Tuesday, December 31, 2013

F-you super organic super foods. F-you VERY much.

The rule in my house is you eat what I cook. I'm not a restaurant, and I"m do tired and to lazy to hear you don't like it AGAIN. The BIGGEST joke that makes me go broke? Is super foods, not just any but organic grains, beans, veggies. We even have a store that will deliver to your door so you can be assure you're receiving the best local produce there is. Don't ask me which company-For what I paid-$70.00 it wasn't any where NEAR enough for my family of five and half to have enough veggies for the week. THE WEEK. So that's done. 

I live in a community where the mommy boards are EXPLODING with why you need this, that. Avoid the next thing. I mean these women are PASSIONATE about what we are consuming. To the point where I swear I log on, they can SMELL the yeast extract, and cancer causing hot dogs seeping from my children's pores. 

And "Read this article, by some granola doctor who lost his licence, and now grows organic safflower, and the energy forces of the universe gave him ALL this knowledge." 

oh and my favourite "Child protective services should take your kids away for those chicken fingers. Do you know what they're made of? PLASTIC DOG POOP AND BUBONIC PLAGUE. Don't you love your kids you whore?" (No one actually said this but I imagine someone out there is DYING to)

Block post any one?

All posted and shared by some faceless Facebook matron of eternal knowledge. I hate her, never met her. You know who I'm talking about. Hate. Her.  I buy this crap in an attempt to fit in-um I mean keep my family healthy and prevent cancer. And to be popular with women I've never met. 

Here is a list of 50 super foods to pursue at your leisure. I"m going to address the ones that I pay to much money for. And choke down...

1: Quinoa: Gluten free, cooks like rice. High in fiber & protein. Should be great right? WRONG it smells like barn yard dirt when it cooks. But that's the "nutty flavour" that's so beloved by all. 

2: Chia Seeds: yes the stuff from the CHA CHA CHIA PETS. It becomes gelatinous like snot when wet. It soaks up water and binds. And its that binding that clears the bad crap from your system. Flavourless-it looks like snot. The gross kind you can't get rid of. That clings. Enough said

3: Kale: Its green, crunchy large leaf. You HAVE to cook it-or use your $1500.00 blender to mash it into smoothies. Apparently its great as chips? the texture makes me gag. Its enough to get on my shit list. 

4: Water: Necessary for life. Okay I LOVE water drink tonnes of it. My problem? its NOT free. Its included in my city bills. and costs WAY to much. Stupid city.

5: I'm bored with this list and  my kid is screaming. Just know all of this annoys me. And I can't make it taste delicious if I covered it sparklers and chocolate. My kids will look at me and ask "What the hell did you do to my chocolate?" 

Monday, December 30, 2013

Tale of Murder Most Foul-and its almost Canabilistic.

My oldest daughter is seven. Full of wonderment, questions, and a warm heart for all things living. Its normally a good thing. She applies human characteristics to animals and intimate objects alike. Its a wonderful habit to have. No genocide or weird conversations with her. They're always wonderfully full of imagination, and games of he said/she said, all with names, personalities.

Santa bought her and her sister a Sea Monkey kit. So basically someone-I'm guessing drunk and watching his kids to close to the water.  A man-simply because only a man would come up with this crap-looked at brine shrimp and went wow they reproduce SOOOO easily, and are kind of gross. lets breed them in clear glass or plastic jars and sell them. Some poor sucker will buy this. Get this-we're going to call them  MONKEYS. BAHAHAHAHA.

So with some daddy daughter time, a week ago they "dissolve the magic powder" (eggs) in the water and wait for them to hatch. These gross things hatch and start swimming around. As per the smiling sea monkey princess instructions they're by the window, on the kitchen table. I'm in my room pretending to nap-no that's NOT the punch line. I hear "MURDERER, YOU KILLED THEM. WHATS WRONG WITH YOU?" Insert heart filled sobs here.
"mmm Nummy nummy. Waaaahhh ter mummy?" (Everyone is mummy right now with him by the way)

He did it, killed all the sea monkeys. Well not all jsut enough that we're thoroughly disgusted. And unfortunately we're going to let him get away with it. My poor bug cried for an hour. "I named them ALL, ALL OF THEM MOM!"

At least he had a serving of protein?

Thursday, December 26, 2013

I wonder where they get it from?

Two days ago I ran out of diapers. Crap. I had to load up all four kids in PJ's and stinky butts, and I needed to buy diapers. Deep breath, we loaded up and off we went. Everyone was-get this LISTENING. So I do two emergency tush changes in the van and load them back up. Now what to do with the rest of the day? Laundry? Dishes? Christmas baking? Nope I'm already on the crazy train, we're going for breakfast. A full fledged sit down breakfast at Ricky's.

I order us a big meal to split (I call it a US serving. Four pan cakes, sausages, eggs, bacon etc...you get the idea). They coloured quietly, told silly jokes, ate their meal. I was amazing and thrilled with them. An older gentleman approached the table. I had been nursing the baby-with no cover. To be honest I was gearing up for a fight. "Miss (I'm young and don't wear a wedding band...because I'm preggo fat still) Your children are wonderful, and extremely well behaved"
"Thank you sir, Merry Christmas" This is where it gets um sketchy? My oldest chimes in. Remember she's seven-so every word is VERY clear.
"We're granting daddy his Christmas wish sir. I'm trying to help so mommy doesn't loose her shit. He asked me special this morning before work.  Then She doesn't have to yell so much" here have another pancake. Put the entire thing in your mouth and Stop. Talking.

Fast forward to today. Christmas Day. I'm in my room nursing the baby-family is everywhere. Kids are shrieking, the house is full of happiness. I finishing feeding Mr. Fish, burping him. And I get to thinking. Lions eat baby zebra's. Or sick and dying ones. Boy that would suck. Being eaten-especially if you were a baby. Darling husband interrupts my train of though "Whats up honey? You have your thinking face on"

(By the way I look constipated when I concentrate to hard)

"Do you think cavemen fed their babies to animals. I mean if they were being chased?  I guess in theory you could always make another one. Did they like babies like we do? Did you know it was considered in Elizabethan England that you didn't have a soul until you were full grown. So children don't have souls"

Fuck, and I wonder where my kids get it from.

