*blink*

*blink*

*blink*

That would be the non-existent cursor on my computer screen.

It doesn't actually blink... in fact half the time I don't know where the little f**ker is until I hit a key but despite the fact it doesn't blink per se, I still hear it loud and clear.

*blink*

*blink*

Writing in this space has become a luxury I cannot afford and that makes me sad. BUT! I am writing. Just not here.

I'm proud of my writing elsewhere (namely:

• This Week In Muppets: Today's Jake Gyllenhaal Moment Was Brought To You By The Letter RWARR
• Pink Stinks: Or DOES IT?
• Yeah, I'm A Twilight Mom. What's It To You?
• Look Ma: I’m Watch List Worthy!
• Robin Gibb, How Deep is Your Love? Should I ask the Druid Priestess or the Housekeeper?

plus a whole bunch of other stuff over at The Bad Moms Club, Aiming Low, and MamaPop). But the writing I'm proud of is just not here.

And these are things I wanted to write about in this here space but haven't:

• The fact that I was going to stab my husband in bed the other night for suddenly getting up, going to the kitchen, and bringing back a bunch of Triscuits to eat in bed. AND I swear he used a megaphone to consume them and really drive the point home that he was EATING LOUD CRACKERS IN BED AT 3AM. Sadly I did not stab him because that would have made a better blog post (picture it, the prison diaries of a motherbumper -- I can hear the movie proposals already)
• That I've been reading recipe books like it's porn but have no intention of creating any of the delicious smut that tantalizes my eyes.
• The conservations that I'm having with my four-year old are comedy gold. Nothing is sacred in her realm and I LOVE IT. And I'm not writing any of it down because I'm a half-assed mom who likes to live in the now.
  

BUT! Yeah. Well... I haven't written any of those posts.

I also could have written about how proud I am that we decorated our Christmas tree this past weekend. Of course it's pretty easy to do that when you just pop the sucker out of the storage closet where you shoved it last year and then stick all twelve ornaments that survived the half-ass packing you did with the disclaimer "I'll repack this properly later..." which actually means sometime later in 2012 when I actually MIGHT HAVE SOME TIME. Bitter? No, not one bit.

We are all so damn busy. And by we, I mean you and me, and you over there in the corner, we are all so damn busy. Time is more precious than moon dust and moon pies these days. So what to do, what to do?

All I can do is keep my head down and keep on slogging.

Next time I'm not going to leave so much time between posts. That *blink* makes it really hard to form sentences much less coherent thoughts.

Yup, It's Monday

It's raining like it's Noah-time, my coffee isn't strong enough, and Mount Laundry has reached new heights.

Plus my so-called "baby" is turning four next week. This shocks me.

So I spent some time this weekend looking for a gift.

Do you think she'd prefer the Sir John A. Macdonald Canadian Legends action figure?

Or the Sir Wilfrid Laurier?

I guess it boils down to if she wants to pretend to be a prime minister who could actually form a majority government versus being the first French prime minister. Both had funky hair styles so it's a hard call.

Anyhow, this is the long way of me saying: I'm not really here... I'm at Aiming Low today talking about naughty stuff.

Misinformation: I never learn

Seriously, I bitch about someone I don't even know on my blog and karma comes and kicks my ass with a cold in the middle of a humidity heat wave. THANK YOU KARMA - just what I needed to remind me that payback is always waiting with his scythe to mow me down BIG TIME.

Payback is so unoriginal, he doesn't even pretend to not be ripping off the reaper, he just hangs out in a dirty bathrobe with a piece of rusty old school farm equipment waiting for whiny schleps like me to f-up and complain about something so trivial as lost "me" time just so he can slash me from behind.

Colds in the summer time ought to be illegal. Cold sweats while simultaneously feeling the relentless humidity of Sourthern Ontario is cruel, cruel, old skool. Mix that with quick dry cement in the sinuses, achey joints that rival my 100 year old neighbours, and a cough that also rivals that same crotchety codger and you have one pissy blogger.

Hell, that codger and I could have had a codge-off this past weekend if I could have lifted my head off the pillow long enough to whine in his direction. He'd probably counter that with a "Pillow?!! When I was your age, you were lucky if you got a bag of rocks to sleep on - AND THAT WAS ONLY IF YOU WERE ONE OF THOSE ROCKERFELLERS". Glorious Basterd.

ANYHOW -- the only joy I found this weekend besides watching this wonderful slice of Swedish Vampire Låt den rätte komma in (<-- that's me being all pretentious and referring to it by it's original name because I'M A TOTAL FILM SNOB, Y'ALL) was spreading misinformation to my child -- which is a family tradition of sorts.

