Ow, my angst

Dear Struggling Young Mother...

2012-03-01T20:45:00.001-05:00

Those baby books that you read when you were pregnant? When you were sitting in the glider chair in the muted sunlight of the peaceful baby nursery you'd created? There you were, with all the beautiful washed blankets and tiny clothes and undershirts and clean soaps and shampoos arranged all around you, and that feeling of happiness and anticipation glowing softly right in your core. The books told you that you were about to embark on a wondrous, magical journey.

It didn't tell you that you might push for three hours, ignorant to the fact that your baby had the cord wrapped around his neck, and that you would push so hard just to get him into this world that you would actually give yourself a puffy, bruised eye. It didn't tell you that your ankles and feet would be so swollen you'd be wearing your running shoes for those last few weeks, laced as loosely as possible, and that you'd be wearing your husband's winter coat because it was the only one that would do up.

And, oh my god, it didn't tell you about that first night you brought that new baby home.

When my son was born, I didn't get to hold him right away. Thanks to being slightly strangled with each push, he got to go straight to the NICU. When I'd come in to feed him, I would be face to face with this beautiful stranger, who I was terrified of. The first few times I held him, and fed him, he was attached to enough wires and monitors that if I bent one wire the wrong way, things would start beeping. As I fumbled to find the right way to get my breast to his mouth, he would be SHRIEKING with rage and desperate need for food. Then the dear, kind nurse would matter-of-factly grab my breast and shove it in the kid's mouth.

It was daunting, to say the very least.

Finally on the 5th day, we brought him home. We thought his breathing sounded wheezy. We freaked. Then my inlaws came over and assured us he was just fine, and sounded like a new baby should. Nana was calm. She was in love with the new baby. She professionally, effortlessly swaddled him tight and cozy in seconds. She patted him and rubbed him and got all the bad air out of him. I barely even wanted to hold him.

I wanted to see other people hold him, so I could look at him and bask in his beauty, but oh--how scary he was. Then, that first night, with my bedside lamp on, our new baby was sleeping in the bassinet RIGHT BESIDE ME. He was making all those little baby noises that a new mother quickly becomes accustomed to if she gets to have her child in the hospital room with her.

I did not get to learn these noises, so I lay there, listening, making sure his breathing sounded okay, making sure he was going to be OKAY. And then I heard The Man start snoring beside me. He was able to fall asleep and I was lying there freaking out. I suddenly realised;

MY GOD, IT'S ALL ON MY SHOULDERS. It's up to ME to make sure this precious little soul is safe, is fed, poops when he should poop, pees enough times to produce the daily requirement of wet diapers, gains enough weight per week, is healthy, is not jaundiced--it's all up to ME. I'm THE MOTHER now. I'm not just karen any longer. I'm not just some girl. I'm a mother, and my stomach is an empty shell, and I am very, very tired and sore, but I have to get to work RIGHT NOW. THIS MOMENT.

So if you're a new mom, and you're shitting yourself, take heart: I know how you feel.

Time passes.

And maybe, enough time has passed, and you've decided it's time to have another baby! But, your first child is still young, and so needy. And your NEW baby demands so much of your time. And your husband? Well, he had to go back to work. Everyone on your street is at work. You are all alone.

But, you are not. And things won't always be so difficult (hopefully!). When I started writing this blog at the end of 2009, I had WAY more angst. Things were far more stressful, and tumultuous and AUTISM sat at the head of the table.

Now we still have meltdowns and anxiety and other challenges to deal with, but my kids are older and they are sweet, and so lovable and we have wonderful times every day, not just once in a while. Oh, I still have "screaming idiot mom" days. But a few years ago? Hoo...them's were some hard times.

I wrote a book when my son was 3 and my daughter was mere months old. It was the year my son was diagnosed with "Autism Spectrum Disorder." It was a very, very hard year. I'd like to share a few excerpts to show that even though sometimes things seem very, very, insurmountably difficult, the old adage is true:

This too shall pass.