Monday, December 23, 2013

Guess who's back!

Wow, I go on an unintended hiatus for three months, and I shoot past 4000 page views like a boss! Thank you friends you're amazing!

I went into hiding, shut down and out. I decided to find out why I was so energetically exhausted all the time. Mid-pregnancy, after moving into a new house, and working funny hours. The news shook my world and my family's world. Not a lot of people know this about me-but I have been battling what I thought was an unreasonable amount of depression for a very, very long time. Anxiety attacks that were becoming more and more frequent. Not only at home but in public.  In the spirit of Internet over sharing-intense thoughts of suicide.  At this point, not only was I scaring myself-and my children, it was embarrassing not having an answer or explanation as to why this was happening. So with visits with doctors, blood tests, and councillors I had something, an answer-with a prescription.

I was diagnosed Bi-Polar II. The two means I'm not SUPER crazy-just crazy enough to make note worthy. I'm not violent in my mania-just more energetic. Apparently painting an entire house while 9 months pregnant isn't just "nesting" and not "normal behaviour" (pregnancy number 3 by the way). Spending until we have nothing left isn't normal either.

There are lots of other note worthy events that aided in this conclusion. The long and short of it-we had an answer. I wasn't dying. I just very honestly-at times-can not control how my brain works. I needed time to process what this meant and what my coping mechanisms are going to be. This gave us an answer, and provided substance and mass to a largely unseen picture into who I am. It has been shocking, eye opening and terrifying. It has shown us gaping holes in our mental health systems, and stereo types we didn't know existed. We were handed this and essentially had to re frame our thinking. I am going to have it forever, its not situational depression, or a hormone imbalance. Now we very much have a new me, to learn how to deal with.

Most importantly it handed my beautiful, amazing, husband and I some frame work. I wasn't intentionally putting this strain on us-we could now figure out where to go and what to do with in our relationship, and ensuring we could now continue to understand one another.

So this is why I went missing-I was looking for myself! Thank you friends for waiting it out with me!

Tuesday, September 24, 2013

Isn't it all just "Parenting"?

I must spend to much time on the internet, yes that must be it. I've been coming across a bunch of articles about "gender neutral parenting."  I'm a bit confused as to what it actually entails. This one here at everydayfeminism.com is designed to display some of the myths surrounding the lifestyle.  Where as this one here on CNN just seems to go with the feminist idea of gender neutral. There are active petitions to prevent companies from gender stereotyping toys. Like the Toys R Us in the UK.

Now, this maybe how I was raised-perhaps having my brothers so close in age prevented a strict gender divide among us-but isn't this all boiling down to letting your children take joy in toys and activities? Male or Female alike? My youngest brother who is now very LARGE, and much bigger than me would run around in frilly pink jammies drowning GI Joe toys then ramming my Barbie RV into a war zone. My parents didn't really care-he wasn't screaming or killing cats. It was pink jammies, and a Barbie RV. My other brother had a thing for pink toenails.  I remember playing a combat game with the boys of the neighbourhood shortly after Jurassic Park came out-we had to kill the dinosaurs. We played it for weeks-it led into a intricate system of snow forts and fallen branches.

Isn't it ALL parenting? We were safe and happy, we solved problems together. Some required an emotional thought, while other problems needed strategy, and for sight. Things I wouldn't have learned playing kitchen alone, or my brothers kicking ass on the dino playing field. I wouldn't know what it was like to have a base ball to the face-and the wouldn't know what it was like to have Barbie smacked across their heads.

Any one who has spent any time with my children will see a diverse set of interests. My 16 month old son is currently obsessed with tiaras, and sparkly hats. My middle daughter loves cars and dinosaurs, my oldest is one of the only girls in her taekwondo class. None of this mean they'll be transgendered or gay-it means they're learning to be happy and open minded.

My goal as a parent is this-raise my children to be well rounded open minded adults who don't live in my basement. I don't care if its as a man, woman, or WITH a man or woman. Just a kind heart, and a giving soul. Strength to stand up for what they believe in, and the smarts to back up their mouths. 

So I think from now on, all attachment, gender neutral, crunchy, traditional, upside down or crooked parenting should be referred to as "parenting". That's it. Straight forward, and to the point. Because if your grown children are good, kind, generous, strong in their own way. Then you know what? You did it right. So good for you! Keep going, you're doing great!

Thursday, September 19, 2013

I can't bond with new mom's any more.

At my last midwifery appointment a class called "Birth centering" was brought up AGAIN. It has been brought up every appointment since week 20. Up until last week, I had politely declined. To busy, taekwon do, hubby has to work. A bunch of excuses to avoid a confrontation. Well, I finally let fly why I REALLY didn't want to go. And it wasn't pretty. Now its a "class" to ask questions of other moms, and help alleviate fears about birth, breast feeding, diapering ect...And the all important question-LABOUR.

This time the reasoning "its a great date night for you and hubby to focus on the new addition!" Okay lady let me lay it out for you. This isn't my first rodeo. Nor is this my first home birth-its my third. I can't bond with a new mom.

Now don't get me wrong, being a first time mom is scary, up lifting, emotional, and its unlike anything you will ever go through again. Ever. Its also horrifying, painful, tear filled, mess ridden pile of garbage. That I never, ever want to relive again. And talking about it forces me to relive it, I can't do it-you can't make me. That's why new moms always say "if someone had just  TOLD me." You don't hear about it-because the rest of us are to busy repressing, wiping butts, runny noses, and thanking the good lord above we made it out alive.

So with that in mind-the fact I DO understand the fear and excitement. Here was my response, that I'm honestly surprised didn't get me kicked out of the practice.

