alike to my 5yo (must be my accent) and she thought it was hysterical to keep mixing them up. She's right, it is hilarious.<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<br />
The talk disintegrated into a discussion on who has nipples (cats, humans, horses) and who doesn't (snakes, cicadas, Barbie). While these are the kind of conversations I could do without, I don't want to forget them.<br />
<br />
Parenthood is like that, forgetting and all.<br />
<br />
When she was an infant, I couldn't wait for the diapers and sore nipples to just STOP, I just wanted it over and why the hell would I want to remember that stuff but... I don't want to forget a minute of it.<br />
<br />
Wish it didn't slip away so fast.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">*******************</div><br />
I have a ring fetish. Can't stop buying them and I just added to the collection.<br />
<br />
These two silver dressy ones are new and gladly joined my beach glass collection.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY-3Vp_CzK8n5EDJQsfwIjnl6xx7SP0kd-BR4kYPUn3s79mlhGrdOGyCxbdgSSBlSihRxc1SI4xBjDQvrzNYYXutiw0c233h4BAkOJ01eoN_gMe8wKgp7XW6qiK5jqPR-mKKzq/s1600/ring_2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY-3Vp_CzK8n5EDJQsfwIjnl6xx7SP0kd-BR4kYPUn3s79mlhGrdOGyCxbdgSSBlSihRxc1SI4xBjDQvrzNYYXutiw0c233h4BAkOJ01eoN_gMe8wKgp7XW6qiK5jqPR-mKKzq/s400/ring_2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEmWiWVp8ahLzWy9naUjZLmmCx7neW1UmNWAHSpQWQ1qv3YrEsm9oSA0tH1_-FiL4y3QZJGhcjgFiRq3e-CRX-Dl_lit5pCp57Qclpy-Xz02CrnYQosyjhmLqiQ0y-7SOyAANr/s1600/rings_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEmWiWVp8ahLzWy9naUjZLmmCx7neW1UmNWAHSpQWQ1qv3YrEsm9oSA0tH1_-FiL4y3QZJGhcjgFiRq3e-CRX-Dl_lit5pCp57Qclpy-Xz02CrnYQosyjhmLqiQ0y-7SOyAANr/s400/rings_1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb2iduYQtdmnSRmJN7KtsJJ3lfnA0n17quc742h2CLv5UWmlIqZumoNvfAa-8zdEB9R3JLNricyZnwYu52kLMgFShiPHIiNIcPC6kPI4iX9DkMT_mGEkHS5W0AS5wxdLBZCyvq/s1600/ring_3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb2iduYQtdmnSRmJN7KtsJJ3lfnA0n17quc742h2CLv5UWmlIqZumoNvfAa-8zdEB9R3JLNricyZnwYu52kLMgFShiPHIiNIcPC6kPI4iX9DkMT_mGEkHS5W0AS5wxdLBZCyvq/s400/ring_3.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
Putting them on satisfies my urge to play dress up all the time. Do we ever outgrow that? I didn't think so.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">*******************</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div>Growing up is for chumps. I just wish my daughter understood that.<br />
<br />
Somebody tell her please.<br />
<br />
<i>Stop growing up so fast kiddo</i>.motherbumperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053978199395919666noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24927410.post-5702934602353340922011-03-06T11:56:00.001-05:002011-03-06T11:57:00.410-05:00Little Black Bear<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBPuJASqVffe12_JayeG5dAOVUGw-fAoyHvs4Z9fKlLWegEXnXIRycdqk4vIN2g1HNrqVxspp45-ECBbMiynG5vIhNhJ0nWz2zvWeyUJ-drPq0etUsCkGSACaYwAcq0hM5Wu-C/s1600/dallas.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBPuJASqVffe12_JayeG5dAOVUGw-fAoyHvs4Z9fKlLWegEXnXIRycdqk4vIN2g1HNrqVxspp45-ECBbMiynG5vIhNhJ0nWz2zvWeyUJ-drPq0etUsCkGSACaYwAcq0hM5Wu-C/s400/dallas.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>Last week my little bear Dallas passed away. He was 13 which in cat years is kind of old but not really.<br />
<br />
Dallas came into our lives with his brother Emmett when they were about five years old. They had been shuttled around from home to home, neglected but not outright abused, and we had to teach them everything about living in a home where they weren't considered pests. Within a few looooong weeks of being in my then-boyfriend, now-husband's care they blossomed into characters that simultaneously drove us nuts and happy yet we couldn't live without them.<br />
<br />
Just like kids.<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
Dallas was mine. He loved me and made special squeaks and purrs that were just. for. me.<br />
<br />
Before baby G came along he would stretch out across my body when I was flopped out on the couch, something that he stopped doing once my belly grew with bambino and he never returned to do afterwards. That probably had to with the fact that I didn't get a chance to lie on the couch like that for years after G was born.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2D5DHKDDiOBh3THduu3XamrR9-Xs26bXRyBQxw4WRoHlrUzhPBowX0dp6wKkiW99tsN02CFKW5jtgdpC30_rfN3oLpDFPOnQOc7SMF7Ldy66r7vi_BAmFGYlclWZELnbGLCGq/s1600/dallas+on+my+belly.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2D5DHKDDiOBh3THduu3XamrR9-Xs26bXRyBQxw4WRoHlrUzhPBowX0dp6wKkiW99tsN02CFKW5jtgdpC30_rfN3oLpDFPOnQOc7SMF7Ldy66r7vi_BAmFGYlclWZELnbGLCGq/s400/dallas+on+my+belly.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>He would follow me around and comment on everything I was doing. He was mine and Emmett belonged to my husband. It was just meant to be that way.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitULzS4JKOHVyHJ78DJXMqvbOKVkUTAjlPC8E1H6dC5kqoBDD2rzRR4V4dKP9VlpKY2t85X2dNYa7UIebLbhGPvSOqPCC_J9YokY0Eb3c796OGCh67TVKeDJKveVY-9-2G4t28/s1600/downward+dallas.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitULzS4JKOHVyHJ78DJXMqvbOKVkUTAjlPC8E1H6dC5kqoBDD2rzRR4V4dKP9VlpKY2t85X2dNYa7UIebLbhGPvSOqPCC_J9YokY0Eb3c796OGCh67TVKeDJKveVY-9-2G4t28/s400/downward+dallas.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>Then the baby came along and everything changed.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitKWLfmSYjX2-cIBo7t8wzoj8Gco4MhufHowwOXaEyNr13xoULbhrmQkpSWB8kdkac6q9JNFAoh75Mjf3MhIXFTaaXRVrRPBZNj9iXPjkw95PLzRVUayEp1JW4rOnyho4Iz_5w/s1600/dallas+and+gemma.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="235" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitKWLfmSYjX2-cIBo7t8wzoj8Gco4MhufHowwOXaEyNr13xoULbhrmQkpSWB8kdkac6q9JNFAoh75Mjf3MhIXFTaaXRVrRPBZNj9iXPjkw95PLzRVUayEp1JW4rOnyho4Iz_5w/s400/dallas+and+gemma.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>Dallas made wide berth for the baby and me but once she became a respectful toddler who didn't always pull his tail, we settled back down into my fuzzy black bear boyfriend routine.<br />
<br />
Emmett misses him though he hasn't directly said so.<br />
<br />
I think Emmett isn't sure what is going on. He knows he is gone but at the same time he still searches. Death in the animal world is such a huge unknown. They get it, just ask an elephant or crow.<br />
<br />
Don't tell me he doesn't miss him.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUIa1bS-I6QbGqa_xCaCwt0htkLwhheO3PcBGi_Ek9q1YKchn3Fe-kmeZiRB0h1WiLdTmxluE0eBycCH5WSno414_8-nUUHROvB06rMNCsv7kgc3O7I8ux4C1lFbT3sZzOsLkU/s1600/dallas-and-emmett.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="392" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUIa1bS-I6QbGqa_xCaCwt0htkLwhheO3PcBGi_Ek9q1YKchn3Fe-kmeZiRB0h1WiLdTmxluE0eBycCH5WSno414_8-nUUHROvB06rMNCsv7kgc3O7I8ux4C1lFbT3sZzOsLkU/s400/dallas-and-emmett.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
You would too if your brother was your only constant.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi2JHTBzmD-u7nniHNwM70XI_pJ7NQX8fUm2JlwwzPyaRqARuWBh2Om37M4qv5veJlFIPSvKA3QoLZVRBVJHle2V-3j1V7ly1eiL9FZb5_wSryFx0hHdOrZspxJn6C1CV5M1ZN/s1600/dallas-and-emmet-food.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="388" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi2JHTBzmD-u7nniHNwM70XI_pJ7NQX8fUm2JlwwzPyaRqARuWBh2Om37M4qv5veJlFIPSvKA3QoLZVRBVJHle2V-3j1V7ly1eiL9FZb5_wSryFx0hHdOrZspxJn6C1CV5M1ZN/s400/dallas-and-emmet-food.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
We miss you little black bear.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsYmzVa4XC74v1vVr30veRAfyHTB5bpSv6_7RPkNojj3Id0Pbv2lgUx94voWUkjRKDRTC-3T5yzAZFxg8L_KGYZwlQd7gFv3hCDjM2OCb-c6dGGDXghrqJJyYrNNizbG79y5qV/s1600/dallas+in+the+sun.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsYmzVa4XC74v1vVr30veRAfyHTB5bpSv6_7RPkNojj3Id0Pbv2lgUx94voWUkjRKDRTC-3T5yzAZFxg8L_KGYZwlQd7gFv3hCDjM2OCb-c6dGGDXghrqJJyYrNNizbG79y5qV/s400/dallas+in+the+sun.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>motherbumperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053978199395919666noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24927410.post-59211379977986431382011-02-20T19:51:00.005-05:002011-02-20T20:01:50.909-05:0025 Things Deemed Double Rainbow Worthy In 25 Minutes<ol><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgJoDfQBifRKKZAxEBbS6ZBLaawV_dUzXQZgBLCOOT03TfCu_32zrEP6o3HinUb0BVtN8z8ywlXBn9HPuva9eCnrjx7t4W1yZg8wAAQudx3RSb0sfkjA454uMvvUfQbcJ2kYir/s1600/squirrel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgJoDfQBifRKKZAxEBbS6ZBLaawV_dUzXQZgBLCOOT03TfCu_32zrEP6o3HinUb0BVtN8z8ywlXBn9HPuva9eCnrjx7t4W1yZg8wAAQudx3RSb0sfkjA454uMvvUfQbcJ2kYir/s200/squirrel.jpg" width="200" /></a>
<li>Listening to my husband read our 5yo the Harry Potter series. They are on the third book and she is completely fascinated. I worried she wouldn't be able to follow along but boy was I wrong.</li>
<li>Seeing the lightbulb go off when helping someone understand techie/geeky things. </li>
<li>Making new friends who just go *click*.</li>
<li>Biting the top off of a Cadbury cream egg, removing the contents with my tongue, then devouring the shell without one sticky drop on my hand or chin. I has talents and I knows how to use thems.</li>
<li>When my 5yo willingly shares a story about her day. Doesn't matter what it's about, it excites me that she wants to share it <i>with me</i>.<a name='more'></a></li>
<li>Getting a full night's sleep. It's so rare that it must be celebrated in my books.</li>
<li>Finding a comfortable seat on the subway or streetcar.</li>
<li>Feeling organized.</li>
<li>Private lists on Twitter because it allows me to organize my online life without needing to explain my madcap categories.</li>
<li>Bookstores with comfy seats.</li>
<li>Finding a table near an outlet at the coffee shop.</li>
<li>Days with no screaming or tears.</li>
<li>Office supplies.</li>
<li>Squirrels!</li>
<li>Watching great television (currently working my way through Mad Men and yes, I *heart* Don Draper)</li>
<li>Movies, movies, movies. Nothing sounds better to me than sitting down and escaping into someone's vision of [insert topic here].</li>
<li>Successful escapes. </li>
<li>Finding a bra that fits. Then being able to afford multiples.</li>
