A poop sandini

This post involves poop.

Kids are weird. I think we can all agree on that. Some occupy higher levels of oddity than others. My number two would be the one in our crew who takes the cake on quirky. There are times when he shows a lot of promise and then in a moment he will wash that all away, doing something really nutty. Take this morning. He was having his daily movement, I went outside to put something in the garage. When I was coming back in Wizzy was giving him trouble for lying. Obviously I had to know what was going on.

It seems after five years of emptying his bowels he could no longer handle the curiosity. When he was wiping he got some poop on his hand and sampled it. Wizzy found him spitting into the sink and asked him what he was doing? He said he tasted something bad. This is where the lying came into play; he tried to fabricate some story about what he really ate.

When the incident was all over, I told him to head upstairs to brush his teeth, if they ever needed a cleaning, it was now. I too couldn't seem to contain my curiosity, I had to know, how bad was it? When I asked him what it tasted like, he said "like the way it smells". Truly nasty stuff.

Here he is about a week and a half ago. He thought this was suitable attire for 20 degree celsius weather.

I often refer to things as a poop sandini (sandwich). I wonder if he thought that was an actual menu choice?

M.

Tattoos

I've spent the week trying to explain to Malone why I have tattoos. I have two.  Sometimes, because they're both so amazing I have trouble picking which one I like best. The tropical fish by my crotch is the winner though. Yes. I got a fish tattooed on my body and chose the middle of my hip flexor as the spot. It's really ugly with bubbles coming out of it's mouth. I was eighteen, I went with two friends, both who had something picked out ahead of time. I got to the parlour and buckled under the pressure, what the hell was I going to pick? So I picked a fish. I think I might go  and get "idiot" tattooed underneath it. Then people can stop asking me why I picked it.

The second one is a star on my foot. I'm okay with it-sometimes. Every now and then someone will say "did you pick the star because each point is a member of your family"? Shit, no. I did it on a whim on a date-completely random.

Here's my conversation with Malone about them:

Malone: why do you have that permanent mark there (pointing to the fish).

Me: I don't know.

Malone: it's permanent, that means it can't come off, right mom?

Me: yes.

Malone: did you do that when you were a teenager or adult?

Me: teenager, it was a mistake. I wish it wasn't there.

Malone: yeah, I think it's stupid, I'm not going to get one, even when I'm a teenager.

Me: good Lones. Don't do it.

Well, it looks like I have taught Malone another valuable lesson from a mistake I made.

   Imagine this with bubbles coming out of its mouth. Yes, it's this bad.

Cheers, cheers

L

The Spring Thing

I love a to-do list. I also love a spic and spanzy house. Each Spring, like many of you, I do some Spring cleaning.

Here is my list from this year:

1. Wipe down all baseboards.

2. Clean stair spindles and railing.

3. Clean the tops of the cabinets (I know that no one sees them, but it makes me feel better - plus it gets sticky and nasty up there.) This is going to be my last Spring doing this. Someone gave me the brilliant idea of laying newspaper up there the same depth as the cabinets and presto changeo, just replace that instead of scrubbing the gunk off. I love a good work around.

4. Wash all screens.

5. Organize and redo my closet.

6. Clean out the garage.

7. Paint the trim in the kids bathroom.

8. Wash windows, inside and out.

9. Power wash the front porch and the siding.

10. Reseed backyard (it is a wasteland, stupid grubs - Leigh and I will get into those another time).

11. Re-caulk our shower.

What is my problem? Well, with Spring well underway, I have had this list in order for a good two months and so far have only tackled the main floor baseboards and reseeding the backyard. I did re-caulk the shower but must have half-assed it because all the caulking came off and now I need to redo that job.

I'm stalling hard on these tasks. Every morning I give myself a little pep talk and pick a task and sure enough 4 o'clock comes and guess what, it's not done. Summer is around the corner, which brings a whole other list of things to do, mainly lounging pool side; I need to get this stuff done.

I've decided like anything in life, a little mix tape (well, if we still made mix tapes) is in order. Perhaps I should spend the morning making a play list on grooveshark to clean to. That is not stalling. I'm leading with this beauty:

Why I hate public places.

As some of you know, I hate busy parks (which is rapidly expanding to public spaces in general). Dylan, Lisa and I took all seven kids to a water park on Monday morning - it was 10:30. If I have to do public places I go early in the morning or at five o'clock, when it's not as busy. We were about ten minutes into our outing when Jax was running through the fountain and bumped into a little boy (he had to be three or four). Lisa was standing nearby with Remy and as the little boy was getting up  the mom ran by me to help her son. I got the vibe that she was mad at Jax, so I stepped in and said "it was an accident, he didn't mean to run into your son".

