Ohmmmmmm, Ohmmmmmm, Ohmmmmm,

I need something. I’m not quite sure what it is. Maybe it’s a bottle of wine, or a visit to the spa or a visit south or a visit to a hotel room by myself. I’m not sure what it is, but I know it’s REALLY needed right now. Yesterday I cursed in front of my kids. I know, those of you who know me well are probably thinking; ‘that can’t be the first time she’s cursed in front of her kids’. But really, I don’t swear or curse in front of them.

I had already been Freakout McScreamstein all day because I’m SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO tired of managing mealtimes on my own. Kevin has been working ridiculous hours and he’s rarely home for supper. Yesterday I’d stalled on serving supper just so I’d have the help dealing with the hellions once he got there. At one point during the meal both kids were up from their chairs twirling around like little friggin’ goblins and Kevin did nothing. I yelled, ‘SIT DOWN’! and then everyone, inclucing Kevin, was scared of me for the rest of the meal. Sometimes I scare myself. So Kevin says, “Do you want pyjamas or dishes?” (meaning do I want to get the kids ready for bed or tidy the kitchen). I chose kitchen, duh. So after getting her in her pyjamas (not sure what Kevin was doing at this point) I find Moira with her pants around her ankles crouching in front of the toilet with her hand in the water (she’s FIVE people) and I lose it, “MOIRA, WHAT ARE YOU DOING? HOW OLD ARE YOU? YOU KNOW THAT TOILETS ARE DISGUSTING AND FULL OF GERMS THAT CAN MAKE YOU REALLY SICK. GOOD GOD, CHILD!” and as I walk away I throw the empty egg carton I’d intended to put in the recycling against the stove and grunt, “Jesus Christ, alFUCKINGmighty” (I don’t usually use God’s name in vain, so sorry to all my Christian readers who are about to click ‘unfollow/unsubscribe’). Not sure where Kevin was during all this. Then I’m in the kitchen attempting to finish MY job when Theo is freaking out, “I want Mommy to put my PJs on! I want Mommy to put my PJs on!I want Mommy to put my PJs on!” So I abandon the kitchen to finish getting Theo ready and then read the kids 6 books on the couch and when I’m all done the kitchen is the same as I left it and Kevin is getting his ‘things’ together to go play shinny with his buddies. ARGH!!!!!!!!!!! Please, send me every contest entry form you know of that includes a prize like a trip or a spa package or therapy. My poor kids. 

Santa Baby…

Dear Santa Claus,

It’s hard to believe that 2010 is coming to a close. It seems like the kids just keep getting older and bigger no matter how much anti-aging serum we put in their Shreddies.

I’ve been a really good girl this year so I’m hoping that you’ll bring me a time machine for Christmas so I can go back to times when my babies were even littler.

I know, I know, I’m asking for too much. But it really would be nice. I’m doing my best to savour each moment but they’re all so fleeting. So, though a time machine would be great, I’m keeping in mind that each new day will bring its own gifts of magic and wonder and struggles and smiles and spills and tears and hugs and fort making and lego building and diaper soiling and giggle fests and scraped knees and bruised spirits and sticky hands and jammy faces and story time and boogery noses and book reading and family cooking and snow angels and puddle jumping and bike riding and loose teeth and bannock making and first words read and colour learning and doctors visits and booboo kissing and teeth brushing and hockey games and soccer games and swim lessons and myriad of amazing moments that I’m doing my best to cherish and burn into memory.

Santa, I’m sure you know what a wonderful year our family has had. Moira and Theo continue to grow and make our hearts swell with love and pride every day. They are both so different and we are happy to celebrate their differences and their uniqueness. Kevin and I never could have imagined how challenging and rewarding a job parenting is, but we’re thankful that we were given Moira and Theo as our assignment. So far we feel we’re doing an okay job but Kevin always says that we won’t REALLY know how well we’ve done until they’re about 30. So don’t send us any performance based Christmas bonuses just yet. Fingers crossed for 2035 though!