<li>Having a pedicure where no one utters a thing other than 'great colour choice'</li>
<li>Massages.</li>
<li>Making it to a yoga class.</li>
<li>Finding jeans that fit and require no alterations or a bank loan.</li>
<li>Watching the Westminister Kennel Club Dog Show.</li>
<li>Making fresh pesto with toasted pine nuts over pasta.</li>
<li>Traveling with someone who likes to go the local route over the tourist one. Unless the tourist route involves Sasquatch statues and the like because then I want to be with someone who also cannot resist the siren song of kitsch. Which for the record sounds like a Danzig / Don Ho mashup performed on the accordion.</li>
</ol><a href="http://www.schmutzie.com/weblog/2011/2/10/25-things-i-get-all-double-rainbow-over.html">Schmutzie</a> started it, I'm doing it, are you in? 25 minutes, 25 things that make you feel all double rainbow. GO!motherbumperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053978199395919666noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24927410.post-11693567277630317192011-02-15T07:39:00.002-05:002011-02-15T07:44:16.064-05:00Thank Heaven For Little GirlsNot a very original title but I stand by it. Mind you, I'm sure little boys hold their own lengthy list of reasons for gratitude but girls are what I know so please forgive my sexist slant.<br />
<br />
One thing I miss and haven't done in a while is feted a baby across this tangled web. Baby showers make me smile. It's been too long since the my last shower attendance which isn't as unhygienic as it sounds. Babies are meant to be celebrated.<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<br />
Parties need to be thrown for babies, babies like Mozzie, a little girl who's arrival this coming May has been greatly anticipated by <a href="http://www.mooshinindy.com/">this lovely lady</a>. For the record, Casey has more patience I could ever muster in pregnancy. Anyway. <a href="http://designhermomma.com/2011/01/mozzi-due-in-may-the-celebration-starts-today/">Mozzie's particular party has been happening for a few weeks over at DesignHer Momma's</a> and like any fun party, there are prizes to be won (no really, there are prizes: this time around is a <a href="http://designhermomma.com/2011/02/puj-tub-giveaway/">Puj Tub</a>).<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbUSb51DHTHdJOibMAJCUcf_kC4QuqllBMCl6dx39zIsdwMGL7RH4fRiEL6Stpogd0UjZX4Mqb9p-aND0knGpyxfK6bItAAi9qqxGLapg0KJRUyZhr_Sd7aiTrdsflb7Vd1jN-/s1600/Mozzi_Banner.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="143" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbUSb51DHTHdJOibMAJCUcf_kC4QuqllBMCl6dx39zIsdwMGL7RH4fRiEL6Stpogd0UjZX4Mqb9p-aND0knGpyxfK6bItAAi9qqxGLapg0KJRUyZhr_Sd7aiTrdsflb7Vd1jN-/s320/Mozzi_Banner.gif" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Today Casey will be opening a small care package from me, something full of mostly Canadian magic, mostly for her with something special for Mozzi. I hope it makes her smile. And if you need to smile today (and who doesn't?) think about the magic babies bring (<a href="http://mooshinindy.com/2011/02/02/28-weeks/">these pictures have made me smile for many days now</a>).<br />
<br />
Babies are meant to be celebrated.motherbumperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053978199395919666noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24927410.post-85292343454190927742011-02-14T07:00:00.003-05:002011-02-14T19:54:40.129-05:00Kids Renaissance: Week 6 -- 100 Days Of Attitude Edition<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpb5gX3IKEJpnc2PME8d9ShTPGNjopUJyVzlNA_d_EZNpbcUSBy7dajbqyVlL44_DOCL2jNVEz9oIfgJlgSJ0IJKQ5Klrom5RTggUTyPODk9Tg7O5xXh3ZMMtdjf9I25eeaG6i/s1600/lady-with-the-hair.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="167" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpb5gX3IKEJpnc2PME8d9ShTPGNjopUJyVzlNA_d_EZNpbcUSBy7dajbqyVlL44_DOCL2jNVEz9oIfgJlgSJ0IJKQ5Klrom5RTggUTyPODk9Tg7O5xXh3ZMMtdjf9I25eeaG6i/s200/lady-with-the-hair.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>Today marks my 5yo's 100th day at school this year and I'm not sure what they do at your child's school but this is a main event at her alma mater.<br />
<br />
Just like last year, we needed to create a project of any 100 things to represent the days attended thus far.<br />
<br />
In JK, she chose to find 100 pictures of horses and glue into a workbook which sounded like a very cool idea when she came up with it. But I must clarify when I say that '<i>she chose to find 100 pictures of horses and glue them into a workbook</i>' that really meant she declared herself the project manager overseeing her team [aka. me] who would create this hectare of horses.<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
This meant that at this time last year I spent an entire evening finding pictures of horses, then printing, cutting, and pasting said pictures of pestiferous ponies into a workbook that my daughter chose. I did that. Me. All alone. Because my child, my awesome and completely strong-willed little angel of anarchy? She had next to no interest in actually <i>doing</i> the project. Well nearly none. She told me where to glue stuff a couple of times.<br />
<br />
Anyway. I remember thinking the entire time '<i>this had better not be an indication of my involvement in this child's future homework because hold the phone Pointdexter, I ain't going back to school again. It was traumatic enough the first time.</i>' Mind you, it is tempting to see if I could do better with a second time around at school. Thoughts of me being like Drew Barrymore in that movie where she's a narc and gets a second chance at high school after being a complete dork the first time [too lazy to google] have crossed my mind but then you know, something shiny passes by and *poof* there goes that daydream. Plus I'm not sure there is much call for adult narcs at my daughter's elementary school. Or at least I hope there is not.<br />
<br />
Bottom line my child needs to do her own homework. And this year she did. Sorta. Considering she has had only one assignment per year so far, she did do a whole lot more this time around. In fact she did most of it. She counted out all the coins, she picked the shape and the color scheme, I glued the outline and even though it's all blocked out here, she wrote out some details and signed her name.<br />
<br />
Behold 100 days of school on St. Valentine's Day:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMTxzWmPwAZoFAym3Pu-ZffCX2OkNJkvNKZYvBiAA3LxURZSY4beCc_QLR87cEuWSseDWxoUc_GcJHRtZp9yNcE9nl3LJ3ZH3kPyFXCvSGkbVWbrp0zxz5pOMzIkW5mwFR8k86/s1600/100-days.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMTxzWmPwAZoFAym3Pu-ZffCX2OkNJkvNKZYvBiAA3LxURZSY4beCc_QLR87cEuWSseDWxoUc_GcJHRtZp9yNcE9nl3LJ3ZH3kPyFXCvSGkbVWbrp0zxz5pOMzIkW5mwFR8k86/s320/100-days.jpg" width="274" /></a></div>For the record: she stole the change from my change bowl. Need I say more?motherbumperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053978199395919666noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24927410.post-82733048012340809882011-02-07T08:12:00.001-05:002011-02-07T08:17:51.461-05:00Kids Renaissance: Week 5<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitbWAenhXJKwKLbzVPeqXmoSNYM1EgURr93dncO-neJT6SP8oT0Iwq53HLs0EIabtO2GlZeDJI8MtIqHG3rPhB6ho4N3JyQd7MSF2z_rJJjUwDmCU7Cup8ZpBzsWJALaRZcOx3/s1600/the+door+to.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitbWAenhXJKwKLbzVPeqXmoSNYM1EgURr93dncO-neJT6SP8oT0Iwq53HLs0EIabtO2GlZeDJI8MtIqHG3rPhB6ho4N3JyQd7MSF2z_rJJjUwDmCU7Cup8ZpBzsWJALaRZcOx3/s200/the+door+to.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><i>Beauty</i>.<br />
<br />
That was not a word that filled me with dread before I became a parent to a girl but now that an impressionable feminine mystique has been put in my charge, I dread the topic of <i>beauty</i>. Maybe it would be the same if I was raising a boy but that I will never know and honestly, I doubt it.<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
Defining beauty for my child is one of the most difficult things I've had to do as a parent. One does not want to warp her ideas, one wants her to make the definition her own. If she finds beauty in what isn't the norm, will she have the confidence to keep it in the category of beauty when it comes under scrutiny by her peers or media? The last thing I want to do is pass on my own issues with the definition of beauty. How can I stop others from hammering into her head the false impression that skinny, tall, big tits, tiny waists are all you need to be a beauty? Confidence, that's all I can arm her with: confidence.<br />
<br />
So that's what I do. For now true beauty is winning, I hope to keep it that way. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVm1HQpZ-txPaogknwP4aIPxE4H9sZ-kAbhyTIn9hNrOxCE-SOMBEmvbOJVKzj1VDuyqEpalVYYTisgPmAU_EKieNLy4Uc9cEco55fax3A4bDhS7yzQ87IOTPD0pStQT8XwF4p/s1600/lady-with-the-hair.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVm1HQpZ-txPaogknwP4aIPxE4H9sZ-kAbhyTIn9hNrOxCE-SOMBEmvbOJVKzj1VDuyqEpalVYYTisgPmAU_EKieNLy4Uc9cEco55fax3A4bDhS7yzQ87IOTPD0pStQT8XwF4p/s320/lady-with-the-hair.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beautiful Girl - Gigi Age 5, marker on paper</td></tr>
</tbody></table><b>So have you created <a href="http://www.motherbumper.com/search/label/Kids%20Renaissance">a virtual corner for your child's artwork on your blog</a> before it's <strike>tossed</strike> filed away? If you have, please share a link with me in the comments below. I promise I will drop by and tell you that you are also raising a member of the future renaissance, because you probably are.</b>motherbumperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053978199395919666noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24927410.post-42629739963050888712011-02-02T14:33:00.000-05:002011-02-02T14:33:21.719-05:00Post Blissdom Let Down With A Liberal Sprinkling Of Sighs*sigh* It's over. Blissdom is over and wishes that life had a rewind button have gone unfulfilled.<br />
<br />
When I uploaded the photos off my camera post-Blissdom it took about 2.2 seconds. It seems there was only about a dozen photos on the card. While I'd love to blame the camera the real issue was with the photographer -- as in the photographer didn't take any photos. *sigh*<br />
<br />