How am I suppose to bond with a mother who has full functionality of her bladder still? Are we going to bond over the fact, that as I ran to the bathroom to pee RIGHT NOW-my toddler beat me and decided to sing the ABC's very, VERY slowly, and I peed my pants. That as you sit there telling me because you PLAN on following the "baby whisperer promises the happiest baby on the block" book, your child will sleep through the night by week 6. This after a night where I did nothing but yell at my 6 year old to "go the F back to bed, your hair CAN'T hurt" until 11pm. Or how excited you are to get back to your exercise routine at 6 weeks. And you'll have date nights, because your perfect baby will NOT scream every time someone other than your boob comes near it. Or you're going to "gender neutral parent."

Guess what new mom? Labour hurts, a large moving human being comes out of A) your vag, or B) through major surgery-WHICH you're completely awake. There can be stitches-there WILL be blood. And Guess what else?  You're still going to look pregnant for a couple weeks after baby is born. I'm going to let you in on a secret-you have NO IDEA how you're going to handle it until you're there.

So miss midwife, whom I normally adore. This ISN'T a relaxing date night for me. I have to find and PAY a baby sitter $10/hr on a SCHOOL NIGHT, drive 45 minutes each way to listen to women and men I don't know ask questions I don't want to answer for two hours. Birth IS a secret cult, and a rite of passage. One you will never ever understand until you're standing on the other side going "Huh, so THATS the kind of parent I am."

Here sits the annoying, horrible kicker. Its going to change you-every day, every stage is going to change how you operate, how you motivate, and how you think. There is NO ROOM for sitting down on the job here-so that's why we don't tell new mom's what the deal is. Because we're past it. On to new things we know nothing about.

Now I'm not saying don't be excited, nervous, fearful-or what ever it is you may be feeling. Just understand, that I've lived through it-and I'm not going to relive those frightening days for any one. I have faith you'll get through it, a wiser, stronger woman. You'll surprise yourself with the amount of strength and ability you really do have.

So momma to be, move on from me-I have a dirty tush to wipe!

Tuesday, September 10, 2013

The leading cause of Death in child bearing women is Suicide.

I have been alone for along time-or so I thought. Until I started finding articles like this and this one here. You'll find them popping up every where lately. Canada has opened the time frame on what is considered "maternal death" from 45 days post partum to 9 months post partum. The results are terrifying. Women are dying because they think they're alone-so are fathers. As it turns out there is a serious issue with PPD among new fathers.

I've been alone, dragging my family down with me for 7 years.  On a spiral of self loathing, fear, anxiety. It came to a head about six months ago. I was in the grocery store, I had a panic attack in line with two full carts. I couldn't breathe, or stop crying. I blacked out. My husband came home from work, and I told him EVERYTHING.

Days when I need to lock myself in a room so I don't hurt myself. Why I call him so much at work, or why I will pack my day so full there is no time to eat much less think. I have a plan, I wish I could say it was "had" but its still there. It has become so bad this time around there have been days when hubby has had to come home so I can sit in a dark and quiet room and calm down. The thoughts are so dark and violent I can feel the need in my joints, my muscles. The need to kill myself all the way to my toes, and in my hair.  Because I don't DESERVE the wonderful gift of my family. They, themselves deserve better-much better than I can give.

I know everyone says "But they screen for it, there is help" In our area there is a serious need for better mental health facilities. It took me 14 weeks to get in to see a psychiatrist. At which point I was told to come in every two weeks. But they're so booked I'm averaging two appointments in three months. Apparently it was long enough to diagnose me as Bipolar II. This means I will be mentally ill for my entire life. Not just for the post partum period.  I was handed drugs to make me feel better. They don't work, the doctor keeps telling me "give it more time" and sends me on my way. So Yes, there is a serious lack of tangible help for women and men who beg every morning to the powers that be-to hit them with a bus.

There is another issue. People who are depressed, suffer from anxiety, PTSD, bipolar don't WANT to talk about it. We've hid in our heads, and are so convinced we deserve this, or are the only ones. So much so, that its nearly impossible to put it into words.  I'll be honest I sought out help because my husband asked me to. I love him to much to watch HIM suffer.

So there it is, when you read those articles. And feel like you can't connect.  Now you know someone who's going through it.

Friday, August 23, 2013

What its like on the inside

Picture a beautiful vase, any colour you like. Large and gorgeous. In your mind-see yourself beside this vase, happy, talkative, engaging. Smash it to pieces. But its okay there are people who say give us all of your pieces. Hand them to us, all of them, we will put them back together-stronger than before. They promise.

You take these pieces hand some of them over. And take the rest-divided into little tiny beautiful bags. Close to you like treasures, you hand them out. "Here take the pieces of me, all these pieces of me. Never open the bag-and see what is inside. You can have them, but there is a catch-there always is. I'll tell you at the end." You give them with joy in your step. Making people feel special so important to hold all these pieces. You finally feel special sharing all these pieces of you.

Take these people dancing, dance circles around them. Spin, spin, spinning until you can't see the faces or hear your thoughts. Spin, and dance with laughter and joy, until the blood rushing in your ears makes your believe your flying. Keep spinning around. Feel that hole in your stomach-bubbling up. Keep spinning ignoring the increasing height of its contents. Fling the pieces of you all around-some of you for all! So sick, now its the sick parts of you for all-because you can't stop spinning. Everything turns black

See yourself alone, with what is left of these beautiful bags holding those pieces. Completely alone. Missing parts of yourself. Pour those bags out, smash them more-right to dust. Cry. You can't remember how you got there. Be angry, shout and scream, beg for a way out. Trap yourself with those left over shattered pieces. Wonder where the rest went. Those helpful people will hand you back the ones you gave away initially.