Theo (now 2 1/2) is a busy boy who is testing where the boundaries have been set and hoping he can nudge them a little in his favour. So far he has seen that the boundaries are rigid and firm and they aren’t going anywhere, but like a wild animal, he keeps trying. He’ll get it sooner or later. He LOVES balls. Soccer balls, baseballs, golf balls, footballs, road hockey balls, christmas ornament balls (oh wait, those shouldn’t be thrown or kicked). He also loves cars and he’s an amazing little thinker who is coming up with the funniest things every day. He’ll sit for an hour if you read to him but no more than 5 minutes for a board game or a craft. He’ll be a prince, a pirate, a dragon, a back up dancer, a guitarist, a ‘dirty cow’ (don’t ask, b/c I don’t know what that is), a goalie, a baby, a barbie or a dog for his sister whenever she chooses he’s worthy of her play time. He does sometimes say no…on rare occasions; like the other day when he said, “Mowa (Moira), I’m not talking to you; I’ve had enough of your behaviour”.

Moira has become such a thoughtful, sweet and talented little (FIVE year old) girl. The other day I was rushing around to get everyone out the door and I came downstairs to find her brushing Theo’s teeth. She sings to him at bedtime and cuddles with him in the morning. She loves music and dancing and bossing little kids around. We’re working on it. She loves to help around the house and takes ANY and ALL tasks very seriously. She’s meticulous in the way that she does her ‘work’ (a characteristic she got from her Dad and her Aunty Erin). Her teachers are happy with what she is learning and doing in kindergarten though they did say that her tendency to be a bit chatty means she can be a bit distracting to the other students (that one’s on me). She’s got her first loose tooth right now and is so scared to pull at it that I’m sure it’s just going to pop out when the other tooth needs the room to move up. She’s playing hockey this year and seems to really enjoy it (much to my delight). Her team got to play at the Moose Game intermission a few weeks back and we had a great big cheering section all for her! She’s got her first hockey tournament this weekend and we’re going to be volunteering at the auction table and eating rink burgers and making tape balls for Theo to whack around with his hockey stick. (He can’t wait to play.)

Kevin is still working at the Northwest Company as their Corporate Controller. He really enjoys his job and the scope and variety it offers. He’s just a few minutes from home so when he’s working long hours (like right now) it’s great that he can be home in time for supper and bath time! He doesn’t have much time for extra curricular activities but he plays hockey on Wednesdays at noon with his coworkers and managed to squeeze in an adventure race in September.

I’m still working in the home but doing a little bit of photography with my business to keep my mind busy and to give me a little spending money. A girl needs a new pair of shoes every now and then, right? I’m on the board for Moira’s Montessori and play hockey twice a week. The kids’ activities, managing the household, eating bonbons and watching Oprah keep me pretty busy otherwise! That really doesn’t sound like much, but, believe it or not, most weeks I’m swamped with a jam-packed calendar!

Our family trip to the Maritimes in July/August was beyond amazing. We went to NB, NS (Pugwash & Halifax) and PEI. I was so excited for it and built it up so much that I was worried I might be a little disappointed. But that was not to be. The time with our family was amazing and rejuvenating and seeing the kids make new and amazing little discoveries each day was so great. If you and Mrs. Claus have a week or two to kill next year before the big Christmas rush you should definitely make your way out East!

Our house has been transformed (though not completed). We looked for a bigger house for 2 years and found nothing that we liked as much as ours (and really, couldn’t bear to leave the neighbourhood) so we decided to make our little 1500 sq. foot 1 1/2 story home into a bigger one. We changed ALL the windows, replaced the siding and added a 1 1/2 story addition on the back (which consists of a big back entrance, mudroom with cubbies and a laundry room which will eventually have OODLES of storage space and a bonus family room upstairs) and a nice big front porch (that gave us a little bit of extra space upstairs for my office/master walk-in closet). The outside still needs a little work: the stone work on the front and the porch need to be completed and the inside of the addition and the whole upstairs need drywall and finishing work but it’s all liveable and we are so excited to have the extra space. Once the kitchen and main floor renovation is completed too we’ll have a crazy house warming party in…oh 2012?

This year has been so unbelievable and I can’t ask for more. So Santa, for 2011 I can do without the time machine. But if you could just continue to ensure that my family is safe and healthy and that we have lots of time to spend together I’d be more than happy with that.