I mean, I did take some photos. Take for instance this disco ball. I took 40 pictures like this. This particular sparkly globe feted those who attended the grand parties thrown by the Blissdom ladies.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6waoZhyphenhyphentCSQEXE6XJA2GuC4AgeArkzGNjjCS_k93DcFVgKiMq54w0GkLKAkm-NCCirL5mobNjsMWPxKiZAun-hSOXLRhwuNGNuH_vdiIVG_yUd4ywqSkxOxiSywzJWXgWfpEO/s1600/blissdom-11-closing-party-disco-ball.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6waoZhyphenhyphentCSQEXE6XJA2GuC4AgeArkzGNjjCS_k93DcFVgKiMq54w0GkLKAkm-NCCirL5mobNjsMWPxKiZAun-hSOXLRhwuNGNuH_vdiIVG_yUd4ywqSkxOxiSywzJWXgWfpEO/s320/blissdom-11-closing-party-disco-ball.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
And that's about it for photos. Seriously, that's it.<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<br />
Why does my camera always remain pretty much unused at conferences? Why do I always depend on others to take photos? Why don't I make the time to snap some memories? Most of my time was spent catching up with beautiful blogging friends (and making new ones) and during the rare moments when there was no one to catch up with or meet, minutes were killed hiding behind my Blackberry. It's always safe behind my Blackberry.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVaFG55cpmluJ8a0vis0DhEzBREOwcacrH3Lk1OTOmQhyphenhyphenVNnm-8IkaopaaOar9jJXhykhOo5ANq1tfCFk2NsPaCsIb7yVK92CXEto5_J8VmtzVs3tQhmiTNOb7ZY8g7SXG4M-B/s1600/blissdom-11-amy_dooblevay.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVaFG55cpmluJ8a0vis0DhEzBREOwcacrH3Lk1OTOmQhyphenhyphenVNnm-8IkaopaaOar9jJXhykhOo5ANq1tfCFk2NsPaCsIb7yVK92CXEto5_J8VmtzVs3tQhmiTNOb7ZY8g7SXG4M-B/s320/blissdom-11-amy_dooblevay.jpg" width="212" /></a></div><br />
Mind you, a photo was snapped of one of my favorite friends, <a href="http://doobleh-vay.blogspot.com/">Amy Turn Sharp</a>. She doesn't really have a mustache though if she did, I'm sure it would be made of solid gold. The only reason this photo even happened was the fact that she saw me sitting alone at a table with my camera, so being the beautiful persons she is, she grabbed the mustache and demanded I take a photo. I've never been so happy to oblige a snap. It only took me ten minutes because I couldn't figure out my camera [insert eye roll].<br />
<br />
And somewhere else on someone's camera are photos that prove I had fun and friends while being all Blissdom-y.<br />
<br />
Like when I molested my beloved <a href="http://freeanissa.com/">Anissa</a> and made a new beloved with <a href="http://rawbinrobin.blogspot.com/">Robin</a> (she's luscious) plus forced myself on <a href="http://www.cecilyk.com/">Cecily</a>. Then there were my roomies and awesome lovelies <a href="http://www.domesticextraordinaire.com/">Heather</a> and <a href="http://schmutzie.com/">Schmutzie</a>. We stayed up every night until 2am plotting how we were going to use dead bodies as sleds (don't worry, it was our dead bodies that were going to be used.) (Not other people's dead bodies because that would be wrong and just plain weird.) (Actually that whole dead body thing sounds bad so forget I mentioned that dead bodies at all, k? Thanks.)<br />
<br />
Not to mention I loved inappropriately touching and/or stalking <a href="http://sassyirishlassie.com/">Sassy Irish Lassie</a>, <a href="http://www.annsrants.com/%22annsrants.com">Ann</a>, <a href="http://www.momtothescreamingmasses.typepad.com/">Carmen</a>, <a href="http://www.momofali.com/">MomoFali</a>, <a href="http://tastelikecrazy.com/about/">Amy Tucker</a>, <a href="http://www.greeblemonkey.com/">Aimee Greeblemonkey</a>, <a href="http://secretagentmama.com/">Michelle</a>, <a href="http://www.asouthernfairytale.com/">Rachel</a>, <a href="http://www.mooshinindy.com/">Casey</a>, and <a href="http://nopasanada.org/">Heather</a> to just name-drop a few wonderful people that were there and who I had the luck to speak with -- even if it was for just a few minutes. I know I've forgotten many others that should be on my victims list but I'm running out of time [stupid work and silly family demands *rolls eyes*].<br />
<br />
So there you have it. The <a href="http://blissdomconference.com/blissdom-conference-wisdom-workshop-schedule-for-2011/">wisdom workshop</a> I lead with Amy Tucker and <a href="http://www.ericasays.com/">Erica</a> RAWKED! (if I say so myself and I do so there) and that Blissdom post I haven't written is still somewhere up in my head with nary a chance of making it to the screen for sharing. I guess all I can do is yell out: I went to Blissdom and all I came back with was some pretty awesome memories and friends.<br />
<br />
Conferences rock.motherbumperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053978199395919666noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24927410.post-76843055269625150922011-01-24T07:00:00.016-05:002011-01-25T08:34:11.878-05:00Kids Renaissance: Week 4<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrDZzRwa7Wob5gS9EWHIfcO_tFfTYE6CFZg7i-XhQTIL1wwqZlV_Elhr_XEJUoqM8yZkWg3eUvYItWFiChEYlXgv8twHwXptj2jwbmy3odpaI9DAAHJsbmHl8en5Kflypnsm1a/s1600/first-tooth.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrDZzRwa7Wob5gS9EWHIfcO_tFfTYE6CFZg7i-XhQTIL1wwqZlV_Elhr_XEJUoqM8yZkWg3eUvYItWFiChEYlXgv8twHwXptj2jwbmy3odpaI9DAAHJsbmHl8en5Kflypnsm1a/s200/first-tooth.jpg" width="156" /></a></div>While I'm enthusiastic about my daughter's artwork sometimes her medium makes my head explode.<br />
<br />
Last weekend I was at the library doing some research. When enough work had been accomplished to my satisfaction, I rewarded myself with a break to write in my journal. But upon cracking the journal open, the pages dropped to reveal a mural done by my 5yo. <br />
<br />
Now while the mural she created was awesome, my head still exploded. It covered many pages and depicted a Captain Caveman type character who had many friends doing many things. Yet despite the awesome details: it was in the MIDDLE OF MY WONDER WOMAN WRITING JOURNAL. My Wonder Woman private thoughts journal had been violated. *sigh*<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<br />
So it goes when becoming a parent.<br />
<br />
*double sigh*<br />
<br />
Anyway. That mural is not her <a href="http://www.motherbumper.com/2011/01/kids-renaissance-week-3.html">renaissance contribution</a> this week, her secret garden is -- or at least I think it's the entrance her secret garden. Like the Captain Caveman mural I mentioned above, it was found in a place that made my head explode: the walls of my 5yo's room.<br />
<br />
Behind my daughter's bedroom door is a smaller door, done in Sharpie and highlighter (*double gulp* that door is permanent as permanent is) and where it leads? She won't tell me. I'm completely fascinated by this door and where she imagines it leads. She says I will never know because it's not a door for moms to use. *triple sigh*<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitbWAenhXJKwKLbzVPeqXmoSNYM1EgURr93dncO-neJT6SP8oT0Iwq53HLs0EIabtO2GlZeDJI8MtIqHG3rPhB6ho4N3JyQd7MSF2z_rJJjUwDmCU7Cup8ZpBzsWJALaRZcOx3/s1600/the+door+to.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitbWAenhXJKwKLbzVPeqXmoSNYM1EgURr93dncO-neJT6SP8oT0Iwq53HLs0EIabtO2GlZeDJI8MtIqHG3rPhB6ho4N3JyQd7MSF2z_rJJjUwDmCU7Cup8ZpBzsWJALaRZcOx3/s400/the+door+to.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gigi - medium OUR WALLS and SHARPIE *faints*</td></tr>
</tbody></table>I still love it even if I'm not allowed to use BUT my head still explodes at it's permanence and location. Plus I'm not sure our landlord will appreciate her artwork.<br />
<br />
<b>So have you created a virtual corner for your child's artwork on your blog before it's <strike>tossed</strike> filed away? If you have, please share a link with me in the comments below. I promise I will drop by and tell you that you are also raising a member of the future renaissance, because you probably are.</b>motherbumperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053978199395919666noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24927410.post-18913106198513044202011-01-20T07:00:00.002-05:002011-01-20T07:36:25.984-05:00It's Like Amsterdam, But Cheaper And With More WoolWhen I headed back to work outside the home last November, one thing that stressed me out was my commute. The idea of wrangling my daughter out the door on time, catching the bus from her school to the subway, and then making my way downtown gave me the cold sweats. How was I going to get this done? I know millions do it daily but I have trouble getting myself out the door on time, much less a child full of resistance. Thinking about it gives the shivers.<br />
<br />
Lucky for me, my husband started working from home so I pawned that struggle off on him and he loves it. Something about exercise and getting to know her school chums, yadda yadda yadda ecetera. Whatever he loves about it, awesome, as long as I don't need to do it on a regular basis.<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
I know, I'm damn lucky but of course that has recently changed. I'm working modified hours and there really is no reason I can't take her to school a couple days of the week. Damn.<br />
<br />
My first foray into getting her to school was this past Monday. After getting her stuff in the cubby, I ran out the door and across the street to catch the bus. This bus must be timed just right or it's a looooong walk to the subway. I was early so I decided to do what most in my position do when given a few extra minutes, <a href="http://twitter.com/#%21/motherbumper">Twitter</a>.<br />
<br />
There was company at the bus stop and let me tell you, it's a rare event when I can feel superior to those iPhone users. Here I was on my Blackberry, it was -30 before the windchill, and I had my gloves on while I scrolled and tweeted away. Let's ignore the fact that my gloves caused me to prematurely tweet all over the place, I could still tweet without losing digits to frostbite. Those iPhone users at the bus stop were either going to need a <a href="http://thebloggess.com/2008/10/an-open-letter-to-apple-regarding-dead-hobo-fingers/">new set of hobo fingers</a> OR amputations due to exposure to cold. Blackberry 1 iPhone 0.<br />
<br />