This weekend my daughter stuck an unarmed ratchet driver in her belly button and when I lunged at her screaming "NO!" she assumed it was because it was dangerous.

But no... there was no imminent danger from this tool in her umbilicus, I just saw a golden opportunity to screw with her head because it's not often I can do it without repercussion.

So when I told her DO NOT DO THAT in mom-caw screech, she asked in a hush voice "why?"

And like my Father before me, I told her you never EVER unscrew your belly button lest your butt falls off.

Her eyes widened, my smile brightened, and all was well with the world of misinformation.

And so the torch is passed.

****

Today I'm over at Canada Moms Blog vexing over Junior Kindergarten and I'm also over at MamaPop hosting a Harry Potter Contest so get yee muggle butt still attached to your belly button over and enter now.

It's Monday and I'm Bejeweled

This is where a post would appear if I had actually sat down and written one last night instead of becoming hopelessly addicted to Bejeweled on the iTouch and losing all track of time. I actually fell asleep while clutching the game between my little paws and SB woke me up by laughing at my latest addiction. I certainly hope you are pleased with yourself MamaTulip -- I squarely place the blame on your shoulders for telling me about this game.

So pretend there is a post here right now and maybe it was funny, m'kay? Thanks.

[insert funny post here]


Anyone have any iTouch/iPhone games they are addicted to and care to share? Because I'm sure this will wear thin in a couple of weeks and momma needs a new form of escape.

Also, I've got a follow-up review on my night out with the Estée Lauder team in Chicago. At least I got that done (obviously done before I started matching jewels on an alien landscape). Photo shamelessly stolen from IzzyMom's twitpic account. She got to stand next to me while I gotz prettified.

contagious illusions of grandeur

When I worked at the Infectious Disease clinic (which was less infectious than it sounds), the head honcho doctor dude told me the two most filthy places we come in contact with on a regular basis are pop cans and envelopes. He told me this while leaning up against the front of my desk watching me lick a stack of 100 envelopes while drinking an icy cold pop in front of large oscillating fan. Dude was probably making my desk that much more infectious by leaning on it but he signed the cheques so I kept my mouth shut. This doctor always laughed when he talked so it was hard to get mad at him when he was handing you a death sentence via envelope glue.

Now it turns out I think of that dude each and every time I lick an envelope (hard habit to break). BUT his warning was not ignored: I do use straws for drinking from cans so the lesson wasn't completely lost. And boy oh boy, do people look at you strange when you order a can of Stella with a straw -- don't ask me if I want a glass to pour it in people, I'M NO SISSY and I don't know where that glass has been.

Anyhow, I'm not here today - IT'S JUST AN ILLUSION AND I'M THE ILLUSIONIST.

Actually I'm licking envelopes to send out stacks of real snail mail (I didn't even know the post office still existed). Seriously, when the dental claims people told me to "mail" in my claim, it took a lot of explaining on their part to help me understand they actually wanted something from me that I could not just click and point to them. LUDDITES I screamed into her ear (odds that my claim will be rejected: 98.7%).

So I'm over at Anissa Mayhew's today sharing one of the few travel stories I actually remember that doesn't involve jail time.

I'm also over at MamaPop marvelling at the fact that Elisabeth Hasselbeck has supposedly written a book (heavy emphasis on "supposedly")

Tuesday Roundup

Today I'm over at MamaPop slinging rumours about Paris and Madonna because they make it too easy. Or to be more accurate: it let's me get my meanies out without hurting those I love.

AND

Have you RSVP'd for The People's Party yet? NO? WHY NOT? Do it now, it will make you feel loved.

AND

Last day to win free rice from my inner Marie Antoinette on a diet.

AND

Someone said Tuesday never gives you anything. THEY LIE because I just proved them wrong. ENJOY!

(I'll stop shouting now.)

spill the beans

I'm over at MamaPop today talking about my guilty obsession with the team members from Paranormal State. Please (please) come over and visit; I have this fear of getting no comments and that is a shame I cannot live with.  Strangely enough I can live with the shame of publically stating that I would have totally gotten it on with a total square given the right circumstances, but that is there not here.

Anyhow, on with the motherbumpin' show....

The other day Gigi and I were on the subway travelling to meet SB. It wasn't rush hour when we left but it was in that pre-rush hour twilight where most seats are taken on the train. In other words, the crowds had not reached sardine status yet. Gigi and I had a seat together, she was on her knees looking out the window and I sat looking forward, trying to find zen during her extended period of distraction.