Give our love to Mrs. Claus and all the elves. If the elves are finding it tough when you lay them off after Christmas I’d be happy to pay them $12/ hour to finish the house off for us. I hear they’re really hard workers. Let me know if there are any takers!

With love,

Jody, Kevin, Moira, Theo & Zinnia

Do I need it again?

This post was in my drafts for about a month:

I’m pretty sure I’ve been clinically depressed on several occasions in my life…basically most of highschool (come on, look at the photo in my last post, that would send anyone spiralling into a deep, dark depression) and a handful of times in adulthood. But in 2003 I was actually diagnosed with clinical depression by a professional. It’s not something very many people know. Not because I’m ashamed of it or want to keep it from people. I’m happy to share if asked. It’s like religion. No one knows what ‘religion’ I am unless they ask. Some things don’t pop up in conversation every day…like my depression, or varicose veins on parts of your body you didn’t think could GET varicose veins, or how often you think about walking down to your neighbour 3 houses over and silencing their mutt with, well, a silencer, or how sometimes you wonder what it would be like to make out with Sting even though he’s as old as your dad and has no upper lip. Okay, a little over sharing. You get the point. There’s A LOT you don’t know about me. There’s a lot I don’t know about me. So… I was diagnosed and treated for depression for just over a year. They (and by they I mean my amazing GP and a shrink) decided the best course of treatment was Zoloft and therapy. I’ve been more than a little ‘blue’ lately. Maybe it’s the weather, or the lack of professional stimulation, or the fact that my husband works 70 hours a week and I ‘parent’ on my own for the bulk of the day…but I’m really down lately. Today at the breakfast table Moira asked, “Mommy, why are you so sad?”  When I told her I wasn’t she said, “Yes you are, look at your face.” Sheesh, if the kids are noticing it maybe I should do something about it. I’ll give it another week or two and then consider the ‘meds’ again.

Crazy what several weeks can do. I think the early arrival of summer and the fact that I’m keeping busy and Kevin is home for TWO days on the weekends now has turned my depression around. That’s not to say it won’t come back and I won’t ever need meds again. Until then I’ll be sure to soak up the sun, keep the creative juices flowing and enjoy having Kevin around more.

A Letter to My Younger Self…

Dear [1991] Jody,

Someday you’re going to be a MILF:

Okay, not really. And, to be fair this photo was taken before you shot two nine pound spawn from your vajayjay. (I know, right? KIDS??? Two of them.) You don’t actually look anything like this now. When you put in a little effort you still clean up okay and sometimes when you run into one of the douchebags from highschool (who wouldn’t give you a second look) they don’t even recognize you. That’s because, [1991] Jody, you look like this right now:

You thought you were rocking this look. While back-to-school shopping you chose that hideous shirt with school photos in mind. The sad part, dear, sweet, naive, gullible, awkward Jody; it’ll only get worse before it gets better. A whole lot worse. You’ll have one boyfriend in highschool. He’s a douche but you should still date him because all the crap he’ll put you through will be part of what makes you the loud-mouthed, bad-ass, confident, no sh!t-taking, mind-speaking BIOTCH you are today. But don’t worry. You will emerge on the other side of head-gear (you’ll wear it to school; yikes!), braces (2 glorious years), acne (well, your skin still sucks but not as bad as it’ll be in grades 10, 11 and 12), bad hair choices (sadly, the photo above is not the worst hairstyle you’ll have), $59.99 rack glasses (that’s your cheap parents’ fault, nothing could have been done), endless fashion mishaps (there’s only so far minimum wage can get a girl) and an awkwardness that makes me weep. And when you come out on the other side, the one guy from highschool who WILL date you the fall after graduation will only date you in secret for fear of being teased by his friends. Boys will still shudder at the thought of what you had looked like for the previous 4 years. Your dear, wonderful, loving husband (yup, you snagged you a good one, yo!) once said that if he’d seen this photo of you before your first date he might not have succumbed to all the blatant and shameless stalking advances.