Anyway. The bus came and based on my totally non-scientific research, bus people are different than subway people. It's subtle but the difference is there. As I squeezed myself into a seat somewhere in the middle of the bus (seriously, squeezing my polar explorer gear into the seat caused me to sit the entire ride with my shoulders touching my ears -- winter fashion fail), a couple of teens stood in front of me. These two proceeded to put on a prudent but still live sex-show for me and because I was stuck in my polar gear with limited range of motion, I COULD NOT LIVE TWEET IT. I know, you are disappointed, but here's the visual. She was small, wearing tights and Uggs and barely had her lower body covered. He was goofy and was wearing hammer pants. NO LIE. They both had tongues. It was one interesting way to start a Monday morning.<br />
<br />
It doesn't seem like that long ago that I was a silly girl wearing tights and short skirts in -30 weather, putting fashion before frostbite. *sigh* Those were the days. Never put on a live no-sex show on the bus though, even I had limitations.<br />
<br />
Anyway. There is no point to this post other than commuting is hard, teens have tongues, and for once, I feel superior about my Blackberry over the iPhone. Booyah.<br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>BTW, I'm also guest posting over at the lovely <a href="http://www.embracethechaos.ca/2011/01/guest-post-only-child-many-questions.html">Emma Waverman's Embrace the Chaos</a> about having an only child and the questions it brings. Questions that I throw back at people's heads if I just had a faster mouth and a lot more nerve.</i>motherbumperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053978199395919666noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24927410.post-1055637274102947482011-01-17T08:00:00.014-05:002011-01-18T07:36:22.479-05:00Kids Renaissance: Week 3<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO_cDukfNvfsfKu9Kfzg160DmdVGs1PKXn7ryibdRINIWGduNSW03xkVwTjma2Ep0PnaBdkSv2dtqwJ0ZKvpwy0eCGLeozKqzhqdrJGV6lUXaiwfqKQ_SYNR2MV4XxsZycPFLp/s1600/sad+unicorns.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO_cDukfNvfsfKu9Kfzg160DmdVGs1PKXn7ryibdRINIWGduNSW03xkVwTjma2Ep0PnaBdkSv2dtqwJ0ZKvpwy0eCGLeozKqzhqdrJGV6lUXaiwfqKQ_SYNR2MV4XxsZycPFLp/s200/sad+unicorns.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>The following <a href="http://www.motherbumper.com/2011/01/kids-renaissance-week-2.html">piece from my daughter's collection</a> was a proud acquisition from back in November of 2010. I had just returned to work full-time outside the home and my 5yo was pretty much not speaking to me.<br />
<br />
She didn't want to hear about my work. No way. Nuh-un. Not a word about it. Mommy's work was a non-starter.<br />
<br />
So I didn't press it. If she wanted to know where I was all day then I'd just have to wait for her to come around to asking.<br />
<br />
It was about two weeks into my job when she finally asked what I did during her weekdays. So I explained and she listened, then she was quiet. She then asked if my coworkers had kids (they do) and if they come to work (they don't). I let that sit for a while and it seemed like the conversation was over.<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<br />
Then I remembered that most of my coworkers with kids had their children's artwork displayed somewhere on their desk -- or at least I hope it's their children's art work because if it isn't... well good for them for trying to draw their family. Anyway. I told G that most of them had pictures on their desk done by their kids. She nodded and that was what I thought was the end of the conversation.<br />
<br />
The next morning I was presented with the following ink on paper drawing. She told me it was us on the day she sprouted her first tooth and it was for my desk at work.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrDZzRwa7Wob5gS9EWHIfcO_tFfTYE6CFZg7i-XhQTIL1wwqZlV_Elhr_XEJUoqM8yZkWg3eUvYItWFiChEYlXgv8twHwXptj2jwbmy3odpaI9DAAHJsbmHl8en5Kflypnsm1a/s1600/first-tooth.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrDZzRwa7Wob5gS9EWHIfcO_tFfTYE6CFZg7i-XhQTIL1wwqZlV_Elhr_XEJUoqM8yZkWg3eUvYItWFiChEYlXgv8twHwXptj2jwbmy3odpaI9DAAHJsbmHl8en5Kflypnsm1a/s400/first-tooth.jpg" width="312" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">First Tooth (medium: pen and paper)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>I placed it with pride on my desk and it really does make me smile every day. Plus my Donny Osmond pearls make beam with pride.<br />
<br />
<b>So have you created a virtual corner for your child's artwork on your blog before it's <strike>tossed</strike> filed away? If you have, please share a link with me in the comments below. I promise I will drop by and tell you that you are also raising a member of the future renaissance, because you probably are.</b>motherbumperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053978199395919666noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24927410.post-71778113510811245252011-01-10T07:00:00.001-05:002011-01-10T07:41:45.927-05:00Kids Renaissance: Week 2<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCSU98d68Q3-7LhRBo2FsLNt9t_FsbCKXcrvN_B-qUo_dNu0MoAvxeWSpGUH8gWkvP14BTtG-30wHvzqtsQYn-VEoTsAuw95TbQWSlNBunI6rtBshKG9K0_kxqovet2VOB3SMz/s1600/butterflies-and-sunshine.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="126" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCSU98d68Q3-7LhRBo2FsLNt9t_FsbCKXcrvN_B-qUo_dNu0MoAvxeWSpGUH8gWkvP14BTtG-30wHvzqtsQYn-VEoTsAuw95TbQWSlNBunI6rtBshKG9K0_kxqovet2VOB3SMz/s200/butterflies-and-sunshine.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>The second installation of <a href="http://www.motherbumper.com/2011/01/kids-renaissance-week-1.html">Kid's Renaissance, aka: my daughter's virtual fridge artwork showcase</a>, is somewhat creepy and totally fascinating.<br />
<br />
For the record I have no idea where she gets her artistic inspirations from but as I've said many times before on this blog, I'm sure it will all come out in future therapy sessions (<i>denial of Oh Henry bars? Her mother's constant eye-rolls over all the freakin' princess/barbie-related paraphernalia? Not enough television? Who knows, all I know is that therapy is definitely in our future.</i>) <br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
Anyway, here I present Two Sad Unicorns, a mommy and daughter, facing unknown hardship that my daughter was unable to expand on: '<i>They are just sad mommy, SAD</i>'.<br />
<br />
Behold the Two Sad Unicorns.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO_cDukfNvfsfKu9Kfzg160DmdVGs1PKXn7ryibdRINIWGduNSW03xkVwTjma2Ep0PnaBdkSv2dtqwJ0ZKvpwy0eCGLeozKqzhqdrJGV6lUXaiwfqKQ_SYNR2MV4XxsZycPFLp/s1600/sad+unicorns.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO_cDukfNvfsfKu9Kfzg160DmdVGs1PKXn7ryibdRINIWGduNSW03xkVwTjma2Ep0PnaBdkSv2dtqwJ0ZKvpwy0eCGLeozKqzhqdrJGV6lUXaiwfqKQ_SYNR2MV4XxsZycPFLp/s400/sad+unicorns.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Two Sad Unicorns. Artist: Gigi, age 5 Medium: markers on newsprint</td></tr>
</tbody></table><b>If do the same at your blog -- and I really do encourage you to create a virtual corner for your child's artwork before it's <strike>tossed</strike> filed away -- please share a link with me in the comments below. I promise I will drop by and tell you that you are also raising a member of the future renaissance, because you probably are.</b>motherbumperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053978199395919666noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24927410.post-65242594369687348842011-01-09T16:18:00.000-05:002011-01-09T16:18:06.272-05:00Never Gonna HappenConversation on the walk to our friend's birthday party today:<br />
<br />
5yo: I want a poodle...<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJBb4_0fV8_lXqV4Iz43KHBK81E-mm3Mt4oQWooGLFRq_U1j9lmPyMgPm_m4J5a01Yh00miY0E8M1W_eemv313lWsR1tk6V6YshQC0hExBDtucusK9huw3XCP6nsal2RlLZFig/s1600/poodle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJBb4_0fV8_lXqV4Iz43KHBK81E-mm3Mt4oQWooGLFRq_U1j9lmPyMgPm_m4J5a01Yh00miY0E8M1W_eemv313lWsR1tk6V6YshQC0hExBDtucusK9huw3XCP6nsal2RlLZFig/s320/poodle.jpg" width="305" /></a></div><br />
<a name='more'></a>and a ... a... a... poma... pomara... a fluffy dog with a bow.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcmSEo0ECXQPMZMYn-Z4MoDshGH1tedfHZKAuSYu_SutpoHjhTqJ_1Tqjm0o_-2i46Lfya-OPh9rQg6cAHuocHOb9erdu8BiZnj4X-A3p2Eachau4gDjYJP5SDn6CHv2fmnrXa/s1600/Pomeranian.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcmSEo0ECXQPMZMYn-Z4MoDshGH1tedfHZKAuSYu_SutpoHjhTqJ_1Tqjm0o_-2i46Lfya-OPh9rQg6cAHuocHOb9erdu8BiZnj4X-A3p2Eachau4gDjYJP5SDn6CHv2fmnrXa/s320/Pomeranian.jpg" width="289" /></a></div><br />
Me: I want an Australian cattle dog just like Mad Max had in the movies.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4y-t5AvNwQjcsM1imAndmXSI3YPwQuaNolQ5tmbXWyXGr69U9H5T52arYt2Lrpns6MB7IEp5REw_5y_WnQSnap7ekEUcJKhimyX_BpBlu7-v3hqEMj2DAcb1-od_of6UokocO/s1600/mad-max-dog.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="201" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4y-t5AvNwQjcsM1imAndmXSI3YPwQuaNolQ5tmbXWyXGr69U9H5T52arYt2Lrpns6MB7IEp5REw_5y_WnQSnap7ekEUcJKhimyX_BpBlu7-v3hqEMj2DAcb1-od_of6UokocO/s320/mad-max-dog.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Him: I want a car just like Mad Max.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiViNWJFNhPszaIfMzK5XffQKo-_0xFHLiKXQZy8rtnffGFEUW-1_rTbBp4QUA_Y4VJ1u8iORYr49zTds08il5T0_FMM2MvBXCREMXg-hr2mMjW4qIaf-CSgmgOzywZ2DqYcqM/s1600/mad-max-car.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiViNWJFNhPszaIfMzK5XffQKo-_0xFHLiKXQZy8rtnffGFEUW-1_rTbBp4QUA_Y4VJ1u8iORYr49zTds08il5T0_FMM2MvBXCREMXg-hr2mMjW4qIaf-CSgmgOzywZ2DqYcqM/s320/mad-max-car.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Odds are none of us will get what we want. Oh well, we all know groceries and a car seat would never fit inside the back of that thing and none of us would want to stoop to scoop poop in the city so yeah, it's never gonna happen.<br />
<br />
Motherbumper: crushing dreams since 2005.motherbumperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053978199395919666noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24927410.post-46330077576432785892011-01-03T11:27:00.003-05:002011-01-03T16:09:56.108-05:00Kids Renaissance: Week 1<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZQ0p7OcIxgAaDF95gyCdulrRa5e9AO15JFTT8jIw16c3HartzbQZ5sVncj2jkFDmx8sxR8QI4vUt3YXXdVaMTvKNrGs-BBXC6EXkx_sP7l7AdP0LP5eJCqwS4GaoUFZQWqEKu/s1600/iStock_000011238093XSmall.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="131" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZQ0p7OcIxgAaDF95gyCdulrRa5e9AO15JFTT8jIw16c3HartzbQZ5sVncj2jkFDmx8sxR8QI4vUt3YXXdVaMTvKNrGs-BBXC6EXkx_sP7l7AdP0LP5eJCqwS4GaoUFZQWqEKu/s200/iStock_000011238093XSmall.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>It has turned into an annual event. Each year after Christmas, my husband and daughter take off to his parents place and momma gets some sweet, sweet alone time. And during that time (<a href="http://www.motherbumper.com/2010/12/fever-has-broken-state-of-being-alone.html">when I'm not deathly ill</a>) a great purge takes place in our home.<br />
