Archive - May 2012

1
That’s Not Bacon You’re Smelling, It’s Me.
2
Boy Toys?
3
Pee And Electrodes Don’t Mix
4
Blogging Can Be Hazardous To Your Health
5
Mother of the Year
6
What’s The Expiry Date on Breast Is Best?
7
Mother Your Mother This Mother’s Day
8
Stair Scare

That’s Not Bacon You’re Smelling, It’s Me.

    I’m too old to be this dumb..and reckless…and lazy. Wait, scratch that last one. People do get lazier as they age. I’m actually writing this post lying down while the kids fetch me things. Ahhhhh, this is what parenting is all about — “Beck and Call Kids.” Back to my stupidity. Last Sunday, a hot sunny scorcher, was spent poolside. The kids adequately lubed with sunscreen, were slipping and sliding and splashing while their idiotic mother watched from a lawn chair. “Do you have sunscreen on?” my pasty husband inquired. “You’re looking a little…pink.” “No. I don’t need sunscreen. I’m just getting a little colour on my legs.” I explained in an exasperated tone. Don’t men know anything? The chalky whiteness of my legs magnifies the rampant cellulite. This winter has not been kind. Frying my skin like a rash of bacon was a panicked attempt to camouflage the flabby tone of my hammy gams. Despite warnings from my husband that I *might* be burning, I continued to sizzle under the dangerous rays of the sun out of pure imbecilic vanity. The joke is on me however. Now I’m sunburned and my legs still look like stocky (red) golf balls.[…]

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Boy Toys?

  Is there really such a thing as a boy toy? I don’t mean in a Madonna sort of way…  I’m talking about gender specific toys. You know, dolls for girls, army men for boys. For the record, the dolls and army dudes totally hook-up after hours. Toy Story opened my eyes to that deviant underground society. My kids don’t pay much attention to gender labels. They play with whatever captures their imaginations in the moment. My son often plays with his sister’s most iconic of girl toys — the dollhouse. Mind you, it generally serves as the hideout for robots, dinosaurs and a regiment of Storm Troopers. My daughter plays with her dolls occasionally, but not for long. She’s at her happiest when she’s active. And sweaty. And dirty. What captures her interest most are bike rides, bugs in jars, soccer games and her new passion, baseball {which in our rather small yard has led to abundant trips to the neighbour’s on ball retrieval missions}. Yesterday while my creative boy was creating, my sporty girl was playing with her new Grow-to-Pro Triple Hit Baseball machine. She started out t-ball style, but soon graduated to auto pitch. She can load[…]

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Pee And Electrodes Don’t Mix

  So I hurt my back last week. Wearing flip flops. You know you’re old when… But I digress. My crooked spine is now in the firm hands of my chiropractor,  “Dr. Al Lignment.” After a few adjustments and a ample amount of yelling, I seem to be BACK to normal. Relatively speaking. I walked into my chiro’s office yesterday like the biped I was born to be. It felt great to be able to walk again without cursing; quite a nice relief for everyone within ear shot really. As I jumped up onto the torture table (Al says he doesn’t like it when I call it that, but I know he’s kidding. Quite a sense of humour that guy. Totally cracks me up. #ChiroPun) I announced, “My back is totally better!!” “No, no it’s not,” Al replied. “Apparently” I’m not some kind of miracle case and my back, though now realigned, still needs time to fully heal. Bah. It’s not that I don’t like going to see Al. I’m not afraid of the spine cracking. Even the neck cracking — bring it. It’s the time and the cost that hurt. Also, having to bring along my five year old[…]

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Blogging Can Be Hazardous To Your Health

  I’m old and infirm. I’m also unfirm, which is partly why I’m in this painful predicament. When I birthed my first child enormous melon pressed on my sciatic nerve which resulted in an epic Sciatica episode post partum. I literally could not walk until my chiropractor fixed me. Ever tried carrying a newborn while crawling on your hands and knees? Thankfully I never had another flare up until this week. And boy did it flare. I’m actually writing this post standing. I’m like a *giraffe who can’t lie down. When I was a teacher I was on my feet all day. I rarely sat. This was a good thing for my back. Now that I work from home (writing and managing several Social Media accounts) I’m on my butt the majority of the day with questionable posture most of the time. My back is a ticking time bomb… So after spending six hours walking around the zoo last week, cute but unsupportive flip flops was the straw that broke the camel’s back. I am the camel in this scenario and my sciatica reared it’s ugly head once again. I don’t recall childbirth being as painful. The shooting pains down my[…]

