The name of my problem

So I've been having a few issues lately. I've been having "dizzy spells," that aren't really dizzy spells, but it was the best words that I could come up with to explain them. Basically, I'm walking around 80% of the time feeling like I'm drunk. Which is great for Friday nights, but not so great for stuff like driving. Or thinking. Or Parent-Teacher interviews. Stuff like that.

So I finally made it to the doctor this week, and now my drunken stupor has a name.

Benign Paroxysmal Positional Vertigo.

(Gesundheit.)

To save you from reading the diatribe that is that website, I'll give to you in short: there's stuff rolling around in my inner ear, disturbing all the little inner ear hairs that tell the brain whether I'm standing up, laying down, moving forward, rolling over, and so on. I move my head to the right, send the "stuff" bouncing all over my ears, which tells my brain that I'm actually spinning around in circles, thus the "dizzy." But I'm not ACTUALLY dizzy. Just my brain thinks I'm spinning around in circles, but my body knows it's standing still.

It's a total mindf*ck, people.

The treatment is a simple maneuver that involves relocating the "stuff" by laying down and hanging upside down, and rolling over, and leaving your head hanging, and yadayadayada. Simple for most people. Except the hanging upside down over a bed part is less fun if your mindf*ck dizzy has also landed you with a cracked rib.

Good times.

The next part of the treatment involves keeping your head pretty much upright for AT LEAST 24 hours.

No bending over, no quick head movements, and no lying down.

Last night I slept in the Lazy Boy. It was far from awesome.

The doc recommended one night of this. The web page I read recommended two. EASY FOR IT TO SAY! Tonight, I'll be sleeping in my bed, come hell or eardrum debris. I'll repeat the shenanigans if necessary, but not sleeping in my bed for two nights in a row?

Nuh-uh.

I'm going to be dizzy with sleep deprivation if I spend another night in that chair, and that is less useful to me than any ricocheting ear debris.

So that's my story. I'm glad that my drunkenness has a name, and I'm so glad it's not a nasty name like "tumor" or something. (It's a terrible thing, but stuff like that seems to be all around me these days, and headaches and dizzy spells can lead a person to have nasty thoughts about the cause.) And I'm glad the treatment is simple and painless. And for all the times I've cursed the ugliness that is the monstrosity of a Lazy Boy that lives in our living room, I sure was glad to have it last night.

But now I sleep. In my own bed...Baileys induced, and horizontal. G'night!

(Stay tuned for tomorrow...we're going to open a huge can of Christmas whoop-ass here, and whip this place into Christmas shape! And there will be pictures! Fancy pictures!)

Conditioning the Air

We've lived here for nearly 5 years, and I can count the number of time's we've turned on the AC on one hand.

(Life on the ROOF. Up high. It is ALWAYS windy here.)

The first few times were in the first summer we spent here. It may have had something to do with the fact that I weighed over 200 pounds and had a bun in the oven; a bun that was nearly cooked, and an oven that seemed to be constantly turned on HOTTER THAN HELL.

I don't do hot well.

I actually consider myself lucky that I'm fairly cold blooded. In the winter, if you're wearing 2 layers, I'm wearing 4. You're wearing 4, then I'm wearing 7. Spring, and everyone is in t-shirts? I'm the one with my sweatshirt on, and my toque in my bag, just in case.

So today, when I was effing hot, I knew that others around me were even hotter.

Proof was in Corben, who every time I picked up, started dripping sweat from each tiny spot where our skin made contact.

We gave up on clothes two days ago. The boys have been running around in their underpants/diapers. (Well, except for Steve, who I insist gets dressed before he leaves for work.) I started Monday in my underwear too, but decided to change to my bathing suit, in case the UPS guy or some random Jehovah's Witnesses showed up. (Me and the UPS guy are buddies, but we're not THAT close.)

Needless to say, there's a lot of skin for to drip around here these days.

And then there's Corben. Corben is teething, with every pore of his gums and is MIS-ER-ABLE. He's not napping, which is making him crankier. And instead of napping, or jumping, or rolling around on the floor? He's nursing. And nursing. And nursing.

And when there's all that nursing, there's lots of sweaty skin touching sweaty skin. When I pulled Corben off me after one (of a bazillion) nursing sessions today, and had to get a towel to dry us both off, I knew it was time.

I cracked.

I turned on the AC.

Now I don't know why I didn't do it sooner. Only now I'm also afraid I'll never go outside again.

Please, send vodka.

Ah, Bedtime.

Tonight was one of those bedtimes that when they're over, you go and pour yourself a stiff drink. I'm 7/8ths through the drink, and just starting to feel OK. (Actually, to be honest, I'm feeling a bit more than OK since it was a Steve sized drink....my husband pours a good drink!)

At 6:15, Corben could hardly keep his eyes open, so I decided to try and put him down. He nursed. And nursed. And nursed. Until 7:15.

WTH?

