Pooches and Pussy Cozies

Mother Nature doesn't play fair but you can make the most of your postpartum hair loss.

Satan Sent Me Spam (or My DVD Player Just Hates Me

Satan's work or Dora the Explorer's?

You're Not In The Boom Boom Room Anymore

Has your bedroom lost its sexy since baby moved in? You're not alone.

I Nominate Myself For The Worst Mommy Blogger Ever

Not your typical mommy blogger.

My Doctor Made Me More Depressed

Talking about depression is difficult, especially when you're talking to idiots.

March 17, 2012

Adventures in Transit, Alligator Riding, and Highchair Wars

After some time off, I've linked up once again with The Mommyhood Chronicles for Saturday's Top Five Laughs. After you've read mine, go visit Mel at the Mommyhood Chronicles for more funnies
  1. Adventures on Transit, Part 1: Yesterday, getting onto the train was like entering the Twilight Zone. First of all, the car was half empty - completely bizarre for rush hour, even on a Friday. I soon discovered the reason: the other end of the car was populated by half a dozen smelly and completely intoxicated homeless guys. Since they didn't seem to be causing any trouble, I stayed in the car, but stayed near the door just in case. Moments later, there was shouting from the other end of the car at about the same time sirens came screaming down the street. Turns out, the homeless dudes' buddy had overdone it (drugs, alcohol, I'm not sure which), had passed out on a bench across the tracks from us and was being checked out by police and the fire truck and ambulance were on their way. The man came to, thankfully, so his friends promptly clapped and slapped each other on the back. They then did their civic duty and announced to everyone, "And that's why you don't do crack." I dunno... maybe you had to be there. I found it pretty funny. 
  2. Adventures on Transit, Part 2: Same day, two stops down the line, I'm shaken from my reverie by pounding on the window. A young, well-dressed man was banging on the window inches from my head, shouting and making kissy faces. Not sure if it was mistaken identity, a dare, or the new way 20 year olds hit on stick my tongue out at him, but instead, I made a "Who, Me?" gesture, shook my head, then pointed at the very gay looking (and asleep) guy beside me and gave the thumbs up. The Outside Dude was like, "No way!" and the train pulled away.
  3. Adventures on Transit, Part 3: Same day, 3 stops down the line, I look up to see an Asian man in his 50s wearing a black ball cap with "Three Some Thursdays" printed on it in white block letters. I don't think he spoke English...
  4. High Chair Wars: Naked Baby has had enough of being the little one being picked on all the time, so she instigates crap with her sister. At dinner the other night, she tried to grab Naked Girl's fork. She would reach over as far to the left as she could, while sweeping her hand across Naked Girl's tray, then abruptly pull away as far to the right as she could so Naked Girl couldn't smack her. She did this several times - we were watching and laughing, parent fail award, I know - until we pulled their high chairs further apart. The whole time Naked Baby had an evil grin on her face. Poor Naked Girl was pissed off. Naked Baby also has a feisty way of telling you she's done eating. Rather than say "All done" like her sister did at the same age, she will angrily hurl food and dishes on the floor. It isn't enough to throw what she has, either. We've made the mistake of offering her something else when she does this (thinking she doesn't like her food), and she will grab the spoon from you and throw it on the floor. Same goes for sippy cups. Thank goodness for Corelle and plastic dishes!
  5. Naked Girl-isms: Naked Girl has an amazing vocabulary for her age and can tell you lengthy stories with perfect grammar, but still like any toddler, has words that don't come out right, or uses the wrong word for certain things. We aren't too strict on correcting her 'cause it's so darn cute! Our favorites as of late are: "What's yogurt (Gilbert, Caillou's cat) doing, Mommy?", "Can I make baby's hair like a porcukine (porcupine)?", and "Can we ride in the alligator (elevator)?" I think we're going to officially re-name elevators in our family. Alligator riding sounds so much more exciting!
Have you had any adventures on public transit lately?

