Dear Husband,

What a week you've had! My oh my. All that working-out has affected your brain I think.  It is that or you're just an all-out testicle.  I want to again (it's no trouble really, I like putting basic, fundamental, logical thoughts on paper for you) remind you that you have three girls. Our oldest daughter, let's call her Malone is four-and-a-half. You have been a father for that long.

Can you imagine my surprise then, as I'm out shopping for organizational items with Meg (the queen of clean) you call and ask, quite rudely I'll add, "what should Freya eat for dinner?" I realize you were at my mother's house and it would have been incredibly awkward to ask her for some food for her granddaughter.  Besides, how are you to even know what she could eat? Again, this is only your third time around, I understand how confusing that must have been for you. 

To clear things up, here is a list of some of her favourites:

Cheerios, goldfish, avo, cucumber, peaches, strawberries, cheese (she really likes this!), pasta (another winner-but you have to boil water, maybe forget this suggestion), yogurt (peel the lid off), toast with peanut butter, broccoli (cooked, again maybe a little advanced),  and lastly canned salmon.

I think the next time I go out, I will forget my phone (like you do, that way we can avoid more of these stupid conversations). Also, when you ask me "what are you doing?", I will reply: "golfing".

Whew. Got a lot off my chest this morning.

Always your loving wife,

L

I don't even know who's child this is.

Hunter-gatherer

I read The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins last week, which totally rocks.  I was so geared up when I finished Sunday evening that I went online to check out what the other books in the series were (it's a trilogy).  I'm such a dummy that I ended up on Wikipedia reading the summary of the series.  I was so disappointed to find out how everything ends and really feel a "spoiler alert" was in order. 

Then I couldn't decide if I should even go ahead and read the remaining books.  Anyway, I am going to finish the series, I'm on the waiting list at the library - that's right I use the library again.  We have a new, fantastic one in town that the kids and I frequent, so I have started taking out books as well.  I'm totally cool.

Here is the synopsis of the book from Amazon.com: 

In the ruins of a place once known as North America lies the nation of Panem, a shining Capitol surrounded by twelve outlying districts. Long ago the districts waged war on the Capitol and were defeated. As part of the surrender terms, each district agreed to send one boy and one girl to appear in an annual televised event called, “The Hunger Games,” a fight to the death on live TV. Sixteen-year-old Katniss Everdeen, who lives alone with her mother and younger sister, regards it as a death sentence when she is forced to represent her district in the Games. The terrain, rules, and level of audience participation may change but one thing is constant: kill or be killed.

The point of this is, I realized I would be totally screwed if anything remotely apocalyptic happened.  I don't have enough canned reserves, water, or any survival skills for that matter.  I don't even have a flashlight.  I can eat chicken, but could I shoot it, pluck the feathers out and do whatever else you have to do to get some skinless boneless breasts.  No.  Basically I'm in trouble.  I expressed this to Wizz, who tried to convince me that he could take care of our family.  All of the sudden he's an urban hunter-gatherer.  The man is out of his mind.  He often has these surprising stories about things I am not convinced really happened, like the summer he spent branding cattle; sure you did.  I'm not certain he has what it takes to keep us afloat if the grocery stores magically disappear.

So, what am I going to do?  Nothing.  I'm just letting you know, if things go pear-shaped, count us out.  Also, read the book.

M.  

{Image source: theredheadriter.com}

Post Card of Truth #5

Perv Radar.

I am not good at very much, with the exception of creating problems for myself, the only other trait I'm truly proud of is my ability to spot a pervert.  I've had this special "talent" since I was at least ten-years-old.

I first discovered my pervert-sensing abilties in grade five. It was during french class, and my teacher, Mr. M  snapped a girl's bra strap(a very obvious move). I went home and told my mom about the incident, which she promptly took up with the principal and my home-room teacher. After the abovementioned happened I began watching him more closely, he would watch girls get up from  their desks and walk out of class-a classic pervert move. 

Meg had him as her french teacher too-she was in grade one at the time. He had the audicity to tell Meg "she was stupid just like her sisiter" which Meg told our mother. He knew I was onto his pervertedness so much so that he was trying to alienate Meg. Outrageous.  After he "left" the school it was another two years before I encountered yet another pervert.

My next encounter was also a teacher, Mr. K. He would stare unabashedely at girls as they left the classroom, this pissed me off. I would watch him, watching them, I wanted him to know I was onto him.  I told all my best friends at the time, Lisa, Rayna and Stephanie, we formed an anti-pervert brigade.  I use to walk out of the classroom and do a quick turn around; I loved trying to catch him in the act of staring. The worst of it, at parent teacher night, my mom turned to me and said: "he gives me the creeps to".

Where am I going with this? Meg and I were discussing over the weekend traits and capabilites we would love our kids to have. For me, I would like all my girls to have pervert radar.  Naturally, my business acumen has swung into full gear.  I think Girl Guides needs to add an "activity"- How to spot a pervert.  I'm thinking of starting another blog, "Perverts and the five W's" (who, what, where, when and why).

 Cheers, cheers,

L

The Momsie Max-out

We all start our "careers" in motherhood one way or another. Some prepare, plan, read lots of books and think they are going to have it all mapped out and controlled. Ha, you kids kill me.  Others, fall into it accidently because they are stupid or irresponsible, like me.  The point is, regardless of how you came to be a mom,  your life has changed-FO'EVA.  Not in the flowery way; I'm referring to the fact that now you have someone else's needs that come before your own.  Your ship has changed course and you are no longer captain but some deck-hand down below hustling around like a sucka.

I saw a picture recently of my family (circa 2009) and was taken aback at how "momsie" I looked.  Let me define what I mean by "momsie".  To me momsie means a tired face, hair that is slightly off, out of date/ill-fitting clothing, beige teeth, terrible posture and perhaps a few extra lbs than necessary.  To be described as momsie means you aren't bringing the heat.  You've lost something.  As I mentioned above, I had not planned to start my mothering career when I did, I was caught a bit off-guard.  Is this an excuse to look bad, maybe.  I think if you look at motherhood the same you would any other career you can see  similar patterns emerge.  You start out a bit scared, intimated and need guidance and more experience to feel self-assured in your decisions.  As time passes you realize things are not that heavy-duty and you can handle it.  After a few years in the same industry you have moved up the ranks and feel better about things and are much more efficient (think second child). 

So back to this picture.  The time of said picture dates back to Jax's third birthday, that puts us at almost four years ago.  I didn't quite have my mom-legs yet; as far as my "career", I was finding where I fit in and how to make it happen.  I was deep in momsie-land and close to my max-out; the point where my wardrobe consisted solely of yoga pants, I had a bad short haircut and bought a van.  When I see this picture it makes me laugh at how caught up you can get and forget how good it feels to look good and take care of yourself.  I am happy to say that seven years in I think I have this thing under control and have some of my swagger back.

If you have reached your momsie max-out don't fret, you can only go up from there.  If you are headed that way, stop now and turn things around, it is not too late.

Happy weekend.

M.