* * *

Thursday August 8th? Or 9th? 2007

I'm tired. The past few days have been horrendous. Let's face it, the past almost two weeks have mostly been terrible. This is because Jack's nana has not been able to come around at all while some relatives from England are visiting. Jack spends at least one day a week with his nana, which let me tell you--and I'm not religious--is a blessing.

Of course that's not the whole problem. The other misery factor is that it's been absolutely freaking hot for the past two weeks--extreme heat alerts most every day, and so for the most part we have been trapped in the air-conditioned house. Let's also add in Ella's continuing teething fun, which has made her naps very erratic.

Yesterday was a truly horrible day. Jack pushed my buttons and I reacted because I was just so damn tired. I don't even know what we fought about--everything and nothing. My heart, too many times, was just pounding with pure rage. I had to say aloud; "I will NOT hit him. I will NOT hit him. I will not hit him. I would like to hit him, but by god, I will NOT hit him." Tantrums, meltdowns, trying to hurt his sister...endless.

Whenever I've had some spare time lately I've been futilely working to put Jack in a nursery school, which I will explain. In the meantime, he listens to the same cd over and over again and bounces ENDLESSLY against the couch. * Bounce*Squeak!* Bounce*Squeak!* until I just want to cry.

Yesterday was bad, bad, bad. The low point, or one of them rather, was me sobbing beside the washing machine as Jack peeked through the basement stairs and laughed at me. So then I screeched "GET OUT!"

As I see it, I had three choices yesterday: I could have smacked the crap out of him, which horrifies me, I could have swallowed an entire bottle of tylenol, or I could have a whisky. So I had the whisky-- a nice strong shot mixed with cola. As I drank it, I could feel the calm washing over me. Without the rage though, all I felt was sadness. Every day I fail as a mother. Every day.

August 15

I've been thinking lately of a girlfriend who is pregnant with her first child. We lost touch for a while when I had Jack, one, because she and her husband live almost an hour and a half away now, and two because we'd temporarily lost that common ground.

I totally understood: she was still thin, pretty, going out to bars for cocktails with her man, valuable in the working world, and I was racing around cleaning poop and puke off everything, and following the rigid breastfeeding clock. And if that sounds bitter, I didn't mean it to be.

So yeah, now she's pregnant, and I dare say she's just as "green" as I was then. I had never diapered anyone before, and the closest I came to knowing babies was probably something like; "here, hold the baby while [your aunt and I] have a cigarette."

I wasn't even the girl who wanted to hold the babies when they happened to arrive for a visit, which, if I look back now, seems pretty A-typical.

So, she'll have the baby in less than 4 months and already she's wondering when next she and her husband will go on a vacation sans children, and she's concerned about not eating too much so she can lose the baby weight as fast as possible. I just smile--and not with contempt, but I smile anyway because she's clinging to the last shreds of a life that will be gone.

My mom said it best and let's see if I can get this right: the first baby is a huge culture shock because it changes your whole life, and the second baby is much easier because that life is gone. Isn't that cheery?

10:50 PM

Something magical has happened tonight: I was standing outside saying goodbye to my parents, my sister and my niece. I picked up my boy and he actually put his little arms around my neck and rested his cheek against mine. He never does that sort of thing with me--almost never hugs or kisses me voluntarily.

That little cheek against my cheek! Oh, just thinking about it makes me feel so full. It makes everything, everything okay: all the lonely days, my wreck of a body--it's all okay. If I can just conjure that feeling in my mind every day, I might just make it out of this life okay.

Obviously My Oscars Dress SHRUNK

2012-02-28T18:20:00.000-05:00

As we all know, the Oscars were on two nights ago. Blah blah blah, who cares. After all, I can't remember the last time the Oscars had any movies up for awards that I was either excited about or rooting for. In fact, that hasn't happened since Forrest Gump went up against Pulp Fiction.

I made it through 43 minutes of the actual awards ceremony before I had to turn, as I was mildly revolted by a) overpaid people who act in shitty movies wearing wonderful free sparkly things, and b) so much simpering and crying and hyperventilating, and really, really dull thank you speeches.

