Toddler Love

There is nothing as fierce as a toddler's love.

Whether it's his cars, the cat or apple juice if F loves something, he loves it big.  There's something so magical about his innocence right now. He can just love everything and anybody and he doesn't have a care in the world. His preschool teachers? He loves them. His friends at preschool? You better believe he loves them. Pancakes? OH MY GOD THE LOVE. It's refreshing and it's entertaining and I have to admit that I am totally jealous because I wish I could be as excited for anything as that boy is about eating one of those shitty toaster pancakes in the morning. 

I couldn't help myself but to laugh last week when I caught F "cuddling" with the cat, and since my phone was handy I managed to snap this photo. With that super cute voice and big eyes, F declared his love for Duncan - his very own cat - and then kissed the furball a few times before I had to intervene. As much as Duncan loves F, Duncan did not love F's I-love-you-deathgrip-headlock. 

Because one look at that cat's face will tell you all you need to know: Sometimes love scares the shit out of you. 

Twentysomethinghood

Oh, being a twentysomething.

I'm about to cross the line of just mid-twenties to upper mid-twenties and I'm kind of freaking out, man because this whole growing up this is bologna. Seriously. Who invented this shit? I've got bills on top of bills on top of some cellulite and a handful of wrinkles and WHY DIDN'T ANYONE TELL ME THIS WAS GOING TO HAPPEN? I'm about 90 per cent sure that I spotted a grey hair last week, but my eyesight's so bad I couldn't quite manage to find it to rip it out. There was a time - perhaps not so very long ago - when I thought being a twentysomething was the most glamorous thing in the world. Pfft.

I'm drinking tea, writing this blog with Nair all over my legs and a facemask on. This is so not what I expected the fabulosity of twentysomethighood to be.

A kid YOUNG LADY I used to babysit turned 18 today. WHAT THE WHAT? Is that even possible? Someone stop the world, I need to get off for a minute. I can remember packing up my old Barbie dolls and Polly Pockets - the ones that actually fit in your pocket - to give to this girl when she was preschool-aged. I remember giving her boy advice when I was post-highschool-grad and she was getting ready to enter junior high school. She tweeted a goodbye to her 17th year last night. She has no idea how gone it is.

Because, my gorgeous, young friend... there comes a time in your early adult life when you will find yourself sitting on your bathroom floor attempting an at-home bikini wax (which, FYI, is the dumbest thing you will ever try to do at home, by yourself) and you will also find yourself eating dinner in the bathtub sometimes because you actually don't have enough time to eat and bathe. You will put on a great show of being a grownup, only to call your Mom later because you just totally effed something up and nobody knows how to fix things like a Mom does. And you will undoubtedly sacrifice food that is actually real food with taste so you can buy that fabulous pair of boots and then try to lie to your mother by saying they were on sale. She'll know better.

I think it's a generational thing, this idea that your twenties will be this golden time in your life when everything is roses and everything will just play out magically. It doesn't, and it's not.

But it's amazing and it's worth it. And when all else fails, there is nail polish.

The 10 Commandments of Cats and Kids

Since becoming a parent to Mr. F and the cat, I've learned that I've been going about life all wrong. Here are a few things my cat and toddler have taught me...

1. It is never safe to go to the bathroom, for any reason, without supervision. For this reason, whether my trip to the bathroom is to brush my teeth, pee or have a bath, I have at least one set of eyes on me. This is especially true if you're a through-the-night-bathroom-trip-taker. You should carry your toddler and allow the cat to sit on your lap while you try to unravel some TP in a sleep-induced fog. Don't drop the kid on the way back to bed. They don't like that.  

2. One must never sleep alone. In fact, you should always have another living creature on top of you. The leg of a toddler or a cat bum in your face is a good thing. Make sure you don't try to casually move child and cat from your bed to toddler bed. They don't like that.

3. Behind the couch, under the bed and inside the radiator is the only place to keep valuable or important items including, but not limited to, credit cards, jewelry and favourite toys. You should remove these items every 3 minutes, as that is the frequency of their disappearance. Don't even think about trying to take a trip to the bathroom, either. Your only job is to remove these things from their "lost" places.

4. You should always stand directly in front of the door someone is about to open so that they hit you and know that you are there, waiting for them. This is especially true if someone was really living on the edge and went to the bathroom alone. Shame on them.