Corben is a swift and efficient nurser. He eats, (one boob only please,) he burps, he is done. Bingo bango boom.

Tonight he ate, and ate, and ate, for an hour, until 7:15, when he suddenly realized that he had eaten WAAAY too much.

So he cried.

And cried. And wailed. And hollered. And cried some more. Until 7:45 when I finally loaded him up with gripe water. (Dear Gripe Water - LOVE! YOU!)

And then we rocked. And rocked. And rocked. Until finally at 8:15, TWO hours after I had started this whole business, he finally fell asleep.

*Inhale*

*Exhale*

And then there's the other kid.

Griffin had a day. Or "a day." He got in trouble at school. How much trouble can you really get in at preschool, you ask? Well, as much as you can get in, he got in it.

When I disemmenate the teacher's kind but veiled words, I come up with this: He was a Class A Jerk today at school.

Captain Jerktastic carried on at home.

Thank gawd for my Mom, who's been here for a few days, who took a hold of the Griffin reins tonight.

Sadly, she wasn't successful. Daddy came home just as she was done reading stories, and Griffin needed a snuggle from him.

After I had finished the Corbenathon, he needed a snuggle from me.

After that, his fish were bugging him. (??)

He hung out on the landing.

He waited for someone else to take pity on him and come and snuggle some more.

Sadly, we were all out of pitty down here.

As of right now, 9:45, the status is this:

Corben is asleep, swaddled within an inch of his life. (Metaphorically speaking, of course.)
Griffin is asleep, here:
(That'd be the landing.)

No one is in a hurry to move him.

And me?

Sadly, I am out of gin.

Over. Due.

I know, I know, I've heard it all.

"Baby will come when he's ready."

"It's only an ESTIMATED due date."

"I know how you feel."

"Just relax and rest, and before you know it, he'll be here."

Yup, heard it all. And I know it's all true. However, this is MY blog, and my place to rant, vent, post naked pictures of myself (HA! Had you scared there!) and do anything else I want. And since that's what I'm about to do, if you don't want to hear it, you best go now.

So. Now that half of you have left the room, for the other half, I have the current running tally of things we've tried, unsuccessfully obviously, to help convince baby to come out (even though I'm only 3 days overdue):

Homeopathic remedies (x3)
Acupuncture
Acupressure
Spicy foods (tonight at dinner, which I am currently paying for...heavily)
Pineapple
Basil
Oregano
Sex
Nipple stimulation
Evening Primrose Oil
Walking
Tractor riding
Eating copious amounts of chocolate (oh wait, that's just part of my daily routine)
Raspberry Leaf Tea
Sitting on the birthing ball for hours at a time
Deep relaxation

Obviously, none of these have worked, and friends, I am tired of being pregnant. I am tired of Tums, tired of peeing 7 times a night and the effort that it takes to haul myself out of bed each time, tired of my boobs hurting for no good reason (I might as well be breastfeeding 18 times a day if my boobs are going to hurt this much) and tired of shirts that only cover the top 3/4 of my abdomen.

Here's the list of things I have not tried, that are still in my arsenal, all of which I plan on busting out tomorrow:

Sending the kid back to daycare
Watching a weepy movie and having a good cry (am now taking suggestions...please know that it takes a damn sad movie to make me cry!)
Wear my fanciest underwear Buy some new fancy underwear that actually fits, cause sure as hell the moment I put them on, my water will break.

I KNOW baby will come when he's ready and 100% cooked. I KNOW every day he spends in there is good for him. I KNOW that he has to come eventually, and I won't be toting a preschooler around in my belly 3 years from now. But anyone who's done this before will hear me when I say IT DOESN'T MATTER!

Mama is ready, and 100% cooked too!

If you have anything helpful to say (like "I've heard that Baileys induces labour") please feel free to comment. If you have something not so helpful to say (like "maybe you'll be pregnant forever - just think of all the use you'll get out of your maternity clothes") then please refrain from opening your mouth, lest you wish to have my foot shoved in it.

And thus concludes my rant.

I love you all...thanks for listening! Cross your fingers that the next time you hear from us, it will be with a birth announcement, and not a crankier, even more overdue rant!

Peace out dudes.

Slap that smug smile right off your face!

We woke up this morning feeling very smug. It was 7:15 and Griffin was still asleep. My smugness was directly related to this:
In an attempt to quash the 5:30 wakeups, we got Griffin his own clock. I covered up the last 2 numbers, and put that little sign on it, and told him that if he wakes up and the clock says 1,2,3,4 or 5, that it's still night, and time to go back to sleep. However, if he wakes up and the clock says 6,7,8, or 9(ha!) he can get up. The first night we tried it, he woke up at 5:30, cried for a few minutes, and then went back to sleep till 6:30....a huge improvement! Then last night, he woke up again at 5:30, and went right back to sleep.