<br />
For a family of three, we have far too much stuff and I'm sure this is an affliction that many of my fellow bloggers know too well. Most of the time the purge is fairly easy to execute but a wall is always hit when I get to my child's stuff. Sure it's easy to lob the Happy Meal toys and other <strike>trash</strike> treasures that will never be missed into the garbage bin but one thing I have a really hard time getting rid of is her art work.<br />
<br />
The creative energy is strong with my five year old, I say. Always has been and hopefully always will be.<br />
<a name='more'></a>If we kept it all, we would have smothered to death under the weight of paper and be the focus of an upcoming A&E investigative special. But what should we do with the artwork we just can't toss? Currently all her extra special creations are filed away in a series of accordion folders which are only opened quickly once a week when her school file comes home, laden with more 'keepsakes'. But even those deemed special enough to keep are threatening to take over far too much precious shelf space. This begs the question:<b> </b><br />
<br />
<b>For my daughter's inevitable therapy sessions, how much of her artwork should I keep in order to avoid any future discussions with regards to how awful a parent I was by not cherishing all her creative endeavors?</b><br />
<br />
Right after I asked myself that exact question last week, I came up with this idea: why not showcase it here? I know that almost every parent thinks their child is a talented and creative artist -- because despite what anyone else says: THEY ARE -- and why not share it with the world? Kids are incredibly creative and there is something very humbling about the simplicity of a child's perspective of their world.<br />
<br />
So here it begins on the first Monday of 2011, a piece from my daughter's gallery entitled 'Butterfly'.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCSU98d68Q3-7LhRBo2FsLNt9t_FsbCKXcrvN_B-qUo_dNu0MoAvxeWSpGUH8gWkvP14BTtG-30wHvzqtsQYn-VEoTsAuw95TbQWSlNBunI6rtBshKG9K0_kxqovet2VOB3SMz/s1600/butterflies-and-sunshine.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="251" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCSU98d68Q3-7LhRBo2FsLNt9t_FsbCKXcrvN_B-qUo_dNu0MoAvxeWSpGUH8gWkvP14BTtG-30wHvzqtsQYn-VEoTsAuw95TbQWSlNBunI6rtBshKG9K0_kxqovet2VOB3SMz/s400/butterflies-and-sunshine.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">By Gigi, Age 5. Medium: Markers and Paper.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<b>Please do the same at your blog, create a virtual corner for your child's artwork before it's tossed -- I mean filed away -- and share a link in the comments below. I promise I will drop by and tell you that you are also raising a member of the future renaissance, because you probably are.</b><br />
<br />
Come on now, share. Make these blog posts a virtual fridge gallery for the world to enjoy.motherbumperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053978199395919666noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24927410.post-69710447872365076682010-12-29T11:53:00.000-05:002010-12-29T11:53:15.587-05:00Fever Has Broken: The State Of Being Alone.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsjbpgUOzxCQNbA42N16A37UDhzso-if21ZCN_yJ_s_H6qXBISntMYn0cTo6ivN-MyLlm6u7tASI-j-omwg-Dqv7b6d3O0nqp3Dv5aVL9Dek6I88svYH5r7g7DMhQ2cJv_3oSa/s1600/cold-fx-bobblehead.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsjbpgUOzxCQNbA42N16A37UDhzso-if21ZCN_yJ_s_H6qXBISntMYn0cTo6ivN-MyLlm6u7tASI-j-omwg-Dqv7b6d3O0nqp3Dv5aVL9Dek6I88svYH5r7g7DMhQ2cJv_3oSa/s200/cold-fx-bobblehead.jpg" width="101" /></a>Originally I had started writing a post about how much I love being alone but the topic was sidelined by my body. Good thing that both topics fit on the same page.<br />
<br />
My family left me on Boxing Day to visit the grandparents and I stayed here in the city to get things done, those things that require no one under foot (<i>purging closets and wardrobes</i>), writing, and work.<br />
<br />
Too bad my body didn't agree with this solitary break.<br />
<br />
About two weeks ago I developed what seemed like a normal cold. I felt crappy, nothing horrible, just general yuck. So I took some daytime cold medicine and went on my merry way. At night I'd take lots of vitamin C and Cold-FX, drink my fluids and get plenty of sleep, just like momma ordered.<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
But I just couldn't shake it. My chest was heavy, an annoying cough developed and threatened to make me produce snot-bubbles in public, plus my eyes felt like they were on fire. It hurt to blink which was no exaggeration. It felt like sand and broken glass were under my lids so I consulted those medical types and started treatment for pink eye. Personally I haven't experienced pink eye in eons but our 5yo gets it at least once a year so I knew the drill. Wash all the pillowcases, keep the hands clean, and for the love of Pete, DON'T TOUCH YOUR EYES. Usually after a couple days of treatment it goes away but instead mine seemed to get worse.<br />
<br />
The odd day was taken off from work, some days I worked from home, and honestly I really did take good care of myself yet nothing worked. Christmas came and I woke up sick as ever with family about to arrive on our doorstep for turkey time. I would have rather rolled over and stayed in bed but no such luck. Turkey won't cook itself yanno.<br />
<br />
But I survived the day and that evening I crawled back to bed knowing full well that the family was leaving tomorrow and that all the sleep very much needed would be soon achieved.<br />
<br />
Sleep I did not get. Instead I woke up with eyes worse than ever, swollen completely shut, so I made my way to urgent care in hopes that they had a miracle cure (<i>ten years I worked in the hospitals and I still believe the myth that they can cure all that ails you. I'm such a glass-half-full person</i>.) Quick exam after a long wait and the ENT specialist informed me that what I had was untreatable. The sound I made at that pronouncement sounded like a wounded animal death wail.<br />
<br />
He obviously felt sorry for me and after some consultation on his iPhone app that I presumed was for difficult patients, he said he would write a script for a stronger antibiotic plus an antihistamine that can be applied directly to the eyes.<br />
<br />
'<i>You have a drug plan, right?</i>' were his parting words.<br />
<br />
After a trip to the pharmacy, I understood the last statement. Ouch, even with the drug plan.<br />
<br />
Yet despite his negative nancy attitude, the drugs did work and lo' behold, days later my eyes were nearly back to normal.<br />
<br />
But guess what? That very evening I developed a deep cough. A cough so deep and heavy that I felt like my chest was being crushed by an elephant. Then I felt cold, oh so very cold, yet my face was flushed. I staggered to the hall closet and found the digital thermometer and discovered my temp was 102. AWE. SOME.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwJguVv0U6TBIxCt33o5dEyQxKOlC0sHzO7hf8cifsm1QkN9mYuerBs3KFFNghN9v_Xh1luszcZ2XzQEkhQs6JT4qaDP7-yGEkl4ahN3VFq3rMcj4zimGetg_FP4_K1K_BKsyL/s1600/cat-paw.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwJguVv0U6TBIxCt33o5dEyQxKOlC0sHzO7hf8cifsm1QkN9mYuerBs3KFFNghN9v_Xh1luszcZ2XzQEkhQs6JT4qaDP7-yGEkl4ahN3VFq3rMcj4zimGetg_FP4_K1K_BKsyL/s200/cat-paw.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm gonna get ya</td></tr>
</tbody></table>So that's how you want to play it body? Way to show me who is boss. Uncle. You win.<br />
<br />
To bed I went, getting nothing done on my list since the idea of just lifting my head seemed impossible.<br />
<br />
As I lay there, too uncomfortable to sleep, pushing the cat away who kept sticking his paw in my mouth (<i>no lie, why did he keep doing that?</i>), I remembered what it was like to live on my own. For years I lived on my own, no roommates, with just a phone as my lifeline. I love being on my own which is why I look forward to this annual week alone event each year.<br />
<br />
I am a solitary person, a loner if you will, despite the fact that I have many friends. Anyone who really knows me, knows that I'd rather be on my own any day. Sure, I love my family and friends so much so that if I could teleport them back right now, I'd do it, but it doesn't change the fact that I need lots of "me time".<br />
<br />
I know many people who cannot stand being alone. They are constantly planning get-togethers, events, and making sure that every last minute is filled with friends and family. Good for them though I sometimes wonder if they are scared to be alone? Being alone means being alone with your thoughts (<i>though in my case being alone means being with two crotchety old cats who like to stick their paws in my mouth when I'm snoring</i>). Being alone allows for self-reflection and I could not, would not, trade those small epiphanies for anything. Self-reflection can and will change your life and keeping the time to do this at bay because of a fear of being alone can be detrimental. If you don't know yourself, how can others get to know you?<br />
<br />
Trust me, I know this from experience.<br />
<br />
Maybe you don't need a week alone to sort out life. But I do wonder how many people out there do take the time -- an hour, day, or week -- to find themselves, ground themselves, and set the ship on the right course? My body may have rebelled against me from getting things done this week but at least the alone time brought me some all important mental health.<br />
<br />
Do you take this all important time for yourself? Do it. If you don't my cat will come over and stick his paw in your mouth.motherbumperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053978199395919666noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24927410.post-75744281774286941742010-12-20T08:00:00.038-05:002010-12-20T13:59:00.851-05:00For The Memory Box: Edition 1899<div class="ii gt" id=":223"><div id=":224">File these two under moments I do not want to forget:<br />