You're not saving lives here people.

Anyhoo, I am still a girl though, and I like sparkly things and fancy shmancy dresses. Also, I am almost always bored. I'm so bored all the time, in fact, that I'm going to start up a mini series soon in which I indulge my love of housework avoidance in favour of DRESS UP TIME! Hooray!

But more on that later.

So, since I'll never go anywhere glitzy or glamorous EVER AGAIN, I had a total brainstorm and thought HEY, wouldn't it be fun if I coated my face in Oscars-worthy makeup, did my hair and put on a really fabulous dress, and THEN coerced The Man into taking photees of me to share with you guys!?! That would be so fun!

I started shoveling on the makeup, channeling the fabulous Adele's most fabulous look of makeup fabulousness from the recent Grammy awards:

Hair and makeup so good I want to lick them
(source)

and it was looking pretty hawt, although it was slightly irritating that very small rash I have in the corner of my mouth where the toothpaste froths out as I brush my teeth. I was rather pleased with my results, especially considering my scavenged collection of makeup is ESSENTIALLY GARBAGE, and I should start pandering and begging now for family members to buy me MAC MAKEUP for my upcoming bday. After all, I'm going to be 40, and then 50, then 60, etc, etc, then next stop after that is Kick-the-bucket-ville, so I deserve it.

Here's what FORTY MINUTES NOT MAKING DINNER looks like

The most exciting part though was the dress. And when I say "the dress," I should really say

THE DRESS

It was a dress that I bought for the Millennium New Year's celebration. You know--the one where everybody figured at the stroke of midnight all our computers and computerized devices would stop working and/or explode?

It was the only time, besides my wedding, that I had ever bought such a fun dress. It is a dark, dark green, with a sheer overlay covered with tiny dark green sparkly beads. It has thin straps, and is more fitted to the body than anything else I'd ever worn.

So, what the hell--that was a mere TWELVE years ago, right? And I'm a little...shall we say...juicier now, right? I figured that the dress would probably be sausage-skin-tight, but you know--wearable. I figured I might not get it done up ALL THE WAY, but what the hell, I'd only be taking pics of the front of the dress. I figured that if I put on that horrible SLIM N LIFT (© The Satan Company 2012) squeezer/strangler under-garment, I'd be able to stuff my zaftig self into it somehow.

People.

I could barely get it over MY TITS.

I was SHOCKED. Oh how naive could I have been? MON DIEU, it was a total fiasco. Surely my tatas were bigger, but not THAT much freaking bigger?!? (I mean, that's good right? If you're going to gain weight, GO BIG OR GO HOME in the bazoomba department, yes?)

So, I grabbed each (giant, apparently) hoot, and hoisted er' through. Then I tried to shimmy the dress down over HIPS TOWN, POPULATION MANY, MANY INCHES.

Nothing doing.

But the best--the very best, and my personal favourite, was the zip-up situation in the back!

Here, I arted it for you:

yeah. That ain't happenin.

Not even close, my friends. Not even close.

It was at that moment, exactly, that I dropped into THE PIT OF DESPAIR. Meh, I've been there before--I have a nice set up there, with a cot and everything.

I went through all the emotions: shock, dismay, sadness, despair, self-loathing... Yeah, "self-loathing" is an emotion, in case you didn't know. Usually it's a woman-specific thing, but it's real. Then I got angry. I mean, what the f*ck? Am I THAT deluded about my own physical appearance???

And then I remembered: waaaait a minute, karen, old kid old sock: you were working at the casino then, and that was the SLIMMEST YOU HAD BEEN since you went on that first diet when you were freaking 13. OH yeah! That's right! You and some of those other girls followed the Weight Watchers diet, which one of the girls had pirated from her aunt, and photocopied for everyone else to use.