But they're put together wrong. Its not the same. Nothing feels right, the weight, colour-its wrong all wrong. Smash it again, this time with anger and emptiness in your thoughts. You realize, its time to call in the catch. The gimmick. The requirement for all those beautiful mosaic pieces you gave away in joyful abandon. "Kill me with those bags of who I am. Choke me with them, hang me with the strings." You will say. Begging with tears in your eyes, your joints aching with despair. Your heart missing. "Please, all I see is black, and emptiness. Please, I'm so tired of spinning, around and around. Please" You'll scream, but really its a whisper. You'll hear it-so loud in your own ears. Non existent in the external universe. The black takes over again.

Now your back, at the beginning. With that beautiful vase. But you're different-no one sees it but you. You're scarred. Torn where no one can see. Do the whole thing over again. Over and over. Until it destroys your skin. the outside of you. Until someone asks-why are you crying? are you alright?

"Yes, its just a rough day" is all you say, while filling those bags, with pieces of you.

Tuesday, July 23, 2013

A long time ago

Once, a long time ago, I wrote a story. In high school, we were told to write a story-anything the teacher said, what ever you feel, write what you know. I read it to the class (we all had to) and I was never looked at the same way again. By child, and adult alike.

It was morbid. Scary. I was into things like that.

Its about a girl, in an institution. Haunted by a demon (he was described in detail in the story), he makes her do things-nothing horrible or un mentionable. But destroys everything she is on the inside. It makes her conflict, and rage. Be silent and still. To still. She hurts herself. Until the anger that no one is listening makes her act. Her reaction is extreme, and she kills those who try to help her. She can't see that they're trying to help. She's hurt for so long. And no one, not the demon, or her doctors will let her rest. She's tired. And with most cases of intense exhaustion can no longer control her behaviour. When she's done killing everyone around her, she kills herself. She regrets all the things she's done to these people. Every second of every day, and the demon inside her head has turned into a reminder system. A blinking light of all the wrong she's done. In her last thought (also the ending of the short story) is reprieve, and silence of her mind. Nothing. Finally. And she forgives herself. Then black emptiness.

I had to meet with the school guidance counsellor. And talk to the teacher. I never wrote a fictionalized story again. The part that scared them, wasn't a morbid warning against demon possession. It was a cry to fear other's minds. Or your own. It depends on how you were feeling that day.

I burned it-remember I was 16 and dramatic. And never mentioned it again. I never wrote a story again.

Wednesday, July 3, 2013

I wasn't a very good mother today...

Today kind of sucked, big time. It was super hot out. There was a massive load of dishes, and in my estimation 50 loads of laundry. I lost it. I was angry, hot, and still recovering from being ill.

There were toys all over, snack wrappers on the couch, spilled milk. And I took it out on the kids. Not in a scary evil way, but an everyone with in a 10 kilometer radius knows I'm pretty PO'd. Including my husband.  Because I called him at work. And told him. Loudly.

A friend called, just as I was hitting the peak, and I spilled my guts, my original bitchy plan was met with a "how old are you again?" So off to the mall I went, with a passive middle finger to the chores of the day, I decided the kids and I needed air-conditioning, and ice cream.

An hour or so later we're walking, and I'm chatting with Keeley. Sweet precious Keeley that named our newest addition. "Mom you're the bestest in the world. Know why? you buy Ice cream to say sorry. Because earlier, you weren't the best"
at this point I'm gearing up for another fight-WHAT?! you have food, and too many toys...REALLY?!
She continued on in her I'm going to ignore mom way "But that's okay, because you can try again tomorrow. You can even try again later if you want to. You can even try the day after tomorrow"
"Where did you come up with that?"
"You told me, its okay to be angry. But you have to apologize if you hurt someone, and then try again later to be good and obedient. So you can try again tomorrow."

Boy am I glad she pays attention to my shiny moments.

She's right, its an excellent plan. I'll try again tomorrow.

Monday, July 1, 2013

New mom warnings-Things to help save the sanity.

Its a baby boom! You would swear it had been a cold fall/winter, and everyone's heat was broken! I've joined a few mom sites, mainly to see the pot be stirred, offer my glowing advice, and judge people with my husband and friends. There are LOTS of first time moms out there. Tonnes! the amount is staggering, and it seems families are getting bigger by the moment. (I wouldn't know a THING about that). Here's some tips to follow if you're asking for advice, tired, or just feel like comparing yourself to other moms

  1. Don't sweat the small stuff. A dirty face, and stained shirt are far less important than you think. Jammies are perfectly acceptable wear for a newborn baby when you leave the house.
  2. Sweat the big stuff like tigger on crack. You know when things are important. If a fever is REALLY high, and baby is lethargic, and not drinking. Don't let someone tell you its not important. If your baby can projectile vomit better than a drunk on st. patty's day. MULTIPLE times a day. Sweat it. You know in your gut what's really important.
  3. Don't ask for advice. But if you must-and you will. Ask someone with the same parenting philosophy as you. If your mother believed in keeping a wooden spoon in every room, and your a pacifist, don't ask her discipline advice. Conversely, if you're a little high strung, and a germa-phobe. Don't ask your hippy friend who believes in cloth diapers, and essential oil therapy how to treat a fever. Her answer is going to make you want to punch her in the throat. And want to call child services.
  4. If your going to do what you want anyway-DON'T ask for any one else's opinion. Ignoring what people say after you seek them out, and blatantly not pay attention to the answer, isn't making them feel like apart of your baby experience. Its rude. If you don't want a different answer don't ask.
  5. You don't HAVE to ask any one, anything-ever.
  6. Enjoy it-I know everyone says it, but this stage is so very very short.
  7. Cuddle your baby as much as you want to
  8. If you need a shower-put the baby down some where safe and shower. ten minutes of a freak out has never hurt you, your hubby, and it WILL NOT hurt the baby. Besides you won't hear it with the water running anyway.
  9. All the books are wrong-ignore them
  10. All the books are right, read a few.
  11. Take what you want out of the books, ignore the stuff you don't like. Get on with your day.
  12. Your SO knows as much-or as little as you. Don't cut them off or out.
  13. You're the only one super concerned about how you look to other moms. We've all been there, bottle, breast, un-washed face, pizza for dinner. What ever it may be. You'll be a lot happier if you realize you're doing the best you can and the other ones can suck it.
  14. You got this!
I know theres a tonne of these lists, but I think its important. If you see, hear, read it all enough you won't be so scared.