Her "but why" questions had ceased for the time-being and she was more interested in people watching. It is moments like this that makes for good public transportation with a preschooler. That is, until they invent teleportation devices built into strollers. They had better be working on that one, and if a parent is in charge, you know they totally are.

Anyhow, during this lull in what I frankly consider normal, if not exemplary preschooler behaviour, Gigi started the chant. You know, the repetitive chanting of a word or two that renders the word completely meaningless and instead turns it into a weapon of mass sanity destruction.

beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad 

It wasn't loud, she wasn't yelling, she was just chanting those words in a normal voice.

I knew where those words came from: beans for lunch, daddy was waiting for her. Two unrelated thoughts just being hammered into my skull with a technique worthy of Stockholm syndrome methodology.

beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad 

Actually it would be more accurate to say that to the best of my knowledge and understanding of human physiology, this chant was being hammered into my skull and all the loverly passengers who had operational ears devoid of sanity-saving buds on car 5591 on the TTC rocket.

But I still found zen. It can be difficult to achieve sometimes but over three years practice has gotten me to this point. So there I was, in that space I found in my mind's eye.Everyone else on the train seemed to be able to block it out, or at least they didn't seem too disturbed by my daughter's mantra of paternal musical fruit.

Alas, this zen is fickle and it doesn't take much to unbalance. In fact, one errant breeze from any direction may just force me to alternate resorts - like sticking a fork in my thigh to painfully symbolize how done I actually am.

beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad

As the chanting continued, I was in a calm place that the keyboard cannot describe other than to compare it to a tight-rope many parents know too well. For me, one misstep can plunge me into an abyss full of snapping barbs that fly from my mouth without restraint. I must remind myself that everyone has a story, everyone has a reason for being cranky, even if that reason is they just are.

And so I remain balanced and focused.

beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad beans dad

Then the woman sitting kitty corner to us, turned, leaned towards us, and hissed "SHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHUSH" right into our faces, perhaps in case we weren't aware who she was aiming this gesture towards.

*snap* The tight-rope just shook and I'm plummeting towards the thorns.  But somehow I reach out and grab the rope above.

With that flail and recovery, I took out the aforementioned fork, stuck it in my thigh, swallowed back the barbs, and just smiled a real honest-to-goodness smile at this shushing woman. I hope the smile was just wide and not maniacal.  We locked eyes for a good ten seconds before she cast her peepers downward and retreated into what I assume was her internal zen room.  And with that, I retreated again to mine.

Finding calm may be incredibly difficult some days but always worth maintaining.  For that much I really do know.

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

PSA shameless flogging: Last day for one lucky Canadian reader to win a basket of Johnson's products over at Drugstore Cowgirl. Enter now!

lame but free

I'm giving away stuff over at my review blog.  I know this is a lame post for a Sunday but I'm having a bad day and you can win stuff so what's there to complain about?  Leave the complaining to me, and go win some free stuff from motherbumper's lab.

not want yet

OK - so tonight I was going to finish off a post I've been trying to write for two days but I couldn't because I broke my one of my own rules - yes, I have rules.  Rules that may be whippy and malieable but they exist.  There is one that perhaps is more rigid than the others and that's the one I broke: "under promise and over deliver".

Oh my god.  I just realized that my life rules were lifted from those awful motivational posters every single one of my managers and bosses had during the nineties, I kid you not.

Anyhow, for some reason during the last week I said yes to too many things at the same time. I'm barely out of the mire but at least some hurtles have been run in to and dramatically pushed away (I was never much for leaping).  So who wants to sell me a new identity so I can get out of everything else?  I suppose I could just delete my inbox.  That actually happened recently and for those hours it was gone I felt more than slightly liberated after the general panic and running in triangles was over - our apartment is too small for circles.


Yeesssssss, so this post was supposed to be Want: part 2 to finish Want: part 1 but that's not going to happen tonight.

Instead:  have I ever mentioned we have cats?

We have two cats.

I think one of them *cough* this one *cough* hates me right now.

Either that, or he is trying to make me cuckoo for cocoa puffs (or the generic choco puffed wheat I'm more likely to buy because I'm one of "those" moms).

All day, every minute of the day, or maybe I'm totally exaggerating but work with me, m'kay? I swear, our cat paws at the cardboard lid of the box of tinned cat food.