So, that + hauling endless super heavy bags of coin for 40 hours a week, turned me into a lean mean karen machine. Then I moved to suburban hell for 9 lonely years, was gargantuan with both pregnancies and had a very, very difficult toddler/little boy to deal with and well...

enough excuses. Luckily I'm pretty fit now, but mon dieu, I'm clearly a bit of an idiot.

And not only that, but the dress was a little too tight EVEN THEN, so NYAH. SCREW YOU, FATE.

Anyhow, here are some pictures of the dress back when I was WICKED HAWT, and got to wear a really, really fabulous dress for one whole evening:

Oh wait....you'd better click PLAY first.

The Way We Were by Barbara Streisand on Grooveshark

didn't really have the bod for it even then, but damn I lurved that dress
Had to edit out the face of my friend's man, as we never see those
guys anymore.

here's me being wicked drunk with my wicked drunk
friends in a wicked sleazy motel room,
thinking we were all so funny and cute.
Then I spent the rest of the night asleep with
my cheek on the toilet seat. Much shame.

you GO, PARTY GIRL! *SNIFF!* YOU GO!

the next day. Feeling v. poorly. Oh but wait!
There's WOODY THE DOG! RIP WOODY,
YOU LITTLE BUDDY!

Ah yes, all those bullshit books we read when we were pregnant? They never told us about the brand new body we'd be getting.

So, have you had one of those special moments when you dug something out of the back of YOUR closet, certain that it just might fit and it didn't???

Sigh.

BIRTHDAY WEEK!!!

2012-02-26T12:08:00.000-05:00

OBJECTIVE: To Successfully complete BIRTHDAY WEEK, with not 1 but 2 birthdays, a mere 3 days apart!

Birthday Number 1

Theme:

PINK, GIRLY...the usual.

What's In The Loot Bag?

* easy clip-on hair flower
* packet of 6 rainbow coloured clip-on hair braids
* little packet of chocolate "mini eggs"

Menu:

* Hotdogs
* Chili
* popcorn, chips, etc
* HEART SHAPED STRAWBERRY CAKE

a RAINBOW of peppers for the chili!

add the meat...

crazy clip-on rainbow braids courtesy of DOLLARAMA.
Girlie and her cousins loved them

yeah, you can have your basic hotdog with mustard...

OR YOU CAN HAVE A FREAKING CHILI DOG

Step 1: PLASTIC CHEESE

Step 2: KID-FRIENDLY BOILED DOG

CHILI GOODNESS

STEP 3: AH YEAH

The Holiest Of Hotdogs ~ Almost Perfect

NOW you can add mustard!

THAT'S WHAT I'M TALKIN ABOUT
(photo's not blurry; you're actually having
a EUPHORIC STROKE)

I love you. Did I tell you I love you? OH, I did?
*blush* hee hee!
Well, it's true I do. At this moment I love you more
than anything else on this whole planet.

make a wish, little girl!

and blow!

Damn. I make a GOOD CAKE.

BIRTHDAY NUMBER 2

Theme:

Colourful!

What's In The Loot Bag?

* 6 small green plastic soldiers
* world's most annoying tiny slide whistle
* novelty glasses with big nose and moustache
* UNBELIEVABLY FUN WACKY NOVELTY TEETH

The Menu:

* Last minute FRANTIC IDIOT, WHYTHEHELLAMIMAKINGTHESERIGHTNOWIHAVENOTIME chocolate chips muffins for Jack's class

*Pizza ~ Dominos. The boy will accept NO SUBSTITUTIONS. This is NON NEGOTIABLE.

* assorted party snacks

* Chocolate cake that looks like a "GIANT WAVE" ~ made by Nana

stupid f*cking muffins. Why do I do this to myself?!?

oh wait...they look really pretty actually...

Why MUFFINS you ask?? Well, that's because
I ran out of icing sugar and couldn't make FREAKING
CUPCAKES, so I'm tricking the kids into getting some
nutrition thanks to a little SPRINKLES MAGIC.

ooo Novelty glasses! So fun!

wacky glasses AND teeth?!? EVEN MORE FUN...

my sis hasn't been to the dentist in years...