Its a beautiful baby...

I realized in this horrid heat, that I never actually posted the results of my ultra sound. I did on FB. And I'm sure that's enough, but to protect the flow of the posts forward on I march-um type.

Baby was VERY co-operative.  Except for the pictures of the spine, but that's okay.

Keeley was very upset that she couldn't be included in the ultra sound. She wanted to be there so very badly. But unfortunately the demands of grade one had her on a leash. So after we found out, Neil and I decided to give her a surprise after school! That way she could find out in her own special way if she was having a brother or sister.

This is what we decided to show her! Isn't it a brilliant idea! She loved it! Now on to the next problem-we were so convinced we were having a girl-despite various old wives tales and tests, we sort of ignored the boys names. Completely.

So there we were, completely undecided. So spur of the moment, we scoured the internet, asked polls, and various other forums. As long as they weren't friends and family-I didn't feel guilty about blatantly dismissing someone's suggestion. Ahh the power of the internet.

We came up with 2 names, Finley Russell or Lennon Russell. We were both VERY 50/50 on both, I had every intention on calling the child either A) Finn or B) Len.
So after much debate, in either direction we decided to ask the oldest sister for her help.

Keeley, you pick is your brother going to be Finley or Lennon?

"Finley. Yup his name is Finley mom" No hesitation or second thought needed thank you very much.
"Why not Lennon?" I was leaning towards Lennon VERY strongly at this point and kicking myself for laying such a heavy important burden on a six year old. I mean what does a six year old know about naming kids. And she hadn't picked my choice and I wanted to know why.

So with a great big sigh, and a glare like I was very clearly thick in the head "You baby is not a lemon mom, Lennon is to sour. Want me to call him Lemon head? I will!"

Umm so new rule in ALL the baby naming books, leave the final decision up to a six year old. Or other aged child who's familiar with play ground name making.

So let me introduce (if the ultra sound was correct!)-

Finley Russell Smith-Due November 8/2013



Thursday, May 23, 2013

What to do?

So its 9:30 on a Thursday night with dinner dishes still to be done. What do YOU do? I can tell you what I did, I decided to cruise the November 2013 due dates boards to see if there was anything interesting. One topic did catch my eye...How to predict baby's gender. I know, this comes up all the time. But I decided to test three-yes THREE tonight. I found instructions for all of these from a VERY reliable source-the comments on the board! Surely these good natured women understand the complex chemical structure of pregnancy. If not-well it made for one heck of a conversation.

The Baking Soda test:

"put a little bit of baking soda in the bottom of a disposable cup then add a little bit of your pee. If it fizzles (like a soft drink) then you are having a boy. If not, it's a girl."

The Red Cabbage Test: (I know right?! who knew this existed!)

"Buy a red cabbage (don't substitute green cabbage -- it won't work). Size isn't important unless you love cooked cabbage. In that case get a huge one!
Cut the cabbage into small chunks.

Result: Baking Soda-Boy, Cabbage Juice: Boy!
Boil some water. Then add it to cover the cabbage chunks. Let sit for at least ten minutes.
Drain the cabbage and KEEP THE WATER! The water should be blueish in color.
Set aside the cabbage for lunch. I suggest stir fry or stew.
Pee in a cup! Grab a cup and head to the bathroom. If you're a little squeamish, you may want to use disposable cups.
Set up the test. In a separate cup mix 1 part urine with 1 part cabbage water.
Read the test!

If the urine/water turns pink/red its a boy!"

I'd like to note-I hate cabbage, with an unreasonable passion. So Buying one specifically to mix with pee made me feel like an evil genius. Not some crazy preggo woman who spends to much time on the Internet.

Result: Boy!
Chinese Gender Chart:

Apparently it was found in a tomb-and is very accurate. It has been right with my other three children. You take your age at the time of conception-and the month you conceived. And it should like up with pink or blue. To find the month of conception (because it can be different than you're last period) take your due date, and count back 38 weeks.

So if all three say its a boy, does this mean I need to start looking at boys names, and not fantasize about my beautiful Alice?

Guess we'll just have to wait and see for next ultra sound, and even then its only if baby cooperates.

Do you know any sure fire ways? Or any boy's names suggestions? I stand by my choice of peeing in a cup over dinner dishes.

Thursday, May 2, 2013

The things I'm going to do this time around...

This is the last time I'm going to have a baby. I know it, my husband knows it. Even my oldest has VERY SPECIFICALLY asked it be the last. So we all know it. I can't say I haven't had a decent run as a baby making momma. I'm not TLC show worthy. But I definitely can't complain about my conception issues.

Previously I've poked jokes at gender reveal photos, and cheeky cakes, announcement photos, painted bellies-all of it. Why on earth would I do something like that? I have the baby that's proof enough I was excited. I kept it, named it, and am trying my hardest to take care of it.

However, now that I know this will be my last-my heart is stirring for more enjoyment this time around. Seeming as how I've managed to get to know the commode well the first 12 weeks. I'd like to make the remainder 28 a joy to remember.

So here is a list of things I'm going to do with out shame.