Someday you’ll embrace the former you. You’ll recognize that everything you’ve done (and what you used to look like) made you who you are. Don’t change a thing about yourself from here on out. Well, maybe ease up on the brown lip liner, avoid drinking that entire mickey of lemon gin in September 1992 and the old, chubby, short guy you ‘date’ the summer after graduation, he’s going to spread nasty and untrue rumours about you. Oh, and be a little nicer to your parents. They really do love you and they’re looking out for you.

Yours Truly,

[2010] Jody

Ray Bans…not cool.

I’m not a fan of the 80s fashion trends. I can sort of live with them. Hell, I’ve even bought a pair of skinny jeans. They don’t make me look skinny; nothing but starvation and dehydration can do that. But they’re called skinny jeans so they make me feel better about my back fat. And my lack of ass. The long shirts are nice that way. They hide stuff. I should have kept some of my maternity clothes; they’re even in style for women not growing humans in their abdomens. Some people take the 80s fad a little too far. I don’t think we should ever (EVER) go back to this:

The bright, neon colours were bad back then and they’re almost more hideous the second time around. They can cause temporary blindness, nausea, eye strain and in some cases whiplash. Good GOD this is never nice:

Ray Bans didn’t look good on Tom Cruise in ‘Risky Business’ and they don’t look good now. On ANYONE. Not than anything could look good on this socialite ho-bag:

I guess I actually DON’T hate the 80s trend sweeping the nation because I can’t help wanting all three of these outfits and they’re 80s. Right?

Aunt Becky wanted her (cult) followers to blog about things that annoy them. There are countless things that annoy me. In fact, this blog could be dedicated exclusively to things that annoy me and I’d never run out of things to write about. Aunt Becky curses a lot and she’s funny as hell. What kind of woman calls her children ‘crotch parasites’? Aunt Becky.

A day in the life…

I won’t lie to you. Sometimes being a stay-at-home mom leaves me feeling like my brain might just turn to cheese. I’m serious. Kevin might come home from work one day to find me lying in the fetal position, drooling, twirling the few wisps of hair I haven’t pulled out, chanting “mommy, where’s my mommy?”, while the kids gorge themselves on Arrowroot cookies and figure out how to play their PVRed Sesame Street. Today was one of those days. As much as I LOVE (LOVE, LOVE) my kids, at the end of some days my sanity makes its exit some time around noon, my patience takes a coffee break at 4pm and doesn’t bother coming back and my breath is so bad (because I haven’t found time to brush my teeth) that the dog won’t even accept attention from me. Usually it takes until Friday for me to feel this numbness I’m dealing with today. Maybe it’s hormones, because God knows we lady-folk love to blame stuff on our hormones. I eat pounds of chocolate each month and blame it on a varying number of hormonal intervals; “What, I’m PRE-menstrual?”, “Dark chocolate’s supposed to be good for you, besides, I’m on my period.”, “I’m SO ovulating right now, can you please pick me up a fruit and nut dairy milk on the way home, hon? The big one.”

I can’t actually prove that my hormone levels are wonky right now, so let’s just go with fatigue and lack of brain stimuli as the reason for this bout of brain-cheesing, okay? I haven’t been taking on much work lately because I was finding it was nice to spend lots of quality time with the kids. My creative self is thinking about kicking my ass and taking over completely. Which wouldn’t be a good thing because if I let that side of me take over (fully) I’d rack up all my credit cards at HomeSense, Fabricland, and Don’s Photo.

Theo had (roughly) 3 screaming fits before we even got down to having breakfast. He’s at this lovely stage right now where he just screams things like “NO WAY!”, “GO AWAY, GO!!”, “NO THANK YOU!” (At least he’s using his manners while screaming at me?) The child is completely ruled by his blood sugar levels. This must be a gender issue because I know A LOT of boys and men who can be pretty pissy when they haven’t eaten in the last 12 minutes. I am consistent and always follow through on all of my threats, which means today he had 876 “sit downs”. Well, it felt that way. I had to hose him down first thing because the boy has one poo a day and eats like a trucker. I usually have to wash his bedding most mornings. Yeah, gross, I know. So while he’s in the tub getting hosed down and screaming bloody murder I’m just waiting for the humane society to knock on the door because I’m sure by now the neighbours have called to complain that I’m slaughtering goats in my basement. I get him out, put him in a cloth diaper (I’m nuts, I know), get him in a onesie, calm him down and get a fruit leather in his hand to buy me the time to make oatmeal. Not just any oatmeal. When I last went to buy oatmeal I decided I’d buy the old-fashioned kind. You know, the one you do on the stove top! 26 minutes! That’s how long it took. Theo ate 4 fruit leathers, 2 bananas and an apple in the time it took me to make the bloody oatmeal. (During all this Moira is happily playing away on PBSkids.org). Once the oatmeal is ready and both kids are sitting down I go and strip Theo’s crib to put the blankets and sheet in the washing machine and while I’m down there I intend to take meat out of the freezer for supper, but don’t.