<br />
My 5yo asked me if she could listen to the song where '<i>the guy who sings like a girl but isn't. You know the one that ends with the squid.</i>'<br />
<br />
The blank star must have given me away because she then proceeded to make that '<i>ugh parents</i>' exasperated sigh which she punctuated with <i>'you know, THE SQUID</i>'.<br />
<br />
Like yelling '<i>the squid</i>' louder really helped.<br />
<br />
This child is going to be the death of me during the teen years. <br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<br />
She then jumped off her bed, defying any protests from me for her to get right back in bed, stomped out to the living room, fished the iTouch out of my purse, and proceeded to locate the song by <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sRYNYb30nxU" target="_blank">The Darkness <i>I Believe In A Thing Called Love</i></a> in 2.2 seconds.<br />
<br />
Oh right, the squid.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC_7dm86YV7wAo_Rowz_L8jFUltMHqDoUdWW5zkn1QePuD7Wph9YNN0999cH5nr_Kvhvf_UukpypFJL_xj2b2De-lOUiZbaOE-cgMYximLicxrZDWZ1XifZLX6SxYL31bS9ozb/s1600/squid.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="222" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC_7dm86YV7wAo_Rowz_L8jFUltMHqDoUdWW5zkn1QePuD7Wph9YNN0999cH5nr_Kvhvf_UukpypFJL_xj2b2De-lOUiZbaOE-cgMYximLicxrZDWZ1XifZLX6SxYL31bS9ozb/s400/squid.png" width="400" /></a></div></div><div id=":224">You know, the squid that the lead singer -- who is a guy but sounds like a girl -- kills with a laser coming out of his forehead because it's attacked the band's space ship. A space ship that appears to consist of a band stand and a round bed with satin sheets that facilitate the writhing of the lead singer who looks like he hit every stick on the way down in his fall from the 70s tree twenty years too late.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6kWGSdXxjIWSyc0GCSUHZ9HV775rqpC9j8qrlEYh4gVo6cMo1iONq4L9XfIix7u7549bqfjjhY6Am2u_WzWxDncOhjT-weHJJFpufndGjyqu3BDDzcelq90_hUGC6pJvFOBsO/s1600/kill-squid.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6kWGSdXxjIWSyc0GCSUHZ9HV775rqpC9j8qrlEYh4gVo6cMo1iONq4L9XfIix7u7549bqfjjhY6Am2u_WzWxDncOhjT-weHJJFpufndGjyqu3BDDzcelq90_hUGC6pJvFOBsO/s400/kill-squid.png" width="400" /></a></div><br />
Perhaps letting her watch that particular music video was not the best parenting decision to date. She absorbs way too much of the stuff I don't want her to absorb. Isn't that always the way?<br />
<br />
Well I won't beat myself up, I'm sure we all have <strike>a hundred dozen</strike> one of those in our books. Right?<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;">******************</div>Also for the virtual memory book:<br />
<br />
Seeing her bounce out of her room -- after bedtime -- in a sparkly outfit with tutus around her face and announcing '<i>look Mom and Dad, I'm a flower!</i>' and then dancing back to her room before either of can say '<wbr></wbr><i>getbacktoyourroomrightnooooooo</i><wbr></wbr><i>ooooow!</i>'<br />
<br />
Totally wish I had a video camera mounted to my head.<br />
<br />
Can't lie: Also wish I had a way to keep her in her room after bedtime. </div></div>motherbumperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053978199395919666noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24927410.post-6183514970980519732010-12-19T23:53:00.007-05:002010-12-24T18:44:49.991-05:00Be Your Own Barista (Tassimo T20 Giveaway!)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV8Nrmx93WnqOsE3vUO4q0pEYMG2jp7InOLUXbl4JTMh_sKTGEmfNWUG_Ly6hYjnete_6Kar9ju9CowoRKQKp1P0zI2mg2GUFhUBHI4pe6hZIOljzyscPK9vbGUNcTpakHeA8e/s1600/tassimo-brewbot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV8Nrmx93WnqOsE3vUO4q0pEYMG2jp7InOLUXbl4JTMh_sKTGEmfNWUG_Ly6hYjnete_6Kar9ju9CowoRKQKp1P0zI2mg2GUFhUBHI4pe6hZIOljzyscPK9vbGUNcTpakHeA8e/s200/tassimo-brewbot.jpg" width="155" /></a></div><i>This week I'm hosting a giveaway for US readers. <a href="http://www.tassimodirect.com/">Tassimo</a> asked if I wanted to try a Tassimo T20 Brewbot and give one away to a reader. Since I consider myself a coffee junkie I figured why not, I've always wondered how these machines compare to 'normal' coffee makers. Not to imply that Tassimos are 'weird' but the fact that these machines can read bar codes does put it in a different category. We all know that inventions like this bring us one step closer to the robot uprising, don't we? (Tassimo is never going to ask me to review their stuff ever again so enter the giveaway while you can. Details below.)</i><br />
<br />
First of all I need to tell you that the <a href="http://www.tassimodirect.com/home.aspx">Tassimo T20</a> is not a robot despite the fact that it is a brewbot and if you go over to the <a href="http://www.tassimodirect.com/tassimo/brewbot/#/about/">Brewbot</a> site, the first coffee machine you see on the screen goes all Optimus Prime on what I assume would be my coffee cup. I'm not fooled by that smile.<br />
<i><a name='more'></a></i><br />
Anyway. It turns out there is no such thing as a <i>real</i> brewbot which took about four emails to clear up when I was discussing the product with the folks at Tassimo. Good thing they told me this otherwise I'd probably still be shouting at it to get out of the box and get to work because if there is anything I learned from The Jetson's, it's to never tolerate a lazy robot.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxzJ0tAOKlUktlUXqKl5oDxM1NvZOihyoAn8KpEHqPunxgK_w5_td6fkohFt2_r-0DO9t66WQVQXo63LH1oG8o7RcAZ5gmZi0T063yTdP1uqNC6AHiqFlYtP-KEFKXO4pkic6n/s1600/tassimo-t20.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxzJ0tAOKlUktlUXqKl5oDxM1NvZOihyoAn8KpEHqPunxgK_w5_td6fkohFt2_r-0DO9t66WQVQXo63LH1oG8o7RcAZ5gmZi0T063yTdP1uqNC6AHiqFlYtP-KEFKXO4pkic6n/s400/tassimo-t20.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<br />
Now despite the fact that this machine will not serve me coffee in bed (unless I put it on my bedside table), it does serve me coffee faster than any other machine I've ever owned. It also has served me hot chocolate and it could serve me cappuccinos or teas or espressos or lattes which is something my '<i>normal</i>' coffee maker can't do.<br />
<br />
Poor inadequate '<i>normal</i>' coffee maker.<br />
<br />
<i>Oh I'm kidding my 'normal' coffee maker, you do a great job every morning brewing my daily pot of lifeblood but this here Tassimo T20, you don't need to worry about her. She just makes those little one-offs, '</i><i>quickies' if you will, and they don't mean anything baby, nothing at all. Hush now, you aren't going anywhere.</i><br />
<br />
While my '<i>normal</i>' coffee maker has nothing to worry about, the Tassimo T20 is pretty cool. The Gelivia coffee discs that were included with the machine were perfectly measured to my tastes and if I was single again, this would be cover my daily coffee needs. These days I can see the advantage of having the ability to make a single cup of coffee at midday when I sometimes need just one more cup. It would also be great for guests since I could offer them a plethora of hot bevvys -- not that I ever have guests over but for this exercise I'd like to pretend there is an active social life somewhere in reach.<br />
<br />
The drink discs were easy to find at our grocery store, and also priced well for a fast hot drink (<i>around a buck a cup for the more expensive brands like Starbucks, less for others</i>). So far we like the Gelivia coffee and Starbucks Cappuccino but the hot chocolate was <i>meh</i> -- it reminded me of the watery hot chocolate out of the machines at my university student union and that's not a a compliment. Mind you, my husband switched out one of the creamy discs from the Starbuck's Cappuccino and mixed it with the hot chocolate and declared it tolerable. I'm also surprised how much my husband likes the machine. He's really happy that he can fit his thermos mug in the well and brew a hot cup of something before heading out to the schoolyard for pick-up on those days when it's -25.<br />
<br />
Overall the coffee drinkers of this household gave it two thumbs up even though we agree it doesn't replace a multi-cup brewing system. Yet the machine gets lots of bonus points for the multiple beverage choices plus ridiculous ease of use.<br />
<br />
Now for the giveaway! I will pick one lucky comment via Random.org and they will receive a Tassimo T20 Brewbot (note: not real robot). One entry per email address, residents of the continental US over the age of 18 years, and must be able to provide a valid mailing address (no PO Boxes).<br />
<br />
Leave a comment below and include which one of the different beverages would you want to brew first with your new <a href="http://www.tassimodirect.com/tassimo/brewbot/#/beverages/">Tassimo T20 if you win -- go here for a list of the of drinks</a>. Contest Closes December 24th, 2010 at 5pm EST. Good Luck!<br />
<br />
<div style="color: #cc0000; text-align: center;"><b>UPDATE DECEMBER 24th: </b><br />
<b>CONTEST NOW CLOSED. GOOD LUCK AND MERRY CHRISTMAS!</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b style="color: #cc0000;">WINNER WILL BE ANNOUNCED SHORTLY.</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><i>FYI: I received the brewer and products at no cost for review and all opinions are mine own. Booyah.</i>motherbumperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053978199395919666noreply@blogger.com155tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24927410.post-43894707283478264372010-12-13T12:22:00.003-05:002010-12-19T23:55:42.493-05:00It's A Wrap! And It's Giveaway Time!<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOl-voO8mp-ny6nkW-1eCRpo0JysZPICRERZkC1qWlhRhkXE7lzKOW7Qs_NyFfva7_YgSdKrR4LJCCKQ1ke4XWt1uHm-oU_Qu496GbrxFPzr0Ph6XkeLV27biIAB0Vet8x0uEs/s1600/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOl-voO8mp-ny6nkW-1eCRpo0JysZPICRERZkC1qWlhRhkXE7lzKOW7Qs_NyFfva7_YgSdKrR4LJCCKQ1ke4XWt1uHm-oU_Qu496GbrxFPzr0Ph6XkeLV27biIAB0Vet8x0uEs/s1600/images.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">via lolcats.com</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Holy blatant exclamation point abuse in that title Batman but I just love hosting Canadian giveaways so I feel justified in my excitement (<i>sorry America but I do have a giveaway coming your way ASAP so stay tuned</i>.) But back to this giveaway.<br />