  1. I'm going to cry at my ultra sounds. I've always tried VERY HARD not to do it. I'm not some sappy suck! But really they've managed to find something so tiny in woman who really isn't all that tiny. And take a picture of it to show me everything is okay. The least I can do is cry in thanks that two small cells made something so perfect.
  2. We're taking belly pictures. Screw it. The ONLY TIME I've looked even remotely passable is when I'm massive with child. So on that note-screw it we're doing gender reveal photos also.
  3. I'm going to order a gender reveal cake also-for myself to eat. because cake is delicious.
  4. In the hot, hot summer, I'm going to sit in my kids pool, with my streatched marked belly out with a fan on me and watch the kids go crazy.
  5. Know what else? I'm turning on the air conditioner this year. I'm not going to try to reduce my carbon foot print, I'm going to battle preggo sweat to the best of my ability.
  6. On that note I'm going to let the kids paint my belly also. On the same day I order a cake. I might make it a weekly occurance.
  7. I'm not going to weigh myself. Not once, you can't make me.
  8. I'm going to talk to my belly. I don't know if I've done this before-but I'm going to make an effort this time. I feel baby should hear something other than me hollering at its siblings to get down/knock it off/put the cat down/ you can NOT use a knife/ no REALLY put the cat down/get off the road/ why does the dog have make up on? Well you get the picture...
  9. Screw it I'm going to cry and call my husaband everytime I hear the heart beat. Just to remind him of the miracle of life growing inside me.
  10. Instead of cursing everytime I get a foot in the rib, I'm going to give thanks baby is safe, and I know he/she is okay.
  11. I'm going to let everyone I know touch my belly and ask questions. Even the rude ones about four kids. I'll never be talked to again so much in my life. I'm going to enjoy it.
I'm sure theres more, but this is what I want to do this time. I'm going to try very very hard to enjoy it. Now look at a picture of my lemon sized cutie!

Saturday, April 20, 2013

My Life with Hyperemesis Gravidarum

Its disgusting. Its horrible, its like a creature from the great beyond designed to give you the worst breath in history. No its more than that. It shuts your entire life down. Takes everything over, causes illness and injry-and theres no way you can have that happy little secret for long.

I've had to tell every single person at work, mainly because I throw up so many times a day. I've had a pressre injury in one eye-broken blood vessels. This time around I just came home from the hospital. It took six bags, and approximately 4 doses of different drugs to get it to stop. Only to find out I've torn some muscles in my diaphram and should refrain from picking up my other kids as much as possible.

I take the maximum dosage of diclectin allowable-plus gravol for really bad days. I lost my temper so badly today I owe a couple of people a serious apology. This wakes me up at night-and keeps me up for hours on end. The part that made the most up set?

A very good amazing friend is getting married today-I tried, I even had the dress on and the shoes bought. I threw up so many times while TRYING to get dressed, that I knew driving was a definate no-no. This was her special day, I was suppose to go and have dinner and dance, and laugh with friends. Neil and I were going to have a night out. Instead I'm in bright orange sweats, bent over the keyboard. Trying to explain it-but I know its hard to understand. "Just ask for a different drug". The next drug up the line is $15.00/pill even with coverage, Its to much for our poor tight budget to allow.

Today I'm ten weeks, three days pregnant. With one child (they've tested lots now...) Baby is the size of a kumquat. I know because baby center told me. It rules our house holds life.

Here he/she is-6weeks, one day. The size of a grain of rice. Saying hello-as early as can be.

Wednesday, February 27, 2013

An Unnecessary Post about The stupidity of a "book club"

Know what is stupid? Book Clubs. Not the CONCEPT of a book club, and I'm sure there are some fantastic, and well executed clubs. Ones where the premise of the book is discussed, characters dissected, the plot thickened with a well tasting wine.

When I read the list of the local club I nearly hung myself by my lap top cord. "The Hunger Games" is NOT book club material-its the shit I read when I'm so depressed about life I need to fantasize I'm a teen saving the world. I don't need to discuss my unresolved issues with a bunch of moms who can't understand a book with a higher reading level than Grade 5. If you have to find the book in the "Young adults & Teen" section at  chapters you're doing it wrong.

Don't get me started on Jodi Picoult, and Nicholas Sparks-and other like minded authors. Some one loved, someone didn't reciprocate, or reciprocated to much. Someone cried, died, suffered something major-life lesson learned. The End. Don't care-same crap different pile.

Now let me tell you a secret. The 50 shades series is stupid. It was written by an untrained, relatively untalented author who wrote Twilight Fan Fiction. Twilight is yet ANOTHER teen series. So basically you have some old woman reliving her teen years, through poorly written porn.  If you're curious about whips and chains, rent a movie. At least you might get laid at the end of it, if your hubby catches you.

So basically as a group of stay at home moms, you're allowing your self to be sucked in by a media, and popular culture fueled by the whims of teens. The whims of children, trapped in attractive grown up bodies, with out a fully developed brain capacity, charged with hormone in balances. Yup sounds like a winning combination to me.

Know what is a hard hitting book? Night Falls Fast-Understanding suicide-by Dr. Kay Redfield.  Maybe it will help you understand why that bottle of tranquilizers is lookin' mighty purdy at 3am.  It dissects WHY people do, WHO does it, and WHEN it most occurs. I discovered something. A large number of suicides are bored house wives, with unresolved PPD, who are done with the shitty book clubs, and patronizing tones of the world.

You want to expand your mind and learn something new? Pick up a book you would have NEVER picked before. Don't understand the context? Dictionary.com HAS AN APP FOR THAT! Make sure its not fiction. It leads you to believe in things you already harbor little hope for. Learn how to change the world. Read Psychology today on the can. Find out how big your carbon foot print really is. Get depressed about the world enough to freaking change it. But for god sakes-STOP supporting simpering teenagers, and authors that feed into the lack luster, low intelligent world of  today, people who know shit about whats going on.

Sunday, February 10, 2013

The Ten Year hump

Its been ten years since I graduated high school. Up until this point I'd thought of it in passing as I look at my kids-thanking the powers to be that I came so far, and feel such love. Then the thought would be gone as another adventure in parenting would come my way.

Today-its come forward and is slapping me with its memories. I was added to a Facebook group-one dedicated to planning the first "reunion" of the class of 2003. I need you to remember the home I share with my husband-is about 3 blocks away from the home I spent those tense teen years in. That same home my mother lives in. My Daughter goes the the elementary school behind the school I graduated from-I have NOT moved far. Just been doing the family thing.