So like I said, when I woke up at 7:15, I was feeling pretty smug about my clever idea and my soundly sleeping child.

My happy proud parent self got a hearty smack in the face when I stepped into the kitchen to make coffee and walked into a lake. In the kitchen.

Turns out the tap that was "leaking" last night when we went to bed was doing a little bit more than leaking. It was flowing heartily. There was water all over the kitchen counter, behind the stove, in the back hallway, and as I later discovered, in the basement where it had leaked through the floor to puddle around the furnace. Awesome!

So now my kitchen looks like this:


After an hour on the phone, customer service is sending the replacement part we need. It'll be here in 3-7 business days. Awesome. The water in the whole house is off, because I can't get the hot water right at the tap to turn off. Super awesome. I've spent the morning under the sink (Steve is away today) trying to take the old tap out, because damned if we're waiting 3-7 days for a kitchen sink. Despite the body pillow, lying under the sink it hardly comfortable at 39 weeks pregnant. I also had to pull the stove out from the wall...the stove which hasn't been pulled out from the wall since we moved in....NOT awesome! More like nasty, nasty, NASTY! Good thing I could go into LABOUR any minute now...might be hard to have a home birth if there's no WATER in the house!

GAH!

And that concludes my rant. Now that I've had my say (not to mention a cold cup of tea and the rest of the peppermint bark that my friend dropped off yesterday) I'm going back under the sink to see if I can't deal get the old tap out, so I can go buy a new one, install it, and turn the water back on sometime before bath time tonight. I've already decided we're going out for dinner. And I may just leave the mess behind the stove for the cleaning lady tomorrow. I AM 39 weeks pregnant after all, and can only do so much!

(P.S. Griffin slept till the clock turned 8, so I still rock!)

Danger: Pissy

(My friend Lindsay used to have a little road cone with the above written on it. She'd place it at the corner of her work table when she was in a crabby mood, so as to warn all those who dared enter her work area. Smart girl, that Lindsay! I think I needed a road cone of my own today.)

Do you ever have those days when you realize, maybe too late, that you shouldn't be out in public, because everything, and everybody is pissing you off? That you should have just stayed home?

After a decent day, and a decent nap, Griffin and I headed out to go grocery shopping. It seems to me that the grocery store is often where these moods strike me. Or maybe it's where stupid people congregate on weekends.

There's the people who think the "No Parking - Fire Route" does NOT apply to them, and they sit and block one of the two lanes of traffic, keeping anyone from moving around easily in the parking lot.

There are the folks that are sitting in the parking lot with their cars running, waiting for someone. Idling away, likely with the heat on, while it's 15 degrees outside, and I have to walk through their nasty exhaust to get into the store.

There are the toddlers, who don't want to sit in the cart, and who's coat has to go on the second level of the cart not the first, and IMGOINGTOSCREAMBLOODYMURDERTILLYOUTAKEMYBOOTSOFF, and I need this, this, this, grabbing everything they can reach. And when you try to discipline them, quietly, so as not to attract attention? CRYINGCRYINGCRYING! IWANTDADDY!!!

There's the people who leave their carts in the middle of the aisle while they wander aimlessly, so I can't get by.

There's the grocery packer, who's shift ends just as you pull up to the lane, and you get to pack your own groceries. There's the dumbass who puts the bread at the bottom of the bag, and comes home hours later to find a fresh loaf of flattened bread at the bottom of the bag.

(That's me...I'm the dumbass.)

I was glad to get home. And will remember this in the future...

Feeling cranky? Toddler on shaky ground? Stay AWAY from the grocery store!!

We interrupt our regularly scheduled programming...

My body, my 3 year old and I are all recovering from the stupid time change. I'm hungry at all the wrong times. Kid is tired at all the wrong times, as well as awake at VERY wrong times. I'm driving home from work in the PITCH DARK.

Me no like.

Next year, can I please opt out?

Out of my control

When I sat down to write yesterdays post, what I really wanted to write about is the fact that I'm a stressbucket. And then I thought to myself: "Get over it. You just had a lovely long (sort of) weekend with a cute kid, and it's Thanksgiving, so be thankful for a few minutes and post some happy pictures." And then I actually listened.

But now?

It's not Thanksgiving anymore, and I'm still a stressbucket, so tonight I'm going to tell you about it.

The major cause of stress in my life?

In approximately 11 weeks, give or take, I am having a baby. That's not the stressful part. Babies I can do. I've done it before. However, we are planning a homebirth, and I have NO IDEA where that home is going to be! It could be this home. It could be the one we've mostly purchased, conditional on the sale of this house, which, as you can guess, still belongs to us!

Friends, I am a planner. I am a WAAAY ahead planner. If I knew we were staying put for the next few months, I'd be digging out the newborn clothes and the change table and the cloth diapers and all the other stuff that babies need. I'd be washing, I'd be sorting, I'd be quelling all the stuff we don't need and looking for stuff to fill the holes in our stock. But as it stands, I am terrified to even go near our basement storage area. It's like Pandora's Box down there, except Pandora's Box is buried under mountains of other shit that has been removed from other parts of our house - the stuff real estate agents refer to as "clutter."