I HAVE TO GET IN ON THIS ACTION

good hair in this pic...

CLASSIC. WE LAUGHED UNTIL WE PEED

But this isn't about ME...

get ready!

MAKE A WISH CAPTAIN SNUGGINGTON!

THREE CHEERS FOR JACK!

all done :(

What kind of fun birthday things have you done for your kids??? For YOURSELF??? How many cocktails did it take to GET YOU THROUGH?

Tell me all about it!

Hormonal Quotes Of Yore

2012-02-24T13:42:00.000-05:00

You guys know that I've squashed most of my PMS goodness now thanks to that over the counter supplement made by Lorna Vanderhaghenblahblahhowthehelldoyouspellhername, right?

YES KAREN, WE KNOW. WE KNOW. WE ARE REMINDED EVERY SINGLE MONTH.

Okay, okay, you don't have to get all snippy about it.

Well anyhoo, I MISS that old karen sometimes. She was fun, spicy/piquanté!, crustier than a Sunday dinner roll, and WONDERFULLY ACERBIC. Kind of like a human onion!

my daughter is right: everything is funnier with boobies.

I also put nipples on at first, but The Man didn't understand
what I was "trying to say" with my picture. He didn't
grasp how I was trying to express that I am NAKED and PEELED
for you people, because I lurv you. Then he said; "well, whatever. It's your blog."
Then he went back to work.

Tho...this is not the popular opinion of the household...

But as I was saying, when I used to get in a real STATE, I would spout out some GEMS, FREAKING GEMS, PEOPLE. And luckily for YOU, I was just narcissistic enough to scribble them down, whenever I said something particularly meaningful or inspiring. And as it so happened, the other day I was cleaning out the hell basket/junk catch-all that sits on top of the microwave, and I found my coffee-stained sheets of joy. I want you guys to have them too.

After all, all the best people have witty and remarkable quotes that can be attributed back to them, and one day when I'm under the dirt, I want to be REMEMBERED.

Hyperbole With karen

* Why bother cleaning this house? It's as useful as SHINING UP A DUMPSTER.

* The world is full of a$$holes. In fact, I'm surprised the world even continues to turn, because it's one great big BLACK HOLE OF A$$.

* to The Man: Of course you don't like "Sex And The City." You hate everything I like. We hate each other's stuff. I don't even know how we're even compatible.

* When I'm dead, you people will be sorry. You'll say "if only we'd picked our socks up off the floor."

* Do you want me to have a heart attack??? Stress is bad for the heart. I should not be this stressed every day. You're going to make my heart stop working.

* I NEED to say the EFF WORD! I need it, but thanks to having children, I've been VERBALLY NEUTERED.

* upon viewing my hideous new passport photo with The Man in the room:

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH! DAGGER THROUGH THE HEART! DAGGER THROUGH THE HEART! Go get yourself a new girlfriend.

* The Man pulls on the back pocket of my jeans:

The Man: is that stretchy?

Me: Of course! Once one becomes a 'mommy' they need the forgiveness that can only be found in STRETCH DENIM. Those days of real denim are behind me. It's ALL behind me: hopes, dreams, passions--they're all gone, as I've been beaten down into a fine, malleable paste by the children. And then, you stop caring that your husband no longer thinks you're beautiful. You only care about whether or not he's cleaned the litter box.

The Man: I ALWAYS think you're beautiful.

Ella (walking past): Mommy, I need a party horn.

Me: "Honey, there is no party. The party is over."

* I can't do housework today. I am an INTELLECTUAL. You should have said a long time ago; "my wife--her brain is huge. I need to hire someone to do the housekeeping. It is too far BENEATH HER."

* You know what you should put on my tombstone? "WE Did It."

Love, karen

EX OH, EX OH, EX OH

What Was It Like?

2012-02-21T14:34:00.000-05:00

My dad has been doing a lot of geneology stuff lately. Tracing one's family is like trying to locate and then piece together an enormous jigsaw puzzle.

In particular, I am captivated by this woman:

I wish I knew what year this picture was taken.