I've stayed friends with the people I LIKED in my high school. And reconnected with others. I'm very happy to have done that. In the last ten years I've made lots of new and great friends-ones that have graduated from the same school in different years. And met some great NEW friends who did graduate the same year. Also lots of people that have moved to my lovely little home city.

High school was not all that enjoyable for me. (Out side of a couple very close friendships, and some great people in other grades). I was teased-a lot. Not many people know that. There was a group of boys that would spit on me every time they walked pass-and it was done 3-4 times a week for the last 2 years of school. I was slipped notes about how I needed to die, and no one loved me. And other various disgusting things that shouldn't have EVER happened. No I won't name names,  do I need to look those people in the face again? They might not even be there. Is it even worth it?

In classic style-I was horrible to others in a fear guided attempt to survive. I can't ever take that back. Just like how I can't make those boys & girls apologize to me and realize what they did.

I can remember walking through halls, and watching all these pretty, smart people laughing. Being horribly jealous of that laughter and enjoyment. I know now I was to terrified, and depressed to do well academically. As silly as it sounds I feel the crushing pressure in my chest thinking about it. It makes it hard to breathe, thinking of those days sometimes.

It has taken a very long while for me to be okay with who I am-weird eating habits, music taste, and all. As childish as the whole thing seems-even to me re-reading the post. I'm terrified of being hated again.
Unless I win a gazillion dollars and can flaunt my wealth I don't think I can go. I'll just keep up the re connections I have.  Hug my babies close, I'm going to tell my husband I love him. And be comfortable about today-and leave living in the past to someone else.

Monday, January 28, 2013

No More Bitty Beth on the bed!

1 little bitty Beth jumping on the bed, Beth fell down and bonked her head.

Mommy Called 911 and the responder said "how long has she been unconscious?"

"About 5 minutes"

And on it went for the longest 3 minutes of my life until the response team showed up at my house. With sirens-did you know an "un-responding female, 2 years of age" gets sirens?

A hurricane could have blown through the house after her intimate introduction to her night table. Also I learned a 2 year old child with a head injury is investigated. I didn't realize I was being investigated until I over heard an officer state "This is so clearly an accident there is no need for us to be here." 

Thank you Mr. Officer for ignoring my stress filled joke about hitting children. (Oh YES I did make that joke-who cries and panics when they can declare tasteless statements that shocked even me?)

The entire thing happened very quickly-She was out for nearly 8 minutes. The 15 seconds it took me to walk to the front door to open it for paramedics, she woke up and greeted us in the living room. I was shockingly calm through the entire thing-the 911 operator was surprised, the paramedics, firemen, and RCMP were all commenting on it. But writing it I'm not feeling so calm. My inside panic is starting to boil over.

So I realized my calm must have come from that determined "mommy you're home alone-handle this". But also I took a children's first aid course a few years ago-hoping I'd never need it. Yesterday I did. And of course it was one of the most scary scenarios there are-a head injury.

So here is a very brief description of what you should do. Its not a certified first aid course, and shouldn't replace one. But a little knowledge is better than none.

Bitty Beth letting the entire hospital know she was bored. She was kicking the door yelling "I'm trapped!"

Wednesday, January 23, 2013

Bringing that sexy spark back...

I don't really need to find THE spark. Just wanted to try something fun, different. I found my inspiration here. Isn't it fabulous-now I'm going to share how it went horribly wrong.  I thought a few minutes on my wording and decided straight to the point was best.

See why I have a problem? Apparently there really is a party in his pants. So jokes on him, now every one really is invited.  I'm not sure I know how I feel about these shenanigans. But I feel they need to be reciprocated-Boy won't his face be red if a bunch of people show up at that time? Or even just his boss...hmmm inappropriate scheming as a foot!

Tuesday, January 22, 2013

Almost 2 weeks in.

Well its been 12 days since I just up and changed everything. As it turns out I have a weakness for cheese pizza-so I'm not going to let that bother me. I've had pizza one more time since my last spaz attack. But absolutely no meat. 1 day a week I'm going to splurge my face off to prevent complete and total melt down.

Something has happened that I wasn't expecting-well many things. A week ago I started breaking out like a teenager right before the big prom, date, test.  All at the same time-I've had a grand total of 6 pimples my whole life, so this was a bit of a freak out. Turns out, your body gets rid of the crap in your system through your skin. Isn't that lovely?

I'm not starving to death between meals any more. However, I'm still learning on how to keep full enough so I don't hit "hangry".  My dining out spending has plummeted.  Its very hard to guarantee no animal products when  you're out and about.

The scariest, most unbelievable of all. I have enough energy to start working out. I WANT to. My body is SCREAMING, for a challenge.  So I'm terrified, do I wait until I have the eating right thing down? or do I just go for it? What do I start with? When one has spent the last 7 years being fat and lazy-you forget these things.

Any suggestions?

By the way I'm making this for dinner-doesn't it look AMAZING?!

Thursday, January 17, 2013

Yesterday was a bad, very bad, day.

Well I had proof yesterday that old habits die hard. And that I'm a stress eater. I know what every one is thinking "oh god not another fat woman telling me why shes stressed out". But I'm going to confess something, and then tell you the REAL reason why we eat crap food when we're angry and stressed out.

I ate cheese, and pizza. It was delicious veggie lovers pizza. All processed to crap and back. then I had a lobster artichoke cheese dip. It was AMAZING. In fact sitting here writing about it makes me wish to order more. I feel horrible. I'd gone a whole 6 DAYS with out animal products. not even sugar. which we all know I LOVE. There's proof here.