Her response: "I'm not concerned about that, but SHE (pointing at Lisa) should have picked up my son. Who stands there and doesn't run to help someone's kid?".  I wanted to shout "dip shit", but refrained. Lisa was of course beside herself, she felt bad for not scooping up the little boy. I told her, if the mom was so concerned about her son, she should have moved off her fat-ass and been beside him, not watching from a bench.

We then spent the rest of time giving the woman and her friends dirty looks...they left first, I felt victorious.

The next strange public park experience was again with Lisa (I know, are you thinking what I'm thinking, it's her right? I think her Scottish ways aren't translating). This time we had stupid Flash (her Westie) with us. I don't like Flash. I firmly believe the best homes are pet-free. Lisa has to wipe Remy's bum and Flash's; any dog that can't go to the bathroom without getting poop stuck to his bum is of no-use. Sorry, this isn't about my disdain for Flash, this blog is about public places and weirdos.

We were walking with Remy and Freya in the stroller and Flash was off his leash. We were on a board walk in a wooded area by a stream, when a guy and his GERMAN SHEPARD came over the hill. Flash and the dog got into an altercation; Lisa was trying to get Flash without being bitten. The guy started swearing at Flash, then turned on Lisa. This guy was red-faced and saying fuck every two seconds (yes, even for me, it seemed like overuse of a word I normally really like). I stood ready to turn and run with the girls, I wasn't sure if he was going to come at me with his dog. Lisa was visably shaken and kept apologizing for having her small, WESTIE off it's leash; unfortunately Flash wasn't hurt.

I realize we were wrong in not having our dog on his leash, however, the physco cursing after we said sorry was bizarre. Luckily we saw Mr. Fuck again the next day, where I had another opportunity to stare someone down. I told Lisa after we passed him, he looked away first. We did it Lisa!

I am officially not doing anymore public outings. I will limit myself to the grocery store and mall. Luckily  I can take refuge in my mom's backyard; the pool is my saviour.

Think of this as a public service notice: I would just like to remind everyone to stay at home, and get rid of your pets.

Tyrannosaurus arms and the far-away toilet

What does that mean? It means I am doing Crossfit. If you do not know what Crossfit is, I"ll sum it up for you: you go to a industrial building in a part of town you have never been before, where coaches instruct you on how to punish the s-h-i-t out of your body. After a week you are left with arms that will not straighten past ninety degrees and a bladder that is constantly full because you can not make the painful journey down to the toilet seat, which is absolutely lower than it normally is. It is torture. To get a more detailed idea of what Crossfit is, check out this site: Hill Country Crossfit. So why am I doing it? As usual it's Leigh's fault. Let me take you back a few years....

When I was maybe eleven years old, Leigh started working out. I remember her walking down to the clubhouse to workout (at the time we lived on a golf course and there was a little fitness centre). Now, I can not recall if Leigh always had sculpted toned arms or if her ambitious fifteen year old self pumped enough iron to develop them. The point is, her arms are amazing. Around sixteen years old, I started going to the gym with her; I had no choice. What was I going to do, be the chubby younger sister? I dabbled a little in that role, with my McChicken eating and sweatshirt wearing ways. But, ultimately I knew it wasn't the life for me. Off I went to the gym with Leigh and really learned anything I knew about fitness from her. For a solid fifteen years Leigh has been waking me up to go running - when we were younger she would barge into my room and wake me, now she bbms me until I respond. Annoying? Yes. Am I thankful I have a sister who is committed to physical fitness and has dragged me along with her? Double yes. She is my motivation.

So, here we are today. For the past three years I have been working out in my dungeon of a basement, hopping over transformers and stepping on blocks - it has been treacherous and unvaried. A year and a half ago Leigh and I started The Tracy Anderson Method, which we have both really enjoyed. However, I am bored. I am so over working out at home, alone, in the damp, darkness of my tiny dungeon. I need a change.I need some interaction. So I have put Tracy on hold and have FINALLY agreed to Wizzy's suggestion to join Crossfit. And I love it. I love being with people, I love having someone tell me what to do. I love doing workouts that last only fifteen minutes; I love getting my a-s-s kicked. Last week we did a five minute workout. Yes it was hard and crazy, but it was only five minutes.

Luckily, entering into my third week of training, my T-Rex arms have subsided and the toilet is back to it's normal height.

Summer is around the corner, if you are struggling with your fitness regime and are prepared to suffer, I highly recommend you check out your local Crossfit. At least for awhile. Plus, Ryan likes it, and he might be back this way come September. This time, I'll be ready.

M.

{image via: orangefish-makeasplash.blogspot.com}