March 7, 2012

The road to quality, affordable childcare

Our recent search for childcare led us down a few different roads. At first, we looked for a nanny, because that's the economical and convenient thing to do when you have two or more kids, but that was a dead end (lots of sluts, illegal immigrants, and smokers). Next, we looked for dayhomes or daycares with preschool programs, but soon learned that they were so fucking expensive we'd have to take out a second mortgage and sell our stroller collection just so the kids can learn a little French, play (don't they do this at all dahyhomes?) and do crafts (ditto the last comment). Why hand someone else my paycheque when I can teach the girls a second language myself? Pottymouth is a useful language... in certain parts of town... After some number crunching and intense debating, we decided we could take a sweet vacation or enrol the girls in a shitload of classes - music, dance, sports, whatever - for the difference in cost between the bilingual academy and a regular dayhome. I still feel pangs of regret, but feel it was the right choice to avoid that detour (to certain financial hardship).

Pottymouth Shorthand
While I was cruising through dozens of dayhome ads, one in particular caught my eye: Dayhome in ______ Mobile Park. Shaking my head in disbelief, I asked Naked Daddy, "Isn't it our job to keep the girls off the pole and out of the trailer park?!" I couldn't help thinking the worst: I pictured an alcoholic, chain-smoking biker chic with yellowed fingers and a raspy voice directing toddlers to put more wood in the wood chopper (don't ask why she has a wood chopper when most trailers have gas fireplaces, it's my nightmare); a lanky man reeking of B.O. and wearing a stained wife-beater and tighty whiteys asking Junior for a lighter and a spoon; teenage hoodlums breaking and entering and playing soccer with the babies; and a meth lab blowing up and wreaking death and destruction on the whole park. And then I got off my high horse and remembered that my family had had lived in a trailer before (long story, but it was for one year on a farm) and none of us were thieves, drug addicts, alcoholics, or even smokers.
Good place for a dayhome?
In the end, I convinced myself it was a very good idea to go back to work and let the girls learn proper English (i.e. not Pottymouth) in someone else's home, albeit not the mobile park dayhome (it was too far from our place and she didn't have a fenced yard), so we can afford fun outings on the weekend. Getting to that decision took a while and finding the right dayhome took another week and a half, but the ride was worthwhile. Now we won't say, "What if?" because we know we're getting good value for what we're paying. Our girls love their caregiver and the other kids in her care, they are fed healthy meals and snacks, and are engaged in a variety of age-appropriate activities throughout the day including some preschool routines.

If money was no object, what would your dream childcare arrangement look like? Would you even need childcare or would you still want to work? I would love to volunteer part-time and put my kids in an enriched (music, French/Spanish, gymnastics) part-time program if I won the lottery. 

March 1, 2012

The Onion Chronicles

I have a love-hate relationship with onions. Ever since I was a child, I couldn't stand them - cooked, raw, or deep-fried; they were all bad. As I matured, I came to appreciate French onion soup and how onions had flavor to soups, stews and sauces, but I still will not eat them if they can be distinguished from other ingredients in a dish. If I see a hint of onion, I will go on a search and pick the onion pieces out one by one and leave them in a little heap on the side of my plate. This said, I resent risking my digits to chop onions, but I still do it... with a lot of complaining. My Facebook friends have heard the following rants before and now you can too.

Damn onion
January 26, 2012 Facebook entry

Me (chopping onions): We need an onion chopper.
Naked Daddy: Because you really need another kitchen gadget.
Me: I hate chopping onions and I have to do it all the time, like for every dinner. It hurts my eyes! And I cut my fingers! Because the onions are round.. and hard to cut.
Naked Daddy: Yeah, I'm sure people all over the world are dying from it too.
Me: Probably! From tetanus!! You'll wish we got the fucking onion chopper when I'm dead on the floor and the food tastes like shit because there's no onion in it!
Naked Daddy: (silence)


February 1, 2012 Facebook entry

Dear Costco,

Thank you for cutting the bagels in half. It's nice to know that someone understands the risk involved in cutting them (as well as how much it fucking hurts to slice fingers and how long it takes for the fucking gimp fingers to fucking heal when you wash your hands 94 times a day).

Naked Mommy

PS When are you gonna start carrying onion choppers?

February 2, 2012 Facebook entry

Well, my fingers survived making dinner but my eyes are still burning. Someone told me to chop onions under running water, but I don't get how that works if you want to preserve digits... I still want the onion chopper.

And then my friend recommended this:

I think we've got a wiiiiiner!

What is your most hated kitchen task?


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