Erin (my sister) drops Edie (18 months) and Willem (3) off so I can watch them while she does a bit of running around (for both herself and me). I fold laundry and hang out with the kids in the basement then drag them all upstairs to play while I clean the breakfast mess up and prepare lunch (I forgot to take meat out of the freezer while I was downstairs). I’m starving. I realize I haven’t eaten anything today. Of course I haven’t made enough lunch for me too, so I devour 4 oatmeal raisin cookies. I hardboil 3 eggs for Moira to take to school for Easter egg decorating, toss her in some clothes that aren’t too filthy, wipe her face, put a barrette in her hair and throw her in the van to get her to school while Erin watches the other spawn. I spend 20 minutes at the school discussing the plans for a bathroom renovation for M’s school with the director and head back home. When I get back Erin has tidied away the lunch stuff so I go downstairs to clean up the mess of toys in the basement (and don’t remember to take meat out, once again), then cut out the dress I’m going to sew for Moira, then reply to some business emails and a few personal emails. I fill out and organize all the fundraising plant order forms for Moira’s school. Poof, it’s time to drag poor Theo from his slumber (and Edie too because Erin’s at a doctor’s appointment with Willem) down to the school to pick M up. I toss them both in the double jogger and make my way to pick her up. Once home Erin pops in and grabs Edie, I send Spawn 1 and Spawn 2 downstairs for their 1 hour per diem of TV (at least it’s Sesame Street) while I make supper. Which means I have to dig through the freezer and totally improvise dinner. I choose chicken; always safe. When it’s thawed (in the microwave) I throw it in a corningware dish, chuck some garlic, sun-dried tomatoes, marinated artichokes, and feta on it and toss it in the oven. We’ll have leftover roast potatoes and steamed broccoli. I clean up most of the cooking dishes and am sitting on the living room floor sorting toys when Kev walks in and asks, “How was your day?”.

“Fine thanks, how was yours?”

"More to share"? Oh I ain't sharing!

Death & Dying…

Moira has been obsessed with death and dying lately. Maybe it’s her age, maybe it’s that she’s a little more macabre than most kids, but it’s creeping me out and I’m having a lot of trouble answering some of her very deep questions. A few months back she asked, “Mom, when do people die?” I explained to her that some people die at any age if they get so sick that the doctor can’t help them or that some people die at any age if there is some sort of accident “BUT,” I kindly told her, “most people don’t die until they get really old and their bodies get too old to be alive anymore”.

She replied, “Like Big Moira?” (Big Moira is Kev’s Grandmother, who little Moira is named after).

Thinking she thought I meant that Big Moira was old, I said, “Yes, like Big Moira.” She began crying and I thought she was upset about the prospect of Big Moira dying so I hugged her and consoled her.

I thought nothing more of the conversation until a few weeks later when I told her we were going to see Big Moira for lunch and she elatedly screamed, “YOU MEAN SHE’S STILL ALIVE?”. It just goes to show that exceptional communication skills (which is one of the skills listed on my resume) are UBER important in parenting. Jody gets a big fat F on this one.

Yesterday Kev and I took the kids for ice cream and while we were sitting having a nice family conversation Moira up and asks, “If you and Daddy BOTH die, who’s going to take care of us.” Thinking this is going to open up a can of worms I’m not quite ready to deal with, I answer honestly anyway, “If Mommy and Daddy both died, you and Theo would go live with Aunty Erin (my big sis) and Uncle Kyle.” She added, “And Willem and Edie.” I said, “Yes, that’s right.” At this point I’m bracing myself for the deluge of questions like: how will you and daddy die? Or tearful outbursts like: I don’t want you to die! Instead she replied, “Okay. But before you and Daddy die can you quickly give me Aunty Erin’s phone number. Maybe you could write in on a piece of paper and fold it up for me.”