I had a holy hairy, I want to hide melt down. And since in that moment I knew it was ethically, morally wrong and ILLEGAL to punch someone in the throat or kick someone in the private bits. I ate. Delicious animal derived FOOD. I couldn't kill something myself-so yesterday I took pleasure in knowing something-many somethings died for my enjoyment.  I LOVED it. I ate with enjoyment. Basking in the residual carnage of the calf that was ripped from its mother so she could be milked to make processed cheese product. The lobster that was more than likely caught using bottom trawling, where the odds of an entire echo system being wiped out are high. 

The worst part? At Brewster's I ordered a VEGGIE PATTY. Like a horrible pretentious vegan. Like I was making a change in the world. Then SENT IT BACK.  I came home and ordered a large veggie lovers. Then ate most of it.  

So there it is. We don't eat to fill an emotional need. We eat to prevent murder. 

Today was a new day, and yesterday is done. Today, I'm a pretend vegan again. It's a good day.                

Monday, January 14, 2013

Day-What ever, of animal product free.

Its been how ever many days and I'm doing GREAT. No cravings, no difficult decisions. The food is yummy. Oh who am I kidding? 8-8:30pm rolls around and I'm twitching like a crack addict looking to score. But its not meat, or animal products per say. Its SUGAR. glorious, refined, bleached in animal bones, deadly for you SUGAR. Beautiful, SUGAR.

I didn't realize what my nightly ritual of a stolen from the kids treat was for me. After they go to bed I have, a cookie, ice cream, chocolate, cake, pie, whip cream on hot chocolate, mm mm chocolate. My hands are tingly, and I'm shaky. Not to mention freaking bitchy.

DO NOT tell me to have a piece of fruit, I swear I will end you. Its not the same. Not one little bit. I don't want a cup of tea, or oat meal with maple syrup. I want something so horribly fattening for me that they have to create entire documentaries and pamphlets on how its going to kill me.

I swear if I end up on death row, my last meal is going to be Avenue Cakery & Bake Shop Butter cream icing, and KFC chicken skin. (I'm assuming there is processed sugar in the breading or I wouldn't be tying this all together)

Now to roam my house with a purpose.  While my "supportive" husband calmly reminds me why I'm doing this.

Friday, January 11, 2013

No One likes a Pretentious Vegan

Yesterday with all my excitement it was easy-I pinned recipes, read blogs, watched shows. Then I did the best part-SHOPPING. I went easy on myself. Just some tofu, vegan friendly spreads, and a refill on some veggies that I usually buy. I was horribly disappointed in my cheap shop-that's another addiction that needs facing at a later date. The kids LOVED the meal yesterday.

But that's not what this is about-my bold decree over the net yesterday brought mixed responses. The most hilarious. from my lovely friend Brenda. (attached below).

So what do you think? Honestly. What do you think "vegan" and "vegetarian"mean? I'm not even sure I know. is this entire thing possible? I suppose only time will tell.

Thursday, January 10, 2013

Learning to De-fat myself.

I'm shockingly huge. There I said it. I won't post my weight because I don't actually know what it is. I refuse to look. My Doctor won't tell me because I cry. How do I know I'm a viable source of oil based fuel? The pictures, the icky ucky gross pictures.

We went to Banff Hot Springs this past week. And there we are a happy family-gorgeous mountain scenery in the back ground, and there I am-blocking said mountain. Well not really. But my shape isn't mom, or even slightly cushy-its blobby. Round. Orbit producing. With pretty hair and a big smile-holding my tiny looking little man.

So after much research-and on how to eat correctly with out killing myself with my food allergies-egg and milk the 2 worst, with gluten a close third. I hate to say it. I'm fairly certain the best thing for me is going vegan. I also may have watched a documentary or two on mass produced meat-my kids will now have very limited exposure to it.

Maybe before jumping on the 30-day shred, P90X, yoga, Zumba, band wagon I should re-learn how to eat. And especially if my kids are going to be eating some of it. I'm okay with accidentally killing myself with a vitamin deficiency due to ignorance. But I just can't for my own kids. So I will just be upping their veggie exposure, and keeping a close eye on their animal and animal product exposure.

I'm nervous, and scared. Can I do this? I'm going to try a recipe tonight. Chickpea, potato curry. We like curry. So here's hoping I can reset and restart my system.

Goal 1: Cook vegan for an entire day-and then try again the next day.   Wish me luck! and if you have any great ideas or recipes-PLEASE share.

Here is one of the documentaries I watched Vegucated a funny movie on Netflix that makes it feel attainable. And of course Food Inc. is always a scary eye opening go to.  And another great list of the Top 5 food movies that will help change your life.

Weaning Woes

I've been to work, and my schedule has been agreed on. Now its time to decide-do I keep breastfeeding, or wean him on to a bottle. Mr. Man will be 10 months old when I re-enter the work force.  10 months of breastfeeding is admirable. Not extended super long, but longer than the recommended six months by health Canada. I have options-and one heck of a great pump. I can very effectively pump and store on my breaks, 1 night, and 2 days a week. Its seems simple-go for it. whats 15 minutes of a double pump on a 30 minute break?

This is where this is tricky, I work with lots of teenagers and young adults. All of us slaves to the standard school schedule. They for their own classes-me for my young daughters school days. The whole thing is stressing me out and I haven't even started back to work. I need privacy. And a place to store. I doubt the supervisor on-a snappy come back kind of guy, would fully understand.

I'm shame filled when I admit this. I love nursing my son. But I'm tired of having my chest hanging out on a little mans whim. I want a pretty bra. not one that digs, and makes me look kind of sloppy and floppy. I want to pick an outfit without needing to worry about ease of nursing. I'm horribly sad to admit. I'm just not enjoying it any more. I think I'm done. But I don't want to be. Its been ingrained into my brain 12 MONTHS IS BEST. I don't know why I'm so hesitant to just wean. DD1 never nursed, and DD2 nursed for only 8 months.  Hubby is in agreement with me, no matter what I choose to do. Which makes it hard sometimes-having someone so supportive of you and your body.

So-what do I do?