A Trip To The Zoo & Cranium Goo

Last week I volunteered to be a responsible parent on my daughter's kindergarten class trip to the zoo.

Yeah. I don't know what I was thinking either.

In fact, it didn't really sink in until a few minutes before leaving to catch the big yellow limo to certain insanity.

Proof:

 

And truth be told -- and boy oh boy I love the truth -- most of the time I don't know what I am thinking. Not that I'm blank in the head. In fact my head is chock full of amazing illuminations (some illegal in Tennessee) and I often struggle to turn my mind off just so I can concentrate on the here and now.

Automatic to Manual: Baby Steps

The camera was purchased over a year ago but it was only recently that I sat down and actually tried the things I've learned. Ali and Mishelle inspired me to sit down and start using something other than the big ol' automatic setting crutch on the dial.

Truth: I just want an excuse to get a lens as big and fancy as Mishelle's, I definitely have lens envy. And if learning how to use this thing to justify that purchase (which isn't really going to happen unless they become Happy Meal toys) then learning to use the camera properly is the way I'm going to go. 

BTW: who ever selects upcoming Happy Meal toys --> lens for DSLRs would guarantee an unprecedented run on the sales of Happy Meals. You're welcome to act on that suggestion. You don't even need to credit me, just act on it, m'kay?

Anyway. So Manual, it's so nice to meet you. Go easy on me okay? I'm just learning how to use you to my fullest advantage.

Woah, wait, that sounded a bit rude. I mean, yes Manual I'm going to use you but trust me, it will benefit us both. Not that that sounds much better. I just hate for you to think I'm 'using you'.

After all, it's not like you haven't been taunting and teasing while intimidating me for over a year. You are a camera-tease, there's no doubt about that.

So here we go Manual: a fast subject under horrible lighting conditions. But I was patient master. I don't think your grasshopper failed.

*hisses* 'Manual, I will make you my bitch soon enough.'

I suppose that didn't sound any better than 'using you', did it?

*sigh*

Don't take it personally my sweet inanimate object that I think cares about what I think.

*sigh*

I need to get out more.

Wordless(er) Wednesday: Hello Barbie, Let's Go Party Edition

Meet the newest members of our family. I'm not a Barbie fan per se, but they are imagination sparkers so I tolerate their existence. Reluctantly. I'd rather see them hacked into jewellery but that's just me.

It's all about ponies, princesses, and a Ken-esque dolls around here. She christened her Ken doll 'Jacob'. Strange thing is I almost bought her an Edward doll but his sparkle creeped me out so, Backstreet Ken it was! Why she named him Jacob is beyond me because I'm more of a Team Embry lady anyway.

Anyhow, I'm totally convinced they all drink too much because almost every party seems to end like this so.

I'm pretty sure they are a bad influence of some kind.

But trying to take them away results in reactions like this.

So tolerate their presence is what I do.

Sigh.

Barbie is in da' house. Whimper.

Monday's Child is Full of Meh

For a while now my 4yo has had me on edge over the alphabet. At an early age she could recite it perfectly but whenever I tried to sneak letter association in with the alphasong she would turn up her nose at textbook knowledge. She's a smart one. She recognizes surreptitious learning when she sees it.

When her nursery teacher taught her to spell her name (something I had been trying for ages) she still refused to point out which letters corresponded to what she was saying. Umprompted she would point out the letters of her name within other words but pressed to identify, she clammed up.

This monkey refuses to dance when asked. She so much like her mom. *sigh*

Anyhow, the nursery teacher and I were confident that she was just screwing with us and I was able to let go of some of the hand-wringing over her language/learning skills.

But now we are in kindergarten and it's all about letters, writing, and reading. No pressure because she's JK but I work in the classroom and I know how much is dedicated to the basics. *sigh*

The edge of worry was creeping back up under my butt and again I was back to the hand wringing over her knowledge. The back of my head was screaming "she's f'ing with you" but the paranoid, never-turned-off side of my brain was shouting "you never really know, right?"

Then G presented me with something that pulled me back from the precipice of parenting obsession:

At least I know my daughter understands what Monday is all about.

Meh indeedy my child.

And when the heck did you learn to write? I swear she is screwing with me and I love her even more for it.

The Big Chill

This past Sunday marked the first week of Advent and in this household, the youngest always gets to light the first candle in the wreath.  Up until Gigi came along, it was my job.  Now I've been usurped by a enthusiastic little fire starter and I've grudgingly given up my place in the lighting order.   Dammit, that was my job *pouts*.

ANYHOW, Sunday dinner was obviously a big deal this past weekend because of the advent of Advent.  Now I don't know what your household is like when extended family is all gathered but my mom likes to run a tight ship (whatever that means since we have nary a sailor in our midst but she's always saying that and "your going to miss the boat" so apparently this nautical theme runs deep for no apparent reason other than you can see water from our dining room table).

Well our ship wasn't tight this past Sunday and people were being ordered to do this and that and that and this and my older brother, in the wisest of decisions, decided to hide away until the meal actually hit the table.  He's not stupid; one should not surface in this household until the whites of the potatoes eyes can be seen.

Of course, this absence made my mother spin around while shouting without taking a breath between demands: "WHERE IS EVERYONE?" "everyone to the table", "where's the butter?", "where's Uncle ____", "somebody pour the drinks",  It's quite a sight really, seeing her spin around, barking orders without the use of oxygen, it makes me feel... well it makes me feel at home [duh, because I am at home].

You know, after almost forty years of this, I'm used to her shenanigans (another word I've lifted from her vocabulary, a vocab that includes gems like "kitty corner" and "comrades" and "eat your vegetables") and in this particular instance, I was able to calmly go about my business of staying out of my mom's firing range.

But it was too much for Gigi.

Gigi stood up on her chair for maximum exposure and just as mom finished yelling (without disguising her exasperation), "for pete's sake, would someone get Uncle ______ NOW" my darling daughter thrust out her hand in a "talk to the hand, becasue the face don't understand" style, aimed right at my mom's face, and yelled "You... you must chill out NOW! ....[and then more calmly] mommy, go get Uncle _____".

When a three year old tells you the chill the hell out, trust me, you listen.

I'm so proud of her back talk but she sure as hell better not pull that shit on me.  Seriously kid, don't pull that one on me.

Also I've reviewed another game for the DS over at motherbumper's lab, the Littlest Pet Shop Garden. Go on over and check it out.

lost

After preparing yesterday's meme, I cruised through the old photos.  It's hard to resist the lure of memories in technicolor.

If you've known me a while, this was my original avatar.  I love this photo.  Gigi was such a serious baby 67% of the time.  The other thirty-three were spent making me swoon or go insane in the membrane.

There is a distinct memory of being impatient for the appearance of more hair but trying not to let it get to me because it seemed too superficial.  Which it was because all I wanted to do was force her into cute little hairstyles before she started to tell me to back off.  For the record, she started to tell me to back off the moment she started to talk.

Anyhow, now it's screw superficial - it's all about being practical.  These days, I wish she had short hair because taming her locks is damn near f'ing impossible with the hand twirled dreadlocks that form on a daily basis.  And don't even get me started on her bangs which are in her eyes all the time - oh wait - so are mine, so maybe I'd better let that one slide.

So the knot-filled hair means basically I'm paying for that one superficial wish.   Karma can be a bitch.  Cripes, I wonder what would happen if I wished for lots of money?  I'd probably get robbed by a bunch of freak clowns right after receiving the cash.

Oh sorry, I bet you thought I was going to talk about Lost (finally, they announced when it's back) but no, I was just talking about how I got lost in the photos last night.  Boring I know, but you cannot tell me you don't do it too.  Seriously, doesn't everyone fall head first into their photo folders?

from the vaseline lens

This post is for the Mo' Babies Shower - today is the last day to get posts in for the celebration of the impending babies for Kristen at Motherhood Uncensored and Rebecca of Girl's Gone Child - two women I adore. The theme of this shower is reminiscing about those new baby days - the good stuff. So here is my "good stuff".

I'm a woman of silly words. For example, each time I started this post it would read very soppy because feel good stuff doesn't come naturally for me. Everything I wrote came out all gooey and sticky. Great, now I'm craving cinnamon buns. Anyhow, I turned to the archives of 7 bajillion photos from Gigi's early days for inspiration and then decided those early day images spoke way louder than any flowery words I try to spew.

So here it goes... the just a few of those good things I remember from the early days.






So there you have it, some self-indulgent snaps from memory lane. Remember when they were so freakin' small and floppy? I wish I could get that new baby smell back - not that I don't enjoy the new exotic ones the preschool age offers - but mmmmmmmmmmm.... I love new baby smell. Best wishes to Kristen and Rebecca and here's to having all your early days full of good memories.

City Mouse

One thing that I still find mind-blowing on a daily basis, is Gigi's ability to tell me about her view of the world and how she thinks this crazy world works. Seriously, that kid makes my head explode by making mah poor poor brains working overtime each and every day. Throw in some over-the-top tantrums that come outta the blue and you've got one momma with a huge head'plosion.

Recently she went to the park with her dad where they discovered an injured mouse. They stood over the struggling creature, who couldn't walk very well according to SB, and talked all things mouse. SB was trying to figure out a way to put the mouse out of it's misery without permanently scarring our daughter anymore than we already have with our particular style of parenting called CHAOS RULES. But he couldn't.

That's one of the many things I love about SB: he thinks of ways to make the mouse comfortable, yet when he mentioned an injured mouse to me, I think about the likelihood of that damn mouse giving my kid lice or ticks. He is a ying to my yankeedoodledandy OCD.

Anyhow, there was more to the story that didn't involve the mouse and I promptly forgot about the rodent-portion of the park recap.

That night, I pulled the short stick and took first shift for the over-the-top, elaborate, completely out of control bed-time routine Gigi has trained us to follow. We need a Nanny 911 intervention of the cosmic kind STAT. Thinking about bedtime makes me curl up in the corner and rock uncontrollably. Worthy of a post but I'm too tired to write it.

So yah, it was my turn to go more insane. We read a pile of books, discussed this week in politics, dissected the most recent episode of Make Me A Supermodel (I want my girl to be well rounded or at least neurotic and superficial), before moving on to "This Day In Review" portion of the sleep(less) routine.

As I lay next to her she brought up the injured mouse again. Suddenly she leaned in towards me and asked how the mouse became injured. I hesitated - I didn't know the story and what if she was recording this conversation and I somehow implicated myself in the assault of this rodent? I watch 48 hours and Dateline when I'm too lazy to locate the remote and I've seen what can happen to a few misplaced words.

I took the safe route and said I had no idea because I never saw no stinkin' mouse (double negative? So I saw the stinkin' mouse? I'll never tell - or never not tell - confused? so am I, welcome to my world). But this answer did not satisfy her. Again she asked, how the mouse came to be injured.

Against the advice of my lawyer (the one who sits on my shoulder and sings dirty limericks to the tune of CCR songs into my ear - between dispensing of legal advice), I hazarded a guess about the mouse's physical ailments: maybe he fell off a rock or maybe he was caught by a cat (always blame the cat).

She shook her head while saying "no" in a hushed tone. She looked me straight in the eye and said "Clowns Mommy, it was clowns".

Once again, definitive proof that SHE IS MY CHILD. Clown hating is apparently genetic.

talk to the hand

When it comes to toys, Gigi is pretty much like most kids - she has way too many and it's usually the most annoying toy that is the favourite. You know, the one that creates the biggest headache and teeth-grinding is also the one that warrants a hell hath no fury kind of tantrum if it's misplaced or - gawd forbid - lost forever.

Not that I ever hide or "lose" her toys on purpose *ahem*. Because that would make me a bad parent, right? Or just normal?

Anyhow, SB and I have recently hit a lucky streak. We really hit the jackpot because if we lose her current favourite toy well we are f**ked too.

Gigi likes our hands.

Yup: hands.

I'm not sure who started it (bets are on my cheap-ass husband) but for some reason Gigi likes to use our hands are her dolls. As in, playing with baby.

She will grab one of our arms and start rocking and talking to baby and doing all the stuff most kids do with dolls. She also usually ignores the rest of the body attached to her "baby".

Our hands have names. My left hand is "cupcake" and my right is "strawberry". SB is "toohoo" and the always original "baby" though I'm not sure which name goes with which hand. I don't think it's important.

Best thing about this latest craze: we always have one of her toys around and I cannot tell you how many times this has saved my butt on the subway.

Though the handdolls hasn't really helped on road trips because driving down the 401 with one arm extended into the backseat so it can have it's 'diaper changed' is nearly impossible. It also would be super hard to explain to the police officer when pulled over. "Sorry officer, it was an emergency diaper change for my - uh - hand?". My standard line with the cops is "I'm being chased by the devil" while making devil horns with both hands and looking as insane as possible. Which isn't really that hard. ANYHOW.

Sure, folks look at us like we have three heads when they see us letting our daughter contort us into sometimes painful positions but I know they are just jealous that they spent so much on name-brand, licensed toys and creepy looking dolls when in reality, baby dolls were so easily on hand (hee).

High five for free toys!

Only problem, she tries to detach them from the packaging with so much force, I'm afraid I may dislocate my shoulder before she grows out of this phase.

Based on the scary/slutty looking dolls that hang on the shelves these days, a shoulder dislocation is a risk I'm will to take. Anyhow, Gigi has demonstrated she has very little tolerance for anything so trampy looking - gawd knows I hear it every time I go to slap on some war paint.

meh

It was a great weekend and I'm is too tired to regurgitate anything.

Because that is what it would be - regurgitation and you deserve better than that. Unless you are a bird and I don't think I have many bird readers. So no regurgitation for you. Do you feel the love?

Rescue Cat

We were at a new playground recently and any fears about Gigi's ability to meet and make new friends were blown right out of the water.

I was super shy as a child and pretty much as an adult too but I've learned some techniques to make those scary first moments of meeting - or worse yet, being forced to network - a lot less trauma-inducing.

While Gigi shows some signs of being slightly shy in group situations, she also is a kid who walks up to individual children at the library or playground to clearly say "Hi! I'm Gigi - what's your name?"

And she has obviously come up with a technique to deal with groups of kidlets.

At the new playground she walked up to a group of girls who were sitting in the sandbox, spread her arms wide and loudly announced:

"DON'T WORRY! I'M HERE TO RESCUE YOU ALL!"

Their response? One girl stood up, handed Gigi a bucket and shovel and said "Hi" with a smile.

Gigi is going to do just fine.

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

And in the spirit of sharing great contests, my homegirls at Kirtsy are hosting another super fine draw with a super cool prize pack that involves bedding so check out all the details and leave a comment at the kirtsy blog (super simple way to enter, n'est pas?).

Though I'm not really sure what this sleep thing they speak of is but I'm sure it's a good thing.


Anyway, who can resist kittens and "le click"? Not me. Happy Friday y'all.

cancel the Celine tickets

SB keeps ticking off Gigi by singing the Super Why song "Hip Hip Hooray, the super readers save the day" in a this total "lounge lizard trying to be Wayne Newton" voice. While it makes me laugh and debate throwing my panties at him, Gigi does not care for Vegas-style shows.

Who knew? We really do learn something new each day.

Hey, Gigi only just realized this past Sunday that I used to be a little girl.

The shock. The confusion. The questions. The repeatedly displays of scepticism were on a non-stop rotation.

Mommy used to be a little kid? Really? Are you sure?

I went to dig out photographic proof but found no hard copies.

Anyhow, it's been obvious that up until now, Gigi thought the sole purpose of my existence was to be a mom, more specifically her mommy.

When she first started talking, any time my own mother would say "your mommy is my baby" she'd scream like this was the greatest of insults, and how dare she try to make her mommy into her baby.

And her reaction to me backing up that statement and explaining that Nana was my mom - that incident actually registered on the Richter scale.

Well kid, by saying I'm only "your mommy" is just plain wrong.

Not only am I the parental unit in charge of your daily entertainment, I’m also your personal trainer responsible for blowing off steam, safety officer, research assistant on scientific (and usually messy) experiments, wingman, sidekick, whipping horse, sherpa, personal chef, doctor, entourage, encyclopaedia, ministry of transportation, and press agent.

Did I miss anything?

I've got to get some more photos of my childhood so I can score some street cred with the kid on the playground.

Right now, in her eyes, I've been an old curmudgeon since the get go and that just ain't gonna fly if I want to get invited to any of her tea parties.

I hear she knows Dora and the real reason her best friend is a monkey. Now that's some gossip I just gotta know.

babble

I have decided to take a few days off to catch up on my blog reading*.

I feel so out of touch, so behind on what's going on that my head spins each time I wade into my reader (that's right, I still haven't done the massive dump, run, and start from scratch).

There is a need for me to catch up, read, and enjoy/cry-over someone else's news and stories.

It's easy to be lazy lately.

It's hotter than a snakes ass these days. I'm convinced that there is a room somewhere in Ontario where a dude sits in front of two buttons - one marked HELL the other marked HOTH. Just when the Ontario population has resigned itself to mediocre temperatures, the appropriate switch is flipped and the province-wide complaining begins. Wonder how he got that job and why do I assume it's a man?

Last night the thunder storms lasted for hours and hours and hours. They continued into this morning and even though the sun is shining at this very moment, I suspect that if I tried to take Gigi to the playground, we would run the risk of being struck down by some freaky weather. Because all I really need in my life is to be struck by lightening. Mind you that would be worth a post or two. And it would probably fix my hair issues.

So our remedy to beat this heat is to build our own pool on the deck. OK, you got me, it's a pan from the dollar store but shhhhhhh don't tell Gigi, she thinks it's her own little slice of paradise.

Stay cool folks and talk to you soon.

Pass me a pina coloda woman!

* my theory is: if I try to take time off, a huge post will appear out of nowhere and write itself - it's murphy's law, right?

Weekly Winner Feb 17 2008

Time for this weeks Weekly Winners, and sporting a rare theme this week of Romance & Lingerie (kind of... well if you consider a drawer full of sensible things, pj bottoms, and equally sexy girl boxers, lingerie):

In the corner for Romance is:

Self-explanatory.


In the corner for Lingerie is:

The cat in my smalls drawer.


This is quite possibly the reason I have holes in all my stuff. Which is a relief because no one really wants to know the reason they have so many freakin' holes in their underroos is because of acid crotch.

Even though some folks might suspect it is due to some freaky reason like that and I suspect they aren't wrong.

I'm just saying.

And in the other corner of my traid that is neither Romance or Lingerie is Craftiness:


These hands were made for gluin' and that's just what they'll do!

And I've decided that many of you have similar and fantastic taste in picking up strangers on a deserted stranger as demonstrated in my Who would you hook up with from Lost unscientific and unofficial poll (which is ongoing, so go and leave me your answer). Most of you are like me which makes you most like equally insane as me, which is reassuring.

Very reassuring and explains a whole lotta stuff.