5. The fridge and cupboard doors should always be left open. Always. If you trip over them, that's your own damn fault.

6. Dust bunnies have feelings too. What were you thinking vacuuming them up and disposing of them? Gosh. And, HOW DARE YOU throw out any broken toys, crayons or old food. Seriously. Have you no heart?

7. 3am is the prime time to ask questions, chase your tail and demand pizza.

8. Water is more fun when it is spilled across counter tops, floors and furniture. Extra points are awarded to whomever successfully breaks the glass in the process to spill said water.

9. Trips to the potty should be announced as loudly as possible, at all times. Keep record of these trips - strangers need to know about your um, comings and goings.

10. Popsicles, nachos, ice cream and chocolate are all suitable for breakfast. If you do not get one or all of these things for breakfast, throw a temper tantrum and be snotty for the rest of the day. Make sure you get the cat on board with this - if your meltdown doesn't drive your big person crazy, the cat will make sure it trips her.

Disposed

Pro tip: Never wash a disposable diaper or pull-up.

Groan.

Bless Red's heart, he often does the laundry for all of us and this weekend is no exception. Since he just got back from another week at training camp, he had a bag-full and though I had done a mid-week load, I had a handful of F's things and a few of my own to throw in the load also. Like the awesome guy he is, Red made the trek downstairs and through the hall to the laundry room in the basement and threw the clothes that I'd given him into the laundry basket.

It wasn't until he came back from switching everything from washer to dryer that I realized what a dumbass I am.

"Do you think there was something in F's pockets?" he asked me, holding out his hand full of white weirdness. "There's this weird gel stuff all over our clothes."

DING. I knew. I knew right away. IDIOT.

I googled what to do while Red went to clean out the wash. Not knowing what the culprit was, he threw the entire wash load into the dryer - hidden diaper and all. Down the stairs I ran to stop the dryer and remove the diaper which, might I add, took forever to find.

We shook out the clothes, took out GOBS of goo, and wiped down both the washer and the dryer. Might I add that we have a shared laundry room? Efffffffffffffff.

Just in case you ever have a slip of the mind and forget to make sure that there's no pull-ups or diapers hidden amongst the clothes, here are a few tips for dealing with the disaster.

1. Use swear words. Seriously. The same way muttering a profanity helps reduce the amount of pain you feel when you stub your toe (I'm not kidding. Read about it here and swear away), it also helps you curb stress and generally makes you feel better. So, drop an F-bomb or thirty and get your rear in gear. You've got work to do, sister.

2. Shake it off. You may choose to have a dance party to further reduce stress. Do it up, just make sure you grab some of those gel pellet-covered clothes and shake the bejeezus out of them. Shake, shake, shake. Shake out the frustration of your own stupidity! You go girl! The more you get off the clothes, the happier you'll be. Sweep that shit up and discard it all. Marvel at how one little pull-up/disposable diaper can hold so much hateful gel-pellet goo.

3. The dryer is your friend. My Google-search told me to throw my clothes in the dryer and let it work its magic. Apparently the gel just dries up and falls off. Don't be surprised if you require a good lint brush after the clothes come out though. The good news: Your clothes are not ruined.

4. Clean out your washing machine. The washing machines in our laundry room are front loading, so it was easier on the back than reaching over but harder to actually clean because it was stuck all over. Use your hands to scoop as much out as possible, then an old cloth to get the remnants. Wipe down well to remove all trace of the gel pellets.

5. Caffeinate. It's necessary. Just accept it.

Hopefully you'll catch the goo/gel-pellets before throwing it in the dryer. I had to wash the dryer out too. Sigh.

Happy Saturday!

Lacy

Feeling pretty is important.

Regardless of whether I’m going to work, school or the grocery store, I like to feel good. While I don’t usually pile on makeup, I’ll throw on some lip gloss or mascara and try to make myself look presentable. I think it’s important to feel good about yourself whenever possible, and while I have more hang ups than an art gallery, I usually get the job done by wearing clothes/jewelry/shoes/whatever that make me feel pretty.

It is for this reason and this reason alone that I own a lot of pretty underwear. Any woman will tell you, pretty underwear make you feel pretty. Unfortunately for my butt, it can also leave you looking absolutely effing hilarious.

Before you hop on your soapbox and lecture me about the dangers of tanning, let me assure you that I’m well aware of the research, findings and warnings that are associated with tanning. But, like wearing my fancy underpants, it makes me feel really good and it also helps me clear up some of the problems I have with my skin – so I do it. ‘Nuff said.

Even when laying (or standing) in a bed at a tanning salon, I absolutely refuse to go nudie. If you’ve ever had a sunburnt ass, you know why. I pack a pair of bikini bottoms in my purse any time I know I’m dropping into the salon across the street from work to make sure I’ve got full-bottom coverage.

Except for last week when I forgot. And then, in a moment of pure brilliance I decided to wear the lacy underwear I happened to be wearing into the tanning bed. Everything was fine and dandy when I got out. I wiped the tanning lotion off, rubbed some moisturizer in and ran across the street to finish my day at work.

My first mistake was using tingle-y lotion. I sat at work for 2 hours with itchy arms and legs, but the itch wore off around quitting time so I figured I was in the clear. The rest of the afternoon went by like any other, but as evening set in I started to get increasingly uncomfortable so I decided to have a bath. My itchy arms, legs, belly and back had long since gone but I had a new, super-annoying itch.

My butt cheeks.

I got undressed for my bath and decided to check myself out, and that’s when I saw it: a delicate, floral lace pattern sunburned onto my otherwise pasty-white ass. Red laughed at me, and the redness stuck around for about 3 days before fading to a light brown.

Lace patterns on my butt are best left to overpriced undergarments, it would appear.

Oh, and that tingly lotion sticks around: just ask Red about how red he was post-snuggles when I forgot I had it on. Oops!

Switcheroo

A very dear friend of mine recently announced that she's going back to work after two and a half years spent raising her beautiful daughters, and her joy made my heart smile.

Her Facebook wall was overcome with congratulatory well-wishes, and "you go girl" boosters. It especially touched me because I've known her since we were just kids ourselves, lucky enough to have mothers who could be home with us... and now, we're fortunate enough to be mothers ourselves.

Being a young mom comes with a different set of rules and a pile of extra perks that, in the midst of all the chaos, can be kind of hard to see clearly.

In the wake of everything that happened since I hit my 20's, I've become an entirely new person and it's exciting, liberating and absolutely terrifying at the same time. But I love it.

I ran into another old friend not too long ago and he told me that it was nice to see I'd "reclaimed the old me".

Hardly.

The old me is gone. Long gone, and I'd be willing to be she's never coming back. The old me thought that she was just a Mom now. She thought that her tomorrows were filled with ho-humness, but luckily for the new me there was still some spark in there. It's that little spark that helped me find my way to the spot I'm in today.

Being a Mom is great, but I'm more than that and realizing this simple fact has been incredibly liberating. It's been a long process - the better part of this year. It started way back here, when I decided I was ready to take the first few tentative steps. It has taken me to heartache, and to emptiness, to a heart so full I thought it might burst.

But now, I'm ready to just be a 25-year-old woman, and it's about time that my blog reflects the new Ashley.

My life has petered out to normalcy (HA!) as I've fallen completely in love and gotten my feet beneath me - in fabulous heels, no less - but I have some hilariously blog-worthy moments that I felt could never be shared on my "Single Mommy Blog".

Not any more. :)

Sunday Funday?

There are a handful of things I really love in the world: my family, my dog and good coffee are at the top of this list. I have been excited to share this post for the past four hours - yep, four hours. I just wanted to go back to sleep first. I haven't had excitement like this on a Sunday morning since I was in university.

Daisy is a one-year-old Beagle. She's got big floppy ears, double dew claws and freckles on her legs and belly. I fell in love with her the minute I laid eyes on her, and so I handed over a good chunk of change to the breeder, wrapped her up in my arms and took her home to be our family pet. Finley absolutely adores her, and she him. All-in-all, she's a super dog. She only has one flaw: She is afraid of everything.

Neither one looks particularly bright, but Daisy is the one eyeing the camera. She was probably afraid.

I've mentioned before that she thinks her shadow - we can now add reflection to this one - is an entirely different entity, she's terrified of her own bark (and has only barked  twice in her life), and today I learned, she is going to be totally useless if something should go bump in the night. Some protector - this is where that dog shaming site comes into play, isn't it?

My brother, aka Uncle D, is one of my favourite people in the world. He is funny, clumbsy and even though he makes a lot of stupid decisions and statements, he has the biggest heart ever. Really. He works in road construction, and so every morning I wake up and grumble at the fact I have to listen to my dad wake him up - yay, staying with my parents until school starts. This morning, however, I couldn't stop laughing.

The noisemaker, himself.

 

Before F was even a thought, I "rescued" a kitten. It was sick, and the veterinary office didn't even want me to bring it in incase it was contagious, and then quoted me a ridiculous amount of money to save it. I'm stubborn (and I was not paying that kind of money), so I bought baby formula and fed that to the kitten. That kitten now weighs some 20 pounds and is the most annoying animal ever. Rodney - affectionately named after the Premier of Nova Scotia at the time - is not the brightest creature to ever grace the planet. He is obsessed with food. OBSESSED. He's also a real liability, it seems.

At 5:34AM, I was peacefully asleep in bed. Daisy was sleeping at the foot of the bed, probably snoring because that's what she does. All of a sudden, the loudest bing-bang-boom I've ever heard at 5:34AM crashed through the house and woke me up. I sat up with a shot, only to be mowed over by Daisy in her effort to hide under the blankets. Really, Daisy?

All manner of emergencies went through my head in the next 10 seconds: earthquake, plane crash, meteor hit the house, Godzilla, Zombies. Then I heard my Dad call down the hallway, "D, are you OK?"

I got up then, admittedly relieved that there were no Zombies waiting to feed on my little brain, flicked on the hallway light and saw the bathroom door half closed. I tried to open it but couldn't, and when I forced it a little, I heard a groan.

"Did he faint? Did he fall asleep standing up and peeing? Is he OK? Are his pants up?"

Mom got up then too, F stayed asleep. We all stood worrying in the hallway. The other two dogs (yes, we have a zoo in our home) came to check it all out. Daisy was still hiding. Dad and I forced the door open and there was D - pants up, thank goodness - laying on the floor holding his head.

"I tripped over the cat."

 

Being a Medical First Responder, I took a look at his noggin and sure enough, he had an egg coming out. Good sign - "better out than in" is applicable to the human body in many ways. Aside from a pounding headache, he was OK. So I started to laugh.

 

And laugh.

 

And laugh.

 

And then I knew, I had to share it. It was just too good! 19-year-old trips over 20-lb feline, hits head, wakes whole house and scares the beejezus out of the dog.

 

Daisy, as it were, had to go outside to pee after the fright she got. I laid in bed laughing for quite some time. Dad cursed the cat. D took some advil - and no damn wonder, he's not a big guy but when he falls he makes one monumental crash.

 

Dad told me when I was making my coffee this morning, four hours post-chaos, that D's hardhat was hurting him because of the egg on his head. I suggested that D start wearing the hardhat when he gets up in the morning from now on.

 

Happy Sunday!

 



Never Argue with a Toddler

This morning, as per usual, my two-year-old was acting like the teenager he thinks he is, and was telling me he was having a cookie and apple juice for breakfast. When I told him a cookie was not an appropriate breakfast choice (useless, seeing as he watches me eat a cookie for breakfast all the time), he turned around and very saucily said "NO, MOMMY! You stop!"

He was reprimanded for being saucy, and I sat him down and explained that he needs to be respectful and listen to what grown ups like Mommy, Grammy, Nanny and Grampie tell him (Uncle D doesn't fall into this list because he usually starts bad habits - sorry D, love ya!).

ME: "F, it's not nice to be rude to Mommy. You hurt my feelings when you speak to me that way. Remember what Mommy told you about listening to grown ups? Who is the grown up?"

F: "Oh, Mommy. You're not the grown up. You're just the baby and I'm just the baby. Daisy Doo is a grown up. Silly Mommy."


... Daisy Doo is our beagle. She is afraid of her own bark, chases her tail and thinks her shadow is another entity all together.

Never argue with a two year old. They're always right - and they're significantly more self-assured of their being right when they're wrong than I am ever am even when I really am right (still with me? Did I lose you on that one?). You just can't fight that confidence.

The good news is that F did not have a cookie. He had a cereal bar, an apple and a glass of milk. Because Daisy Doo told him it would be a good idea. *Sigh*



This is the "grown up" who we apparently should listen to. God help us all.