*scratch*scratch*scratch* (pause) *scratch*scratch*scratch* (pause) *scratch*scratch*scratch* (pause) *scratch*scratch*scratch* (pause) *scratch*scratch*scratch* (pause) *scratch*scratch*scratch* (pause) *scratch*scratch*scratch* (pause) *scratch*scratch*scratch* (pause) *scratch*scratch*scratch* (pause) *scratch*scratch*scratch* (pause) *scratch*scratch*scratch* (pause) *scratch*scratch*scratch* (pause) *scratch*scratch*scratch* (pause) *scratch*scratch*scratch* (pause) *scratch*scratch*scratch* (pause) *scratch*scratch*scratch* (pause) *scratch*scratch*scratch* (pause) *scratch*scratch*scratch* (pause) *scratch*scratch*scratch* (pause) *scratch*scratch*scratch* (pause) *scratch*scratch*scratch* (pause) *scratch*scratch*scratch* (pause) *scratch*scratch*scratch* (pause) *scratch*scratch*scratch* (pause)

Always with the pause.

All the live long day.

For the record, our cats get fed three times a day.  They are just bored indoor cats. I know I should probably do something about that but trust me, they live very privileged lives I'll have you know: we feed them excellent food, give them top-notch accommodations, tolerate their crazy cat witching hours, bring in little cat hookers to keep them entertained, we do it all.  OMG why am I defending myself like this? ANYHOW - SPOILED CAT TRYING TO DRIVE ME MAD.

Oh yes, we thought we outsmarted him when we moved the box (that only took a few weeks for us to figure out) but it's difficult when you have an open concept kitchen like ours.  And by open concept I mean microscopically small with sh*t piled everywhere because there is no real place to put anything.  I should have been a real estate agent.

Anyhow... he just doesn't stop.  When the box is moved, he howls.

*meowrmeow*meowrmeow* (pause) *meooooooooowr* *meowrmeow*meowrmeow* (pause) *meooooooooowr* *meowrmeow*meowrmeow* (pause) *meooooooooowr* *meowrmeow*meowrmeow* (pause) *meooooooooowr* *meowrmeow*meowrmeow* (pause) *meooooooooowr* *meowrmeow*meowrmeow* (pause) *meooooooooowr* *meowrmeow*meowrmeow* (pause) *meooooooooowr* *meowrmeow*meowrmeow* (pause) *meooooooooowr*

So.  I have to chose between *scratch*scratch*scratch* (pause) or *meowrmeow*meowrmeow* (pause) *meooooooooowr*.  It's kind of like being asked "Dora or Diego?" when arriving in the eternal rumpus room in hell.

So. Who wants a cat?

Now for a motherbumper PSA:

If you live in the Toronto area and want to get spoiled for a great cause, this Saturday October 25th is the Sweetmama's first Mother's Day Off Spa-A-Thon for the SickKids Foundation.  For the price of an event pass, you will receive a kick-butt loot bag full of totally great gifts worth way more than the $75 ticket price, and in addition to the loot you also get spa treatments, workouts, yoga, and almost anything that is good for a woman during the four hour event.

Better yet, want to win two free passes? Go over to Playdate and leave a comment BEFORE 5PM on Friday October 24th to win.  Just leave a comment - at Playdate not here, to win.

Easy Peasy to get all Squeezy.

Feel free to leave a comment here to show some love but you win no prize, except for my eternal devotion (retail value: $6.80 CAD).

on the road: last stop of the tour

I've been quoted (again *ahem*) at Blogtations which must mean I'm turning into some kind of blogging legend or I'm so insane that someone is trying to record it for legal reasons. Take your pick.

I'm also not here (again *ahem*) which must mean I've got some issues here at home or I just really like hanging out at other blogger's homes. Take your pick.

I'm over at Jen's at one plus two, talking about my hair and how I'm pretty sure it's out to get me.

KEGGER!

In another demonstration of possible poor judgement (not really but srsly, didn't she learn anything from Debbie) Kelly, the Don Mills Diva (yo girl, I'm just one 'hood over) gave me the keys and I've already ransacked her medicine cabinet and bedside tables and let me tell you...

Actually, I'll only spill on what I found only if you go on over and read me. PLEASE don't let me hang with no comments or I will never get invited anywhere AGAIN.

I'm talking about how normal I am, yo - SO go to see me at the Diva's house.

anywhere but here

MamaT passed me, katie, the keys and I'm taking over blogsitting today for the wonderful Deb. Deb, thank you for giving me the time to go through your medicine cabinets and bedside tables, I've really liked getting to know you this way. Blackmail is always great leverage in a friendship. Hey, at least I'm honest. Oh I kid. But just to be clear: I took some pictures - you know, just in case.

I'm guest posting over at i obsess today...