Maybe I should put an emergency phone list together, just in case!

Run Jody, Run!!!

The basement renovation is 90% done (we’ve just got to caulk the windows, install the baseboards, paint the door trim, build a cabinet for the breaker, build a bar and put up ceiling moldings, OH, AND we’ve still got the entire bathroom to do; okay 75% done). With the basement useable again I’ve finally got my treadmill back. And by “my” treadmill I mean the beast of a thing we bought 3 years ago, used 7 times and put in the garage under a pile of other stuff we don’t use. I’ve run 4 times in 9 days. That’s pretty good for me, peeps! I also play hockey 1.2 times a week and try to get to the gym for my circuit training once a week. My friend Khalie is trying to get me to join her for some sort of aerobic dance called Zumba on Thursday nights. Plus, with the warm weather I’ve been chasing Moira on her bike up and down the block once a day. So add all that up and I should look like Cindy Crawford by the beginning of summer? Not likely. Plus, when I work out I basically give myself carte blanche to eat whatever I want, whenever I want. Not good practice, I realize, but 3 beers, chicken wings and an order of poutine at 10pm after a solid hockey game is totally reasonable, no? God grant me the metabolism I had before I turned 22!

Okay, now I want to have some right now.

Farewell Facebook (procrastinitis enabler)…

So I’ve been reading a lot of other blogs recently; you know, to spice mine up and set it apart (yeah right). It’s lots of fun to read about what other people are doing and what they think is funny and what they think you should buy and what music they recommend and what they are wearing and what their cat just coughed up on their foot and what their boyfriend thinks of romantic comedies and what their kids ate for breakfast and what their favourite colour is and what their best friend’s tattoo looks like and what video game they’re really into and what their doctor has told them they aren’t necessarily allergic to but are slightly intolerant of!?!?!?! Well, the first few things were true, the other stuff, well, those people are just oversharing. Like those facebook people who post every 45 minutes. You know who you are! We don’t need to know EVERY detail of your day. I got so tired of FB that I ended up deactivating my account. YES! Deactivating my account. Desperate times call for desperate measures, people. I’m a procrastinator. If there were a more severe label than procrastinator I would have written it. I looked it up. There isn’t. I will do the most menial and mundane things to avoid doing the dishes or calling a contractor to give me a quote on an addition or doing my business books. Facebook further perpetuated my procrastinitis. That’s a disease. It IS. Look it up. Anyway, so I gave up FB. To be honest, I don’t miss it that much. I miss seeing people’s photos and I miss updating my own status for some reason. Here’s what my status updates would have looked like this past week (I do a little oversharing myself):

Jody Wilcott Sie really should NOT have drunk 4 cups of tea before bed. (Monday, March 1, 3am)

Jody Wilcott Sie wishes Moira’s deuces weren’t always so well synchronized with my shower. Yuk. (Tuesday, March 2, 8am)

Jody Wilcott Sie should know better than to dress Theo before breakfast. Oh the laundry! (Wednesday, March 3, 9am)

Jody Wilcott Sie ‘s daughter has started doing monologues. “I’m sitting on the toilet while Mommy cuts my toenails and I’m being brave, without Zinnia here to help me be brave, the lid is closed and I’m sitting on a towel, I like getting my big toe cut but my pinky toe hurts a little, we’re going to go to Mountain Equipment to get me a new splash suit and then we’ll see if we can find some puddles, Simon came over yesterday and we played but he got homesick for his mom, sometimes I get homesick for my mom, honeydew melon is my new favourite fruit….” (Thursday, March 4, 2pm)

Jody Wilcott Sie, Kevin and the kids are cuddling, eating banana bread and knocking down block towers. Ahhh, Sunday afternoons rock! (Sunday, March 7, 4pm)

Jody Wilcott Sie knows that spring is on the way because my 89 year old back door neighbour Mary is out in the back lane chipping away at the ice with an ax! (Tuesday, March 9, 7:30am)

Jody Wilcott Sie now spends as much time procrastinating while reading blogs as she did while facebooking! (Wednesday, March 10, 10:00pm)

‘Mom, your breath smells like cheese.’