However, I DON'T actually know that we're staying put. In fact, if this house sells, which it still certainly could, and which is really the desired outcome of all this, we could be MOVING sometime in the next 10 weeks. (Which, of course, would be entirely it's own bucket of stress, but at least then there would be a goal, an end in sight.)

It's funny, whenever I have taken the time to envision this birth, it happens in the new house. But as the time draws nearer, and the house still isn't ours, it gets harder and harder to do that. I've been doing some hypno-birthing research, but I just can not commit to it in my head until I can set the scene that goes along with all the other visualizations. Its REALLY hard to make plans, to see this come to fruition in my mind when I don't know where it all will take place.

Aside from the baby, there's all the other shit that comes with this. If we're going to be here for the winter, we should start thinking about putting up the snow fence, and the driveway markers, and getting the snowblower put onto the tractor and the tractor tuned up. We should put the door on the greenhouse. Swap out the storm windows. Blah blah blah. Except all that? Can't do it by my fat pregnant self, and since the husband it out of town at the moment, my only choice is to sit here and stress about it.

In life, there are things we can control, and things we can't. I can control what I eat for dinner, and today I chose popcorn. I LIKE being in control. I don't deal well, at all, with the things that are out of my control, and this my friends?

This is one of them.

Needed: One corner to cry in.

It's days like today that just make me want to crawl into a corner in a closet somewhere and cry.

Actually, I think it started yesterday.

Yesterday I dropped Griffin off at daycare at 7am, and didn't stop running until I picked him up at 6pm, 1/2 an hour late, after it took me THREE HOURS to drive home from the city (usually an 80 minute drive.)

When I called the daycare from the highway to let her know I was running late, she warned me that I was about to pick up a very unhappy boy, who had been trying all day to poop, without any luck. (Poop troubles have plagued us for nearly a year now, and we're still sorting it out.) When I got to Griffin, he also informed me that he had "yucky pee." It was the first the daycare lady had heard about it, but it was not the last that I was to hear about it all night.

It turns out that "yucky pee" means it hurts to pee. Around 7pm, I noticed that Griffin had spiked a fever, and by 9pm we were sitting on the potty, screaming bloody murder that he couldn't pee because it hurt too much. Excellent.

At the 2am screaming bloody murder on the potty fest, I had the foresight to collect a "sample," figuring that it looked pretty likely that we'd be heading to the doc in the near future.

After the 8am scream fest (with no pee this time) I decided it was time to head to emerg. I tidied the house and barricaded the dog in the master bedroom, because if a screaming kid and a husband 1/2 way across the world isn't enough, our house is still for sale and we had a showing booked for 12:30, which I didn't know if I'd make it back for.

We got to the hospital (after waiting for 15 minutes in line at Tim Hortons to get some breakfast) and I was told sample that I thought I was so smart to take was no good, as it hadn't been refrigerated, and we'd have to get another....because getting a urine sample from a 3 year old is easy!

Griffin was actually in a great mood, until he had to pee, at which time he started screaming bloody murder again. He actually peed while we were in the waiting room, so when they finally got us a room, I started feeding him cup after cup of juice, knowing that I'd likely be able to get a sample out of him eventually, but that I was also setting myself up for more screams and tears.

And when it happened again, it came with a vengeance. There was hitting, there was throwing, there was screaming, all because he wanted to pee in his diaper, not in the cup. I did manage to get a sample finally, but not without getting urine all over the floor, the bed, the kid and me.

Diagnosis? Bladder infection. VERY rare for boys, so now we're scheduled for an ultrasound Monday morning too (which compliments our Tuesday morning appointment at the Fracture Clinic (over an hour away from here) and my Thursday morning appointment for a 2 hour glucose test at the lab and additional blood draw at the hospital.) I MAY make it to work sometime next week, if I'm lucky.

We finally got home at 1:30pm. Remember that dress I finished last week? Yeah, well it was a wedding dress for a friend. The wedding is today, and we were supposed to go. Except when we got home at 1:30, unshowered, unfed, and seriously feeling like I was going to fall over, the though of getting myself and the kid all gussied up, driving an hour in the pouring rain to be close to an hour late for a wedding where I didn't know anyone aside from the bride and groom was just too much.

Instead I made a vat of mac and cheese. Lit about a dozen candles. I still feel like I'm going to fall over, but at least when I do I'll be in my jogging pants and in my own home, and not in a dress and high heels surrounded by strangers.

I feel beaten by the day. I feel bad that I couldn't muster up the energy to get to this wedding. I feel worse, because I haven't been feeding my kid all his "poop medicine," because all I can do when I get home is throw together dinner for him and I, and then fall asleep when I put him to bed at 8pm...I feel lucky if I remember to feed the dog. Its possible that this bladder infection was caused by an excess build up of stool, pushing on his kidneys, so essentially, it's all my fault. Move over all you other Mothers of the Year, and make room for ME!