This is Harriet Cecilia, known as Cecilia to her family, born December 1886 in Hackney, London. She is my paternal great grandmother. I never knew her because she died in 1915 of "Pulmonary Tuberculosis," at the age of 29 years, 11 months.

I knew this woman:

This is my grandfather's second wife. I was very young when I knew her, and she seemed impossibly old, deaf, and utterly frightening, as the very old seem to the very young.

As for Harriet Cecilia, she came to Canada in 1908 and was married on July 1st of that year to my great grandfather (who came to Canada from Wales in 1907). Her sister married my great grandfather's brother:

What was it like to get on board a ship and leave your country behind? What was it like to come to a new country? Were she and my great grandfather very much in love? What was daily life like for her here in Canada? Did she find the Canadian winters appalling? Chances are she had to make all of her children's clothing herself, and chances are she had to work very hard to take care of her 4 children without all the modern conveniences we have now.

I love this picture:

my grandfather--on the right--must be about 4 in this picture. Their baby sister,
Cecilia was born in 1914, so my great grandmother is either pregnant in this
photo, or maybe the baby's inside sleeping???

Here is the back of the photo:

A man was coming round with a donkey to take pictures, and little Gladys was scared, so her mother had to come around to be near her.

1914. Just imagine: there were no telephone bills, cell phone bills, computers, televisions. Would your house have electricity yet? Indoor plumbing boomed after World War 1 in 1918.

What did everyone do for fun? What kind of meals did Cecilia make each week? What were family favourites? Did she love gardening as I do? What were her favourite flowers?

I would love to step back in time, if only for a day, to meet her and ask her a million questions.

This is the last picture taken of my great grandmother, with her husband and children. Some of you will remember this photo from THIS POST. Cecilia has tuberculosis. It is mere months before she passes. The whole family knows that she is dying. I find this picture dark, and poignant, and terrible, and beautiful.

After she died, my great grandfather was so distraught he tried to throw himself down the stairs, but was stopped by his sons.

I know now that Cecilia died in the Muskoka Sanitorium for Tuberculosis, which was the first free tuberculosis hospital in the world, and the initial, smaller site was the first TB hospital in Canada.

What would it be like to arrive here:

source
(There is an interesting gallery of historical pictures for the hospital HERE. )

knowing that this is the last place you would ever see. Knowing that you would never see your home again, and there would be no more opportunities for travelling photographers with donkeys to take your picture?

I can't even imagine.

Can you?

Giving You What You Need Since 2009

2012-02-16T14:55:00.000-05:00

Did I start blogging in 2009...

Anyhoo...

So! I check my stats all the time; you know, so I can see how many people on any given day have read my blog? Turns out you guys are starting to steer clear of ACIDIC PMS POSTS, and that is a real shame because there is some serious comedic gold in some of those posts.

Maybe I'll just have to come up with more clever titles.

Anyhow, you people are good to me. You say nice things like "karen you're not fat," or "karen you're a total hypochondriac," or "karen you're a NUT" and I lurv that about you. You're all so EMBRACING.

And sometimes, when I'm particularly ridiculous, you guys request stuff you want me to talk about. Melissa wants me to talk more about my neurotic cats, Matt wants me to reminisce about elementary school playground games, Mark wants me to read Dr. Seuss in a really sexay voice, and some of you want me to show up and finally do something with the blog awards you bequeathed upon me months and months ago.

Getting to it my friends, I'm getting to it.

But then, there are the subtle ones, the quiet ones--the unseen, unheard masses who apparently find my blog EVERY FREAKING DAY looking for one special thing. Yes, when I check out my stats, and I go to that magical sub-section that tells me the keywords that lead people STRAIGHT TO ME, I see those two special words all the time. ALL THE FREAKING TIME.

And I feel like I've been letting you down. I've been disappointing you. I've been failing, because once you get here, you soon realise, I don't deliver the goods.

This makes me very sad, because--PEOPLE? I live to serve.