Kids say the darndest things. Moira is constantly telling me things I would really rather not hear. Take this morning for instance. I was drying off after my shower and our conversation went something like this:

M: ‘Mom, your belly is WAY bigger than mine.’

J: ‘My head’s bigger than yours, my elbows are bigger than yours, my nose is bigger than yours; it’s because I’m just bigger than you.’

M: ‘I know you’re bigger than me, but your belly is WAY, WAY bigger.’

Nice. Or the time she asked me, ‘When I’m old like you will I have two chins like you do?’ Or when she asked me to turn around in the shower so she could see my bum and then said, ‘Yup, it’s a big one!’. When I was pregnant with Theo I had bad skin. Okay, that’s a bit of an understatement. I have bad skin when there are no spawn growing inside me, I have HORRIBLE skin when there is life within. (Just one of the countless things on my excel sheet titled ‘Reasons why two kids are enough.’) Anyway, she stopped her usual babbling to stare at my face for a while and then started pointing to all my (ahem) blemishes saying, ‘polka dots, polka dots, polka dots’. She’s so kind. Some of the cute things she says are not insulting (thankfully). Like the time she woke up with hiccups when she was 2 and when I asked her where she got them she replied, ‘I found them on my pillow’. One day her friend Annika told Moira that she looked pretty, Moira matter-of-factly retorted, ‘I AM pretty.’ Her pediatrician’s name is Dr. Martinez but for looongest time she called him ‘Dr. Penis’, to his face! Luckily he’s got a good sense of humour!

For this, and so many other reasons I created an email account for Moira when she was 15 months old and began emailing her every two months. Sometimes the drafts sit for a while and I’ll add to the message as she does things or there is a significant event in her life. The emails usually gush about how much I love her and all the funny and adorable things she does and says. I did the same for Theo. He actually got emails from birth, so in one measly realm of his youngest-child-world, he wins! The other day Moira was making up songs set to the tune of twinkle, twinkle, I had to stop and watch her while her creative, uninhibited, kid brain worked on some pretty awesome rhymes and really absurd lyrics. Like almost everyone I know, I’ve got a really busy life, but I’m careful to take the time to savour important and poignant moments when they happen. All those clichés about ‘time flying’ and ‘they don’t stay little for long’ are so true and some days I put my head on my pillow and mourn the day that has passed because my babies are another day older, another day closer to not needing me as much as they do right now.

OLYMPIC fever…

My Olympic fever has finally broken and I’m recuperating nicely. The opening ceremonies were nice enough. They did a good job of further perpetuating the false notion that there’s NOTHING to do on the prairies. Nice one. I think they could have done a better job at representing our multiculturalism. I respect and admire our aboriginal people, but there were articles written around the world by the associated press where the writers said they didn’t know that Canada was made up largely of aboriginal groups! K.D. Lang was amazing beyond words; if you haven’t bought her album Hymns of the 49th Parallel you absolutely MUST buy it. I wore out the copy I bought in ’04 and have since had to buy it again on iTunes. OK, to the point. My Olympic Fever didn’t really begin until Sunday the 14th when our mogul hero the adorable and sweet and kneeless (well, he must be; it’s not NATURAL to move your legs like that) and hard working and gracious and humble and talented Alexandre Bilodeau won his gold; or rather OUR gold. The poor guy must feel like he should give up the medal to put in a sports museum somewhere. ‘Canada’s first gold on home soil!’  I’ll be honest, I bawled. I cried for about 16 days straight; not just for Bilodeau, but all the great stories (ours and other countries’ stories). Even when they played the 30 second summary videos of all our medals and they showed Bilodeau hugging his brother Frederic I cried. It didn’t help that I was hormonal, but really, if you don’t get even slightly teary during the Olympic games can you really consider yourself human? Kevin doesn’t read this so I can write this and he won’t be able to deny it to anybody, but I saw him get a little choked up a few times. He usually gets watery eyes and has to get up to get himself another beer/glass of water/glass of wine. I love him for crying. I always knew he was a big softy. It just took two kids and 9 years of marriage for the smooshiness to emerge. Well worth the wait if you ask me.