I'm going to go crawl into that corner now, except I think I'll make myself some hot chocolate to take with me. And then I'm going to try to stop feeling sorry for myself, and realize that there are WAY more people out there that have a lot worse things going for them than I do. And then I may try to find one or two of them, and see if they want a hot chocolate too.

Thanks for listening.

Dear Mother Nature

Dear Mother Nature,

We are going camping next week. CAMPING. As in, sleeping practically outdoors for 7 nights straight with a dog, a toddler, and a pregnant me.

This 8 degrees at night-time business? UNACCEPTABLE!!!

As you may know, this is your craptastic excuse for a forecast for this week:
I hope this is you getting this bullsh$t out of your system this week, and as of SATURDAY, you can clean up your act. See that 60% chance of rain on Saturday? That crap needs to GO! Have you ever set up a campsite in the rain? IT'S NOT NICE!

Seriously. Knock this shit off. It's supposed to be SUMMER!

With deepest respect,

xoxox
Me.

Another Open Letter to my Fellow Drivers

Dear Friends,

As far as roads go, there are a few kinds. The ones I want to discuss with you today are the 4 lane kind - 2 in one direction, 2 in another.

When referring to the lanes on these roads, one has a few options. The right lane is commonly referred to as the "right lane" (duh) or the "shoulder lane." The left lane - "left lane" (again, duh) or "passing lane."

It's this "passing lane" I wish to discuss.

Might one have a guess, as to the purpose of said passing lane?

Here - lets make it SUPER EASY and make it a multiple choice:

The purpose of the "passing lane" is:

A) to drive 20 km under the speed limit.
B) to drive the exact same speed as your neighbouring vehicle who is driving in the "shoulder lane."
C) to PASS!!

If you picked A or B, then hey, you must be from around here!

It's in cases like these where I like to pull out a pearl of wisdom from a great, great man - my Dad.

"Either shit, or get off the pot." (Dad)

Roughly translated to suit this occasion - either pass, or get the EFF OUT OF THE WAY so I can pass you!

Thanks again!

Making the roads a safer place since 1991,
Me.
xoxox

Under Construction

Dudes, is it just me? Is it just here?

Or is it happening in your part of the world too?

Does it not seem like there are construction crews re-paving the ENTIRE PLANET right now? Everywhere I drive, every time I turn a corner, there's another bored dude (or dudette) holding one of those slow/stop signs, looking thrilled to death that they're getting paid $34.50 an hour to get skin cancer spend all day in the sun, and making me late for work.

It mostly seems to be on my route to work. Like on my regular route, and my alternate route, and my alternate to the alternate route, and my....well, you get the picture.

Don't get me wrong, I am NOT wishing the coming of the snow, but if it means I can stop smelling that smell that smells like someone put a whole army of cigarette butts in the oven and turned it on broil, THREE WEEKS AGO, then I say bring on the snow.

Seriously, is it just here? Because if this is NOT happening where you live, then clear out the spare bedroom, I'm coming to hang out for a while!

Drive now, talk later

Dear Sir in the Blue Toyota Civic Hybrid,

While I appreciate the fact that you want to be safe and not talk on your cell phone while driving, I hardly think that SLAMMING on the brakes and swerving over to the shoulder to answer your phone is any safer than talking and driving.  In fact, I'd have to say that it highly INCREASES your chances of me ramming my battle-tank station wagon up your pansy hybrid butt!  Dude, get a Blue Tooth, or consider administering the brakes slowly, and then, ohmygawdwhataconcept, SIGNALING, while you calmly pull over to the shoulder.  

Idiot.

xoxox

Me

P.S.  No offence to your car.  It's actually the reason I didn't lay on the horn and give you the finger - I figure driving a hybrid at least gets you SOME credit.  But STILL....weaksauce.

Buckle Up, Buttercup!

If there was a fire, an explosion, an earthquake, what would be your first reaction, your first gut instinct? If you’re a mother, it would likely be to race towards your children and protect them – take them out of harms way, and keep them safe.

If you’re ever in the unfortunate circumstance of being in an automobile accident with your kids in the car, you can’t exactly race towards them. The only thing that’s protecting you kids in a situation like that is your driving skills (and sometimes even they don’t make a difference) and the car seat that you strapped into the car, days, weeks or even months ago.

What kind of mood were you in that morning that you put the seat in the car? We’re you in a rush, just trying to get it in so you could get in the car and go? What were things like this morning when you strapped your child in? Again, were you in a rush? We’re they in a bad mood, struggling against you to be strapped in? Maybe your seat isn’t as secure as it could be. Maybe your child isn’t buckled in as tight as they should be. You don’t think much about it at the time, but if you’re ever in a near miss or heaven forbid, a serious accident on the road, you’ll surely think about it then….and sadly, thinking about it then may be thinking about it too late.