<br />
So who here has a cat? I have two of those little furry babies who are not so little and they aren't really babies either. Both are almost twelve years old and incredibly crotchety, rarely moving unless food is involved.<br />
<br />
BUT they do move for something else, something that is often seen this time of year: WRAPPING PAPER! Those little dudes make wrapping Christmas gifts an exercise is frustration because nothing is more nerve wracking in the realm of wrapping when you must battle to keep a six-pound Chewabacca from stealing supplies. I'm not sure why they love to dive into the crinkly paper and don't get me started about what it's like if ribbon is involved.<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
And if you have kids to compound the issue, tape also becomes a headache because who has had a child steal the tape and then unfurl the ENTIRE ROLL leaving you to close off a package with plaster bandages and Dora stickers? Don't laugh, it's happened to me on more than one occasion (<i>okay, laugh because it totally deserves mocking</i>).<br />
<br />
Don't even get me started on finding sharp scissors when needing to trim wrapping paper. 'Tis the season to lose all the wrapping supplies into the vortex of missing socks and the like. <br />
<br />
So wouldn't it be wonderful if someone gave you a basket full of wrapping supplies that included pre-cut tape dispenser that you can strap to the back of your hand? And double-sided tape? And special gift-wrap tape? And Magic Tape? AND TITANIUM-INFUSED SCISSORS THAT CAN CUT ALMOST ANYTHING? Because I want to do that for you. Oh and so does <a href="http://draft.blogger.com/goog_1154897036">Scotch Brand</a><a href="http://www.scotchtape.ca/"> Tape</a> who actually makes all of the things I just listed.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPEcPiQBWNuXnmlAmQjvaZdxVC6xHK7He464sxs1omlrf1J6aTWFYQushKlv-BFtDtrIVmv2d8ALH2DqRhesM8KC0OSVf0zAFG_c8om6zAUg7BHVPyerq4bd_UxMRC8Dc4bmsJ/s1600/3M_Scotch_HolidayPack.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="299" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPEcPiQBWNuXnmlAmQjvaZdxVC6xHK7He464sxs1omlrf1J6aTWFYQushKlv-BFtDtrIVmv2d8ALH2DqRhesM8KC0OSVf0zAFG_c8om6zAUg7BHVPyerq4bd_UxMRC8Dc4bmsJ/s320/3M_Scotch_HolidayPack.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<br />
Anyway. <a href="http://www.scotchtape.ca/">Scotch Brand Tape</a> invited me to host a give away -- disclosure: I received a gift basket of goodies in exchange for hosting this giveaway -- and I'm going to pick one lucky comment from this post to receive a gift basket of Scotch Brand goodies too! Contest is open to Canadian residents only and you can leave one comment per email address on this post between now and December 17th at 5pm EST. I will pick one winner via Random.org and contact them asap so you can hopefully get these goodies in time for Christmas. PLEASE LEAVE YOUR EMAIL ADDRESS in the comment.<br />
<br />
Easy Peasy.<br />
<br />
And because Scotch Brand Tape knows the cool home-decor specialist Lynn Spence (<i>you know her from the pages of Canadian Home and Country or my fav Chatelaine -- plus she is often a guest on CityLine</i>), she shared the Twelve Tips Of Christmas Wrapping with me to pass along to you. I'm a wee bit surprised that she didn't include how to make gift-wrapping into a drinking game but maybe she'll take that under advisement for next year:<br />
<ol><li>Stock Up – Before you start wrapping, make sure you have all of the necessary supplies. Quality scissors and tape will make the gift wrapping experience a breeze (see proof points below): </li>
<li>Stay Sharp – Have a sharp pair of scissors, such as Scotch Precision Ultra Edge Scissors, for cutting paper and other materials. It will allow you to achieve greater precision with your cuts. And if tape on your scissors is a pet peeve, Scotch Precision Ultra Edge Non-Stick Scissors use non-stick technology that means no more sticky build up on blades.</li>
<li>One of a Kind Tags – You can make your own gift tags by using the back of old holiday cards. Cut pictures or words from magazines, and paste them on the gift card to make it festive. Voila! Your own customized gift tag.</li>
<li>Go Glam – Add luxury to your packages with glamorous materials such as metallic papers that will make anyone feel spoiled. Fashioned inspired animal print or sophisticated quilted paper will look luxurious under the tree.</li>
<li>Mix It Up – Move away from traditional wrapping paper by incorporating new textures such as rice, foil and matte papers into your wrapping repertoire. Mixed colours and patterns are also a great way to add visual interest to your presents. </li>
<li>Au Natural – For a more organic, eco look, use recycled papers or materials such as linen, Kraft paper, fabric remnants, burlap or a fabulous vintage scarf. </li>
<li>In Lieu of Glue – For tasks where you’d traditional use glue, reach for Scotch® Double-Sided Tape, a no-mess alternative for light duty attaching and mounting tasks.</li>
<li>Fit to Be Tied – Homemade bows are easier to make than you think. Simply tie the ribbon as you would a shoelace, and use fresh greens or other ornamentation to “dress up” the package. The recipient will surely be impressed with the “professional look” of the present!</li>
<li>Stay Seamless – Scotch GiftWrap Tape features a unique satin finish that disappears on most gift wrap papers. Makes all your gifts look great! Easy to dispense and sticks securely.</li>
<li>Make It Last – The joy of giving is always in style but before you start wrapping gifts, make sure you stock up on quality tape like Scotch Brand to ensure your packages stay sealed until its time to unwrap them. </li>
<li>Waste Not, Want Not – Get creative with scraps of paper, ribbons and other found items to add pizzazz to your wrapping and help the environment by keeping these items out of the waste basket. </li>
<li>‘Tis the Season – Before you start gift wrapping, put on some holiday music, relax and have fun! Remember – it’s the thought that counts!</li>
</ol>Lynn also forgot tips on how to gift wrap the cat to get him out of the way for the rest of your gift wrapping session. Call me Lynn, I have tons more like this:<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><object height="340" width="560"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/jm3dm5J5r0A?fs=1&hl=en_US&rel=0&hd=1&color1=0x2b405b&color2=0x6b8ab6"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/jm3dm5J5r0A?fs=1&hl=en_US&rel=0&hd=1&color1=0x2b405b&color2=0x6b8ab6" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="560" height="340"></embed></object></div><br />
Good luck and Happy Wrapping!<br />
<br />
Winner has been selected: Congrats to <span dir="ltr">Skwishee!</span>motherbumperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053978199395919666noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24927410.post-40027091304291071082010-12-08T09:00:00.007-05:002010-12-08T09:00:07.547-05:00What's That? You Want To Know What I Want? Funny You Should Ask...<div style="float: left; margin-right: 5px;"><img src="http://www.urbanmoms.ca/UrbanMoms-Network.jpg" /></div><div style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">This Holiday post is<br />
sponsored as part of the UrbanMoms Network.</div><div style="clear: both;"></div><br />
So here's the thing about doing gift shopping and please chime in if you know what I'm talking about because I'm sure most of you do. The applicable Murphy's Law of Shopping for Gifts is:<br />
<blockquote><i>thou shall not find gifts for thee intended but ye shall find many treasures to suit thyself</i></blockquote>Why do we find all the stuff we want when we are shopping for others when we totally should not be buying for ourselves? <i>WHY</i>? We all know that when we finally get a chance to actually buy stuff for ourselves, the store shelves are as bare as Jacob's chest in 98% of Eclipse.<br />
<br />
Why yes I do speak about myself as a 'we'. It makes me feel taller. And yes, I made a Twilight reference. Stop judging me.<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
Anyway. I was invited to share a smattering of the holiday gifts I'd buy myself if I could and these things would totally be on the shelf, all in the same store, and completely within my price range. Since I'm completely delusional, I decided to take this to the max: things that I would buy as holiday gifts for myself if the sky was the limit and my guilt for over-spending suddenly disappeared.<br />
<br />
For starters, all these gifts will be wrapped in beautiful boxes with huge soft and flowing satin bows and then presented to me as total surprises by Viggo Mortensen. Because we all know that the likelihood of these gifts ever actually being in my possession is highly improbable so I might as well extend the fiction to include the ability to give myself totally awesome surprise gifts while including a total hottie.<br />
<br />
So without further ado, this is what I would buy for myself if given a bottomless gift card to every store on the earth:<br />
<br />
(1) Lots of these solar globe lights and let's ignore the fact that I do not have lawn to put these on. I'm sure my neighbors wouldn't mind if they roll down the apartment hallways endlessly roaming in search of light sources and taking down old ladies in the process. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqowx3WzTmVwLLVbEKwRiOUyPvTtGL6QO-wJ_9RM3IjBAGzrGl0u-7pB_sz9dIfQdNJ9uF7WUGEpD4yYNdleg5dPAeQTxU-iu4lDs0_Mm53tSqnRGHNNu9O_Mqcpd8iFK5MkN0/s1600/solar-globe-lights.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqowx3WzTmVwLLVbEKwRiOUyPvTtGL6QO-wJ_9RM3IjBAGzrGl0u-7pB_sz9dIfQdNJ9uF7WUGEpD4yYNdleg5dPAeQTxU-iu4lDs0_Mm53tSqnRGHNNu9O_Mqcpd8iFK5MkN0/s320/solar-globe-lights.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">'By golly Bertha, I think they are coming from 11A'</td></tr>
</tbody></table>It would be like a real-life edition of The Prisoner but without the groovy outfits and confusing storyline.<br />
<br />
(2) A super-sized king size bed that is soooo huge it might as well be called deity-size and it will come with Eygptian cotton sheets that have a minimum of a 8 million thread count and are softer than a baby's tushie. This bed would also have every kind of pillow known to man and is so far off the ground, not only do I need a ladder to get into bed, oxygen masks are available in case of sudden drops in air pressure.<br />