So, here it is, you nameless freaks! Here, is what you've really been desiring. What you've been waiting for:

"HAIRY LEGS"

source

holy shit.

source

There.

Are you happy now!?!

ARE YOU???

Like I said: I live to serve.

How To EMBRACE Valentine's Day

2012-02-14T14:11:00.000-05:00

Here is my gift to you, because I love you: some valuable tips on how to become ONE with Valentine's Day.

lurv,

karen XOXOXO

Ella's Dream

2012-02-13T13:36:00.000-05:00

Recently, my four year old daughter Ella, in ALL SERIOUSNESS, told me about a dream she had:

Ella: Mom, I had a dream that I was a piece of ham.

And then you CHOPPED me and ATE ME, and then you POOPED ME OUT!

(in a very sad voice) And then you had no more DAUGHTER HAM.

~fin~

Here, look: I arted it for you!

isn't she cute as a widdle HAM STEAK!?!

points to anyone who guesses the cartoon poop I pasted the
kid's head atop of.
Here's a piece of advice: don't google "poop" in google images.
Well, go ahead if you want to have that feeling like you could
actually gag. Oh, don't be sad that I made my daughter into a steamy,
stinky turd daughter. No one will be more delighted than SHE when
she sees it. Kids love poops. They love poops and farts and hooter
jokes so much that it just isn't that funny any longer. And yet, here
I am with the most ironic kind of blog post. Go figure.
I think I need more fresh air.

This Is What We Need

2012-02-11T10:34:00.001-05:00

please press play...
H. Owens - Sweet Leilani by Hawaiian on Grooveshark

source

Pina Colada
Ingredients you need

3 oz. LightRum
3 tbs.Coconut Milk
3 tbs. CrushedPineapple

How to make a Pina ColadaPut all ingredients into an electric blender with 2 cups of crushed ice. Blend at a high speed for a short length of time. Strain into a collins glass and serve with a straw.

*recipe found at www.whattodrink.com

Remember Me, G*dd@m%&!

2012-02-08T14:17:00.001-05:00

Oh, there is ALWAYS at least one song stuck in this tiresome broken record brain of mine, and right now it's the song from my last post, and even more than that, it's THIS SONG.

I know this whole Adele album is about a painful breakup with her boyfriend, but I'm dedicating this song to ME, goddamnit.

(Bear with and forgive me, friends of Jesus; I needed that word today).

I just had an epiphany, and it's a damn good thing too because I've been hating on myself FOR DAYS.

Anyhoo, I went to the doctor's today. No, not for the thyroid stab-o-rama: that's on April 25.

I went because on Friday my belly button felt really weird, and on Saturday the area of my body that is FAR, far too close to my pancreas and liver was doing weird, vague squeezy pains ALL DAY. And then the next day when I woke up, that area was not all squeezy and hurtish anymore, but NUMB.

Numb. What the HELL is that???

So, my belly button felt weird, was stinging and a little sore, and when I tried to do some really stupid dancing just to inspire Jack to say;

"Mom. Stop it."

it felt all...thick or something right around my middle.

So, after basically turning my belly button inside out and having a good look in the mirror, and seeing nothing wrong with it--

Wait.

I have to interject here for a minute. Belly buttons are horrifying. The only time they should be probed is with a soap finger. And then left alone. Always left alone.

Because if you poke it too hard, I'm CONVINCED you'll LOOSEN THE KNOT and touch innards.

Oh, you laugh, but are you quite certain it won't happen? You think you're not just a giant, walking BALLOON? Keep laughing then. We'll see who's right one day.

Oh my god. Where was I?

Right--sore belly button, and bulgy feeling guts. I googled, and because I thought I had an umblical hernia anyway, I was worried that it had gotten worse. And organs were spilling out of me like so much sausage. Or maybe intestines were becoming STRANGULATED.

In the meantime, on Saturday I had that weird squeezy feeling in the upper right quadrant of my abdomen. I suppose I could have connected this to the mini eggs orgy I'd had ALL of Friday night and most of Saturday. