At first I was melting, then there was a flash.

It was about 50 degrees in the city today (that's about a million degrees F) and not to be all cliché-ish but not only could you have fried an egg on the sidewalk this afternoon, you could have also sautéed some home fries with onions on the side without much effort. Though the effort it would take to stand over some eggs and potatoes frying on the sidewalk whilst a zillion degrees outside would be enough to make you drown in your own sweat because that's how hot it was today

Anyway, our building has an outdoor pool. Nothing fancy, just a rectangle of blue oasis that is tenants-only which makes me a happy renter on days like this. A dip in that pool really cools us to inner core and it feels great for hours afterwards. Plus it really helps with the inner cranky monsters that are less shy during this kind of oppressive heat. And I'm talking about my inner cranky monsters in addition to the ones my four-year old harbours beneath her skin.

1 + 1 = meltdown

Okay - get this:

On a whim, today I decided to take my daughter to a city park called Riverdale Farm (it has animals, it's in the city, and it's free) and I took her without any of the following items:

• drinks
• snacks
• stroller
• cash
• and obviously, sanity

Did I mention we also did this via public transportation?

Clearly a person is insane when they attempt this kind of adventure with a high spirited, snack-happy kid who demands to be carried every half block. When I do give in and carry her, she refuses to wrap legs around me or position on hip, and instead chooses to dangle until the I just cannot repeat "please help mummy and please just hug with your legs" without the fear of adding expletives between each word. Then I place her down and force her to walk until the demands starts again at approximately fifty paces out.

Today our original plan was to get my driver's license replaced (long story - maybe later) and based on previous experience, I expected that it would take at least an hour or two. Because of the frequent long waits, I wanted to get us to the office early (we did all our passports last year and we were there for six weeks - we lived on Baby MumMums and condensation collected of the AC units).

Well today, we walked into the office, they asked me what I needed, they give me a number, and then proceeded to immediately called my number. WTF? I walked up in front of about 150 people and was out the door in under five minutes. I could actually feel some of the long range daggers in my back as I left the office.

Anyhow, the quick trip kinda left our day wide open, so after joining SB for an early morning coffee break I had the brilliant idea of going to the farm. Before it was out my mouth, Bumper was chanting "FARM" like a lunatic sports fan who worshipped team faaaaaaaarm. Well how could I deny that?

So off we went.

First mistake: I forgot which subway stop we needed to go to which resulted in walking three city blocks because I was sure the next station was on the next block (and so on, and so on). Then I got us on the wrong bus and ended thinking it was waaaaaay closer than it was and made the kid walk something like ten zillion blocks unassisted. This long range walking was a first for B and the fact that she survived that ordeal has proven that she can do it, so sorry kid, the free rides are over.

Anyhow, I was kinda hoping all this exercise would work in my favour and take the edge of her her usual endless energy. Mostly I was praying for this because I was beginning to realize all the items I did NOT have on me (see above). Sure I had the pull-ups/diapers and wipes (thank da *%$@ because I almost used them all today). But because I rushed us out the door in the morning, I forgot the basics.

Despite my short comings in the parental packing skill area, the farm was loads of fun. For two hours we ran around, saw the cutest damn baby animals, and walked what I'm sure was every path, all while drinking the water and juice I had bought with purse change. I figured we'd be home in time for lunch, and because she ate a big breakfast, we would be fine.

omg I'm so obviously delusional.

My child likes her snacks and no snacks means tantrums. Sometimes she doesn't eat snacks but I almost always have them on me - just in case. I figured I'd be able to find something healthy on the way, something that doesn't cost more than my purse change or a store that takes debit. While I'm sure that I passed a few of those places on our way in, I surprised by the lack of healthy or affordable snacks at the farm. So here we were, blocks away from lunch and my child had decided she wanted to STAY AT THE FARM - FOREVER.

Or at least that is what she told pretty much all of eastern Toronto when I tried to suggest leaving. Then I tried applying leaving and the full-throttle-on-the-ground episodes began.