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Mother of the Year

When Heather lost her three year old son Zack, she didn’t stop being a mom. Though her heart was broken, Zack’s brothers needed her more than ever. So she embraced them and loved them as mothers do while she made a plan to keep a promise; the one she made to Zack and to herself as they said goodbye. She vowed to keep his memory alive and to have Elmo, Zack’s comfort and joy, speak his name. And that’s just what she did. Heather tirelessly raised money to create a room (two rooms in fact!) in Zack’s name at York Central Hospital. She also persevered until Kevin Clash (the puppeteer who IS Elmo) knew how much Zackie loved him. Kevin knows and he was touched. And Elmo did speak Zack’s name. Heather is healing with her family and she continues to tell Zack’s story, not only to keep his memory alive, but to help other families deal with the pain of losing a child.” Heather and I became friends online. We bonded over our special needs kids and soon discovered we had many other things in common. When my daughter was in hospital shortly after Zack died, Heather kept tabs on[…]

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What’s The Expiry Date on Breast Is Best?

  Time Magazine published this story about attachment parenting. The cover showed a mom breastfeeding her three year old son and the internet lit up like the fourth of July. Obviously generating a buzz was a factor in the magazine’s choice of cover shots. Every “mom blogger” from here to Timbuktu has weighed in on this. Some cheering, some outraged, some gagging a little. This photo may not depict the serene bonding experience of breastfeeding; it was used to spark debate. But haven’t you ever fed your child on the fly? I once breastfed my daughter while shopping for a new refrigerator. I was in a rush and she was quite happy nestled under my coat. Just because we weren’t locked in a gaze of love and warmth, it doesn’t make me a bad parent. It makes me a busy, multitasking mama who was trying to stick to a feeding schedule. The first thing I noticed in this photo was the mother’s arms. “Wow, her biceps are tight,” I thought. The next thing I noticed were her shoes. “Where can I get those ballet flats?” I wondered.    I’m the mother of a son who was way off the growth[…]

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Mother Your Mother This Mother’s Day

Lucky for me my mother has strong shoulders, because I cry on them often. Learning how to raise a child with special needs has taken a toll on our family. Of course there’s been joy and plenty of laughter and an insane amount of punning (my mom = the Queen of the Punsters), but I’ve also had to lean on her. I’m a mom now, but I still need to be mothered sometimes too.  Yesterday my mum turned 65. Ever young at heart, retiring from her job was not on her radar. “Retirement?” she balked, “That’s for old people.” We never feel our age, no matter how old we are. But then something inevitably happens that makes you face reality head on. Somebody close to you becomes ill, a sister perhaps, and you are reminded of the tenacity of life and you feel the need to spend time with family now because you know, life goes by too quickly. Suddenly retirement doesn’t seem quite so ridiculous. In fact, leaving a career behind in favour of time spent with loved ones becomes the only thing on your radar.  And so in a few months, my mum is going to join my[…]

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Stair Scare

  A self-proclaimed klutz, the fall I had yesterday was no surprise. Combine wooden stairs with a love of fuzzy socks and I’m amazed it didn’t happen sooner.   Swollen wrist and bruised ego aside, I’m fine. But as I lay on the landing in a ball, I cried through big baby tears, “I could’ve…sob sob…broken my… sob, sob….neck.”   My friend Laura tobogganed down her staircase on her rear more than once, while my pal Sarah holds the current record for stair surfing, gaining extra points for breaking her bum, twice. {And her stairs are carpeted!} The two of them seem to be competing in some kind of painful stairing contest.   Did you know Queen Victoria, as a young woman was forbidden to set foot on any stairs without holding someone’s hand, for fear she could fall? Historical fact. Look it up {or just watch “Young Victoria” starring Emily Brunt like I did}.   The joke in our house is that our daughter is the “Victoria” of our manor. She is never allowed on the stairs without her hand held or at least someone flanking her from the rear. Unpredictable seizures, moments of dizziness and a delay in over-all gross motor skills justify such caution.   Lately however, we’ve been[…]

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