Here’s a little bit of science for you:

When a vehicle collides with another object - a tree, a wall or another moving vehicle, for example - it is stopped suddenly by the impact. However, anything not held down inside the vehicle will keep moving, and that includes the passengers. This happens because of inertia - Inertia is an object's tendency to keep moving until something else works against this motion. Imagine that you're coasting at a steady 80 kilometers per hour. Your speed and the car's speed are pretty much equal, so you feel like you and the car are moving as a single unit. But if the car were to crash into a solid object, it would be obvious that your inertia and the car's were absolutely independent. The force of the object would bring the car to an abrupt stop, but your speed would remain the same. Your face might hit the windshield, the steering wheel or the back of the seat in front of you. Your ribcage might hit the dashboard. You could even be thrown from the vehicle. Your internal organs, too, will keep moving. Your brain would be compressed towards the front of your skull, and your heart, lungs and kidneys could smash into each other or into bone.

Sounds terrible, right? Well, that’s why we wear seatbelts, and why we buckle our children TIGHT into their car seats.

In case you haven’t guessed, I’m a bit of a fanatic about strapping my kid into his seat, and his seat into the car. Here’s the thing – if your car seat wiggles even just a little bit, inertia is going to keep it moving. If your child is wiggling under his straps, he too is going to keep moving. If they’re installed correctly, car seats ABSORB the impact of the collision. If they’re not installed correctly, or baby isn’t strapped in right, guess who absorbs that collision? That’s right – your precious baby.

As a parent, keeping your baby safe is YOUR responsibility. Please, never rush strapping in your car seat – your car seat SHOULD NOT MOVE when you try to wiggle it. Never rush getting your children buckled into their seats properly - you should be able to stick NO MORE than 2 fingers between baby and the belt. If you can get more in there, it’s TOO LOOSE, and they could GET HURT! Never skimp or take short cuts when it comes to buckling up – the one time you do, you could regret it for the rest of your life.

This little safety rant is brought to you by this sad story from Toronto this weekend….2 babies in critical condition, both with head injuries, because they weren’t strapped in when their car was t-boned. In fact, one of them is reported to have been sitting on his mother’s lap. And that all in the middle of a seat-belt blitz that the OPP is conducting. Not cool, people. Your babies aren’t able to strap themselves in – it’s up to you to keep them safe!!

Read this post....please????

Last week I finally got my shit together and went in for that oh so dreaded yearly physical that we all hate. Um....and when I say yearly...I may mean every-other-two-and-a-half-yearly. Yeah. Hasn't been done since the kid came out. Oops.

So we do all that jazz, and then I'm told I have to come back next week, which would now be yesterday, for blood tests.

Blood tests that involve fasting.

I got to the clinic, shortly after it opened at 9am, and took my place in line behind the THREE other people that were already waiting. So it was nearly 10am before it was my turn. Goody.

Now, just in case you've never had the pleasure of hanging out with me, you should know that I'm the kind of person who when my blood sugar drops below a certain level, I become useless. I get dizzy, I can't think straight, I NEED to eat. Dipping below this critical level also makes me a mite bit cranky.

My husband is thinking to himself "A MITE bit cranky??"

OK....maybe a LOT bit cranky.

All this is a preamble to say that the experience that I'm about to tell you about next may have been slightly coloured by my hunger. But it STILL wasn't pretty.

So it's my turn.

"Next person come in please" the tech bellows from inside.

That was the END of the pleases. She must have given me 10 or 12 different instructions, which I obeyed like a good little patient, and not a single please escaped her lips.

"Take off your coat."

"Put your coat down on the bench."

"Sit down here."

"I need your right arm."

After she capped off the 5th or 6th vial, I lightheartedly turned to her and asked how many she was taking. "Just one more" she replied, while giving me a Class-A stink-eye. I know at that moment she seriously considered draining me of an extra litre or 2, just for daring to ask.

"Hold this here" as she pushes a wiry cotton ball to my arm.

Once I was appropriately band-aided and had my coat in my arms and was told "that's all, you can go," I smiled and said thanks.

"Grunt."

Yeah, you have a nice day too!

So what IS IT with people? Where have the pleases and the thank-yous gone in our lives? Is it really that hard to throw in a "please" here and there? Conversely to Cruella DeLabtech, the other day I went through the Timmy drive through and got a "Thank You, have a great day!" from a young girl working at the window, and I think she REALLY meant it. I thought to myself at the time how nice it was, and how rare! Manners, and customer service is something that's seriously lacking these days, if y'all ask me!

It's something we're trying very hard to teach Griffin - a little bit of manners go a LONG way!

So, thanks for reading! And y'all come back now, please!

T minus 11 years

Can I tell you what pisses me off?

(Sure you can Jenn, it's your blog, you can tell us whatever you want!)

I hate it when little punk assed teenagers cut me off in their punk assed cars, and don't even blink an eye. The incident that got me all a flutter today was a blatant case of "I don't care if it's your turn to go at this 3 way stop, I'm just going to follow this guy in front of me right through with out even stopping, because I'm OBVIOUSLY more important that you."

I wish I could somehow stop them - pull over my car, go up to their window, smack them upside the head and give them an earful about their cocky, jerk-assed driving habits. And then smack them again, just for good measure. And then I want them to tell me where they live, so I can go to their house and tell their parents what rude, and frankly dangerous drivers their little punk-assed kids are. I'm guessing though that if I did get to their house, I'd likely find a punk assed rude parent on the other side of the door.

At least, maybe I'm just hoping thats what I find...I mean, how else do you explain away the punk kids?

I get a bit disheartened by teenagers these days - I'm pretty sure my kid will turn into one some day, and I don't want him to turn into the punk-assed version....and I see a lot of those around here. I have a feeling that the best way to get a jerk kid is to be a jerk parent, and I'm pretty sure that's NOT the road we're going down. Yet when I witness events like this which are, admittedly minor, but I think indicative of the likely behaviour in the rest of these kid's lives, it immediately makes me turn into an "old person," and think "what's this world coming to?"

Then again, looking at what just happened south of the border this week makes me think that maybe there is hope. Some young people obviously do care about the future, and not just the future of their own personal bubble, but the future of their families, their cities and their country. I'm inspired by what has happened in the US this week, and only wish we could see that sort of inspiration in our national government (instead of the boobery* that's going on now.) It may make people (young people especially) stand up and take a look around, and realize that they are in fact NOT the centre of the universe.

In the mean time, I'll continue to shake in absolute terror every time I think of having a teenager living in my house 11 years from now!

*It's a word. Trust me.

Robot Wars

Something disturbing happened to me today.

So I'm sitting in my basement, sewing away tonight, just after dinner when the phone rings. Now y'all know as well as I do, that when the phone rings just after dinner, there's a good chance it's someone calling to try and sell you something.

Sure enough, when I picked up the phone, the robot-telemarketer started it's robot schpiel on how it was "my LAST CHANCE to renew my car warranty!" Blah, blah, blah, shut the hell up, I hang up the phone. (I always feel so guilty about hanging up on the real-live person telemarketers, because after all, they're just doing their job. But robot telemarketers?? Show no mercy, I just hang up on their robot asses!)

After I hang up the phone, I think to myself "I should call Gretel." So I pick up the phone to dial my dear Gretel, and the ROBOT IS STILL THERE!! Still on the line, blah blah blahing away about my car warranty. Thinking I didn't hang up the phone right, I put my finger on the hang up thingamabob, and count to 10. Check the phone. STILL THERE!! I COULD NOT hang up on the GD robot!!! I was forced to endure it's entire robot message, before I could finally pick up the phone again to make my call.

It's disturbing. It's kind of scary. And lordy, it pisses me off! Get off my phone, you stoopid robot, you're tying up the line!! What if, while running to the phone, I tripped and fell? What if I needed to call for help, call 911? What it was an emergency, and I couldn't use the phone because some fracking ROBOT was too busy rambling on about my car insurance expiring?

I'm pretty sure that somewhere in the world, there's a room full of little robots laughing their heads off, thinking they're pretty darn clever.

Dear Fellow Commuters in the Greater Me Area

We need to talk.

I have some issues. Some issues with some of your driving habits. Mind if we talk about them?

No?

OK, great!

Issue #1 - the route I drive to work is a one lane highway. There is one itty bitty spot where it opens up to two lanes, to give all the speedy drivers a chance to pass the slow drivers. There's a big sign at the start of these two lanes, I'm pretty sure it reads "Keep right except to pass." I'm pretty sure it DOES NOT read "Keep right, but only if you feel like it." I'm also pretty sure it doesn't read "Keep right, unless you're a short fat guy in a green minivan." Actually, come to think of it, I'm certain it doesn't even read "Keep right except to pass," it actually reads "KEEP RIGHT EXCEPT TO PASS" and we all know that those all caps means PAY ATTENTION TO THESE MOTHERTRUCKING WORDS!! Seriously folks, you may not care if you're late for work, hell, you may not even care if I'm late for work, but going 70km an hour in an 80 zone is downright RUDE. Move over! Let us pass! We'll all be happier!

Issue #2 - Why oh why oh WHY does it offend some men when I pass them? It seems to be only men that get pissy. Is it because I drive a station wagon? Is it because I am a woman? Is it because I'm way better looking than them? (Don't hate me because I'm beautiful!) It seems that little boys in big pickup trucks get really upset when a lady passes them on the highway.

Now, to digress - I have my own theories about boys who drive big trucks and supped up cars - I think there's 2 kinds of people that drive these things. The first kind are people that need big trucks for hauling...you know, BIG stuff. It's practical, it makes sense. The second kind, are the ones that drive big trucks and other supped up vehicles to make up for other things in their lives that they feel may be, um, lacking. In size. Or supped-up-edness. If you get my drift.

Today for example: I passed a big black pick up truck, on the inside, when I hit the "keep right" zone. Now I know you shouldn't pass on the inside, but if you're not going to move your patootie over, then I'm going to pass you any which way I want! It seems I offended the driver terribly, because shortly later, Mr Pickup decided to pass me, on the inside. Only thing was, there was no other lane...he went onto the SHOULDER of the road, doing 80km/hour, to pass me. Not a kilometer up the road, after he merged back in and cut me off, he turned off the highway - this is how I KNOW he was only passing me to be an asshat, and to prove the superiority of his small cock big truck. I smiled and waved, and hope I irritated him a little more, me and my sexy grey station wagon!

Done and Done

I have had it up to HERE (pointing at jugular) with stuff. Stuff stuff. Everything stuff.

I picked up the kid from daycare today, and for the first time ever she said "He was...well, he was..." and then she shook her head and rolled her eyes, and said "he had a bit of a day." Griffin has NEVER pitched a fit at daycare, until today. He was throwing shit all over the place today, screaming and throwing himself on the floor, the classic rendition of a terrible 2 tantrum.

I had picked him up early, because Dudley had to go to the vet to get a special shot so he could go to the boarder this weekend. The vet was twice as much fun with a toddler who apparently wasn't quite finished his terribly 2 day. There was more throwing at the vet, including magazines, dog treats, and a little dog statue showing the inner workings of your best friend Fido. Fido took a header on the cement floor when Griffin chucked him, and busted his tail. All this after the vet had finished giving me proper shit for not cleaning Dudley's ears well enough. Pardon moi? Actually, the husband does the ear cleaning around here, you're preaching at the wrong person. $240 later we finally left the vet. Damn dog is worse than the car - go in for a simple shot, come out $240 poorer.

Fun task for tonight? Cleaning the house so it's clean enough for the cleaner to come and clean tomorrow. Sounds like a riot, right?

Thank god Steve comes home tomorrow, I'm done. D-O-N-E done.

(Thanks for listening....I'm finished now!)

Dear Friends, Family, the UPS guy, and other strangers who drive their cars down my very long driveway,

When you come to my house, I judge you by how you park.

Explanation? Sure.

We have a nice long driveway, and when you get to the end of it, here at the house, you have some options of where to park your vehicle. If both our cars are snuggled up nice and close, you can usually park beside us. If not, well then, you're faced with a dilemma. Do you park on the grass? Do you park in front of the greenhouse? Or, do you just leave your car all willy nilly, smack in the MIDDLE of the driveway?

Either way, I judge you. (But you should know, if you're a willy-nilly, middle of the driveway parker, I judge you more.)

Willy-nilly parkers have no cares in the world. They have no respect for a shiny, straightly parked line of cars. Not to mention, WHAT IF I suddenly realize it's 5:50, and the liquor store, which is 8 minutes away, closes in 10 minutes? WHAT HAPPENS if I have to make willy-nilly move his carelessly parked car, to get my perfectly parked car out?? THEN WHAT?? Willy-nilly may not care, he may be on the wagon or something (hmmm, why did we invite him again?) but you can bet your bumper that I care!

Even better are the visitors who get here when only one of us is home, park all WN, and thus not only block the car from getting out, they also block anyone else who wants to get IN. Judging. Big time judging going on there. (It also irritates me when people block in my shiny red tractor, even if I'm not planning on using it. You never know when you may have a tractor emergency out here, and need to get that thing out in a jiffy!)

The cars just LOOK better all in a shiny little line. Call me anal, call me whatever you want, but it's true.

Most of my friends and family are good parkers. Frankly, they wouldn't be my friends if they weren't. Steve's parents always park all nice in front of the greenhouse, but not so they block in my shiny red tractor. My mom always manages to cozy up next to our cars, whether there is room or not. Mom sees a parking space where others may not, and lived for many a years with cars parked in an esthetically pleasing line, guided by a perfectly straight flower bed built by the king parker himself, my Dad (plus, I think she knows how mental it makes me.) My brother...well, my brother just drives his big assed truck up onto the lawn as close to the door as he can possibly get. Anyone who has the balls to drive a big assed truck like my brother's, also generally has the balls to park wherever the hell they feel like, and I figure he's allowed. Plus he's usually carting a ton of my stuff, and a case of beer or 2, so parking close to the door is downright practical.

So, consider yourself warned. It may not be right, it may not be nice, but I can't help it. TOTALLY judging.

(P.S. The folks who back out of our 500 foot long driveway instead of attempting the 3, sometimes 4 point turn to turn around? MASSIVE judging!!)