Now I subscribe to letting tantrums run their course and as long as she isn't hurting herself or anyone else (or the place is completely inappropriate). I believe it's better than trying to suppress her emotions. Also I find when I do it this way the tantrums run shorter and in no time she is up and totally acting as if nothing happened. Which always makes me do a double take.

Well today, we can say I did many many double takes. I had to facilitate so many meltdowns, I felt like I was on an episode of Nanny 911 - except on Nanny 911 it's usually a montage of a meltdowns while ours seemed like they were one right after the other. I really felt for her, the poor kid - she was pushed to the limits.

There are about fifty other stories to tell about this adventure.

Like how she argued with me over the penis on the hen (there was no penis on the hen - trust me). She wouldn't let it go.

Or how she told everyone we encountered she was going to see where tweety bird worked.

Or how for every single baby animal she saw today produced the following statement from her "awwwwwwww look at the cute baby" in a total high pitched sing song voice.

Or how she has adopted a new laugh and it sounds EXACTLY like Pee Wee Herman's famous "hee hee".

But only one story is needed to wrap up this post. Tonight, at bedtime she leaned over and said to me "I liked the farm today mommy. Can we go again?". There is no way to say no to that. But next time, I'm packing supplies. Momma ain't no fool. Twice.

BTW - thank you so much for all the meme tags, supportive words, and nice stuff (even you Sage). I now have enough memes to stimulate the old brain hole and try to stop the stuttering. Thanks guys, it really is appreciated.

I should be careful when I ask - part 1

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

Shania wanted to know:

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

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

My homegirl kgirl gave me a pop quiz:

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

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

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

no relation but a whole lot in common

Do you think you'll ever move back?

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

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

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

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

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

Do you think I should join a gym?

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

Ali wanted to know:

what's your biggest pet peeve?

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

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

Darling Ali also asked:

what's YOUR most annoying habit?

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

Also I sigh a lot and it drives SB bonkers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

take on me - NOT

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

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

yah riiiiight

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

Correction: HE had lots of time to talk.

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

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

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

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

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

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

OK - enough for now. Part two coming soon.

This is the number six

Some of the nice and kind folks that commented on my guest post over yonder, asked what would rank higher than a three on my scale for my embarrassing moments.

If you don't know what I'm talking about, go over yonder and read an an example of a three over at Her Bad Mother's blog, I'll wait.

All done?

Good. So now you know that a three is we can move right along because I've found a six in my ol' memory box thingy on my shoulders.

It is not a long story and I know I'm not the only one who has done this SO PLEASE share with me. It will make me feel so much better and perhaps less 6-ish about the whole thing. And all depending on your support (see how I transferred all that responsibility onto your shoulders?) maybe, just maybe, I'll even downgrade this to a 3 or something more manageable.

*** so our scene opens with a recently post-partum frazzled new mommy***

OK, so I had this baby right?

And after I had this baby I lost interest in my appearance for a while.

The only thing I cared about was dealing with this little human who seemed completely dependent on me. And sleep. I cared a lot about sleep.

And the only things I thought about post-partum were "WTF just happened?" and "OMG I want to sleepzzzzzzzzzz-wah... I'm awake, I'm awake...zzzzzz".

These thoughts occupied my mind with such a world's-worst-roomate kind of quality that my fashion sense moved out.

I spent days in a small rotation of stretched-out pyjama pants and nursing shirts. The term sleepwear ceased to exist in my realm (or is that fiefdom?).

This loss of fashion sense soon spread to my ability to dress.

Shirts seemed to more trouble than they were worth. The pulling over the head thing fifty times a day - all done for fear of smothering suckling child, yes... well that pulling over the head thing was becoming a major pain in the butt. It was eating into my sleep time.

So I did what any smart lady would do, I stopped wearing a shirt for the majority of the day. Who cared? Not me.

It became such a norm for me that I didn't even notice one day that I had answered the door for the delivery guy - and I wasn't wearing a shirt. I was just wearing a nursing bra. Unhooked.

*** and scene ***

And why doest this common (oh please let it be common) event rank a six? Because it happened multiple times. And I'm 90% certain it happened to the same delivery guy more than once.

Please stay tuned to this channel for more titillating tales from Motherbumper's Scales of Embarrassment.