<br />
(3) A washer and dryer. Wait, that's pathetic. How about a 24-karat gold washer and dryer? Still pathetic but I want them anyway. Might as well put a beautiful house around that 24-karat washer and dryer to keep it safe. You know, nothing much, just <strike>three</strike> five bedrooms, lots of closet space, lots of land, completely environmentally friendly, off-grid, mortgage and tax free, in a nice neighborhood with perfect schools. Not too much to ask, right?<br />
<br />
(4) Vacation at a spot like this in the Maldives. After meeting two people who have vacationed there, I must, MUST go there some day. It's, it's, it's so blue.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQxLO2VY-jWKNgDtjP_2dSrhMyeo0ZjAxRwBjx4WTqgvfZ8cZcS70mwlJ60bS-1xnTwLUsek_GzGNhlKYUyD_EvleaZZYimNws30bTtZaVJ3s0TtpESFXtH-B8ik8CFB_5Bj0h/s1600/Maldives.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="207" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQxLO2VY-jWKNgDtjP_2dSrhMyeo0ZjAxRwBjx4WTqgvfZ8cZcS70mwlJ60bS-1xnTwLUsek_GzGNhlKYUyD_EvleaZZYimNws30bTtZaVJ3s0TtpESFXtH-B8ik8CFB_5Bj0h/s320/Maldives.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The bird brings you mojitos with extra umbrellas.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Yes, yes I know it's really rustic and there is not one ounce of exotic or beauty in this place and it sure as heck couldn't be relaxing at all but it has a certain je-ne-sais-quoi quality about it and if given the chance to buy a gift of a vacation for myself, this would probably be it. Someone has to do it and it's for the economy, really it is.<br />
<br />
For the record, this type vacation spot has been on my '<i>did you ask me what I want?</i>' wish list for a long time though not as long as number five.<br />
<br />
(5) A pony.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaPrxXRRcruNmzhxyV20Hcb1jaZqRQHWZKxC_SOb0KJRsSqmZ3SDEjQi4nF2IbR9owEgGfDZjsIpMrmzngw8qEqqcuCsHSmYGur7Frej7Hc4R7_JVJgocy_x0KZGlDXwxDT0LK/s1600/pony.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="232" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaPrxXRRcruNmzhxyV20Hcb1jaZqRQHWZKxC_SOb0KJRsSqmZ3SDEjQi4nF2IbR9owEgGfDZjsIpMrmzngw8qEqqcuCsHSmYGur7Frej7Hc4R7_JVJgocy_x0KZGlDXwxDT0LK/s320/pony.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">does this come in plaid?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Almost thirty years in the asking and I figure if no one is going to buy it for me then it's going on my holiday gifts that I'd buy myself.<br />
<br />
All this talk of my ultimate holiday gifts is pretty selfish and look at you being so patient on your journey to the point of my post: How about I tell you something useful like that there is a chance to win a <a href="http://www.urbanmoms.ca/tres_chic/2010/12/i-want-it-now.html">gift certificate to Old Navy over at Urban Moms</a>? A chance to win a gift certificate that you can spend on yourself because no worries, I won't tell your family or loved ones if you win. You totally deserve it. Just go on over to <a href="http://www.urbanmoms.ca/tres_chic/2010/12/i-want-it-now.html">Urban Moms to enter</a>.<br />
<br />
<i>Full disclosure: I was compensated for this post by the Urban Moms Network who are a pretty darn cool. You should totally check them out.</i>motherbumperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053978199395919666noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24927410.post-38006200828257703322010-12-03T22:07:00.003-05:002010-12-06T22:14:50.777-05:00As Long As She Doesn't Ask To Peroxide Her Hair, I Claim No Harm Done.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPAThkDxmwRNhhWOwb_TJ2BOURRV8UFQ_jvaT44h8o15zahVm1v3-sMkbjw9VMK011Utm5umaqg8jSVRWvzd5-6WcMUsOGaczwzQWh_Ni-eajKvgwcfG7-vpVnBnJcNFYoAfn8/s1600/television.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPAThkDxmwRNhhWOwb_TJ2BOURRV8UFQ_jvaT44h8o15zahVm1v3-sMkbjw9VMK011Utm5umaqg8jSVRWvzd5-6WcMUsOGaczwzQWh_Ni-eajKvgwcfG7-vpVnBnJcNFYoAfn8/s1600/television.jpg" /></a></div>One thing that has gone really well since my <a href="http://www.motherbumper.com/2010/10/time-may-change-me-but-i-cant-trace.html" target="_blank">return to outside work</a> is the significant drop in TV viewing hours in my girl's life. It wasn't overboard before but now it's severely restricted, well at least it is on weekdays. Weekends are mini-vacations from the rules (<i>cut me some slack, I need to fulfill my inner lame anarchist</i>) so the telly is on a bit longer but it's still less than before.<br />
<br />
Since the reduction, our girl has learned to chose her shows wisely so it was a surprise when the expected background noise of Toopy and Binoo during the meal prep (her tv time) was replaced with something else. My daughter has fallen for a '<i>big kid</i>' show and we have yet to find any reason to object to her requests.<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<br />
No, no, <a href="http://www.motherbumper.com/2010/08/hannah-montana-syndrome-dont-let-it.html">Hannah Montana</a> isn't back, that will happen over my dead body. <br />
<br />
My 5yo girl loves <a href="http://www.aetv.com/billy-the-exterminator/index.jsp" target="_blank">Billy the Exterminator</a>. Yeah, that's right, she loves watching this guy:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit8_OW8gPH_apMltgLbpCwum9MyKAXEiPAfszn-BhcA6Sy_E4TzCujBKrTm6EoOvcJaDnmPVfbH3cNWarcLt3dOtAS-4d_X6c6FyocvPTiWwndwAQQbJ2T1NbL7sywErm16hHb/s1600/Billy+the+Exterminator.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit8_OW8gPH_apMltgLbpCwum9MyKAXEiPAfszn-BhcA6Sy_E4TzCujBKrTm6EoOvcJaDnmPVfbH3cNWarcLt3dOtAS-4d_X6c6FyocvPTiWwndwAQQbJ2T1NbL7sywErm16hHb/s400/Billy+the+Exterminator.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Billy is the one wearing sunglasses</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>For those not familiar with Billy. He kills pests of all kinds while wearing way too many spikes and lots of leather all-year-round in his homestate of Louisiana. With his somewhat tragic but intriguing hair (<i>think Bret Michaels meets <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUFSfPOMgYGf4MQUiScyOPSuxyJqiiwy7JSmNWlWCntovn37HnmUKK92D5y8uhC5UFHCJJeG0JFdYtvqpG__05c_7BIgqZLw9piheS29n49w5jW0tHUtw0LiMoLwcqnWRUX2wO/s1600/limahl.jpg">Limahl</a></i>), he works with his equally strange-coiffed brother and parents in the extermination business. A business that has business logos and uniforms that make everyone -- even his mom -- look like Danzig fans. Sure beats The Duggers in my humble opinion. Anyway, as he explained in a recent episode (<i>the one featuring an albino raccoon</i>) the reason he wears leather and spikes all year round is for those times when his intended prey get the upper hand. Sounds reasonable though it still doesn't explain the hair.<br />
<br />
Anyway. Billy strikes me as a pretty stand-up guy so we decided she could watch it. It's a science lesson for her - biology, zoology, entomology, and chemistry. Billy really knows his business and he does it as green and humane as possible. The inevitable swearing is all blanked out and I can't blame him for the occasional f-bombs, I can only imagine the profanities that would come out of my mouth if I ever pulled out a fridge with six-thousand cockroaches behind it. Trust me, it would make the hardiest of sailors blush like a school girl. My hatred of bugs is well documented on this <a href="http://www.motherbumper.com/2007/10/bugged.html">blog</a> and excuse me while a shiver goes up my spine.<br />
<br />
So how do we feel about our daughter's viewing choice? The only downside so far has been those commercials for <a href="http://www.aetv.com/intervention/index.jsp" target="_blank">Intervention</a>. Trust me: those commercials are totally not suitable for a 5yo unless you feel like opening the discussion about drug addiction to the kindergarten set. Not my cup of playdough thankyouverymuch. So far we've successfully made the grab of the remote to block out any potential hard-hitting questions but you just know she's going to pull out the '<i>what's meth?</i>' question in front of my parents.<br />
<br />
I figure as long as she doesn't ask us to peroxide her hair and wear it in a spiky mullet, no harm done.motherbumperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053978199395919666noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24927410.post-11389762462314760002010-11-25T07:14:00.002-05:002010-11-25T09:06:40.041-05:00How Festive. I Think.<a href="http://www.netflix.ca/">Netflix.ca</a> offered me a complimentary membership to try out their service (<i>thank you Netflix, please don't take it away after reading this post</i>) and after signing up last night, I filled out a short survey that apparently would help the service recommend movies and television me and my family would enjoy.<br />
<br />
So as we flipped through the personalized menu, movies that I actually would watch were popping up all over the place, it was a good sign.<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<br />
Not a good sign though? When we got to horror - a favoured genre of ours - this is what we found:<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS-iRfAepGrg3IA8506t_WxS-rWDYc-rbN205U4kcWdc2jMju9mygLiCl5Pk7pPWGKXWH_uxpV_blIIadKp8EW1a1P6sEe9DA6fckmQ0kxnzHNoqiCtBLwC1vE31cCGhkfX5Rr/s1600/ThanksGiving_for_ThanksKilling.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS-iRfAepGrg3IA8506t_WxS-rWDYc-rbN205U4kcWdc2jMju9mygLiCl5Pk7pPWGKXWH_uxpV_blIIadKp8EW1a1P6sEe9DA6fckmQ0kxnzHNoqiCtBLwC1vE31cCGhkfX5Rr/s400/ThanksGiving_for_ThanksKilling.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">While on their way home for Thanksgiving break, five college kids run afoul of a homicidal turkey that wants them dead. As the cursed bird hunts them down one by one, the survivors scramble to find a way to defeat the possessed creature. Will the bloodthirsty turkey make this their last Thanksgiving feast ever?</td></tr>
</tbody></table> <br />
Happy ThanksKilling my sweet neighbours. Watch out for the revenge of the turkeys. Seriously folks, READ THE MOVIE DESCRIPTION.<br />
<br />
I cannot make this stuff up. Save some turkey for me, eh?motherbumperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16053978199395919666noreply@blogger.com4