The apex of the fever came at about 17:05 CST on Sunday when the Canadian men’s hockey team decided they wanted to be GOLD medal winners after all. I’m pretty sure my kids thought I was having an emotional breakdown when the US scored with 24.6 seconds left in the third. I made a sound reminiscent of the last scream before Theo emerged into the world. I know, ‘relax’, right? I’m my father’s daughter; I get VERY emotional about hockey (and bad drivers, and stupid people, and a slew of other things/people). I was a little disappointed by how mellow the boys were after the win. I guess we can’t expect tears from Stanley Cup winning uber-jocks, but a little emotion would have been nice. The Olympic fever didn’t last much past that. The closing ceremonies left me feeling achy and I couldn’t stop yawning so I headed to bed early. I’ve gotten lots of rest and had plenty of fluids since the games ended. So I’m on the mend. Now, what to do with the 2-3 hours a day I now have free?!?

OLYMPIC FEVER - symptons include but are not limited to, anxiety, gasping for breath, nausea, heart palpitations, uncontrollably watery eyes, sudden verbal outbursts, Brian Williamsitis (good lord is this a horrible symptom), severe thumb cramping (fyi, Sports Net was not worth it, just flip back and forth between CTV and TSN for the Sochi games), aching gluteus maximus, sudden and uncontrollable wincing (aerial ski jumping, Alpine 'G', and moguls being the most likely sports to trigger this symptom)

the H1N2 virus…

I brought the kids to the walk-in clinic in Osborne Village today. I could have waited until 4 pm to take them to see one of the doctors at their regular doctor’s practice, but the one we’d have to see is a complete @$$hole. I digress. I called ahead and even though the walk in hours are 9 to noon the ever so friendly and bubbly receptionist (if I could make the web ooze sarcasm your screen would be leaking right now) informed me that the doctor planned to be out until 11am. I got there RIGHT at 11 to be sure we got seen as soon as possible, because we all know how fun it is to spend an hour in a waiting room with two kids! The doctor didn’t get there until 11:30, at which time he took a woman who’d arrived after us who had an appointment for 11:45!!! No worries, the kids were well-behaved and I had plenty of time to get them home for lunch and M to school. Our turn comes along and the conversation with the receptionist went something like this:

R: “The doctor will see Theo first. She (Moira) can wait out here while Theo is seen.”

JS: “No she can’t.”

R: “It’s a really small room and the doctor will only see one of them at a time.”

JS: “I’m not leaving my 4-year-old daughter in a waiting room by herself.” (I counted no fewer than 3 methheads outside the office on my way in!)

R: “Would you like to make an appointment for her at another time?”

JS: “No, she’ll see the doctor now, with me.”

R: “Ahhhh…Okay.”

WHAT THE HELL!?!?!?! So when it was Moira’s turn to see the doctor was I expected to put Theo in a chair, alone, in the waiting room next to the gal who was rocking in her seat, humming Boom Boom Pow and ‘texting’ on her hairbrush? Honest to God some people haven’t got a brain in their heads! The receptionist claimed it was the doctor’s wish that Moira wait outside the room. Wow, 3 years for a BSc, 4 years of medical school, 3 years of residency and that’s what comes out of it? He wasn’t especially bright, had ZERO bedside manner and his hands were so filthy I’m guessing he’s actually a mechanic who moonlights as a doctor. I should have known better; I guess you get what you get when you go to a walk-in! Sheesh!

All this as the culmination of two and a half weeks of oozy eyes, drippy noses, sore throats and ‘people walking in [Moira's] ear.’ Theo had a double eye infection and Moira had an ear infection two weeks ago (she told me her ear hurt and she could hear people walking in there). My 13 day cold led to strep throat and a sinus infection last week and low and behold, Theo now has an ear infection. Kevin has managed to remain unscathed by all of this. It could be because it’s busy season and he’s not home as much so less likely to contract our mutating, GAWD-AWFUL, H1N2 virus.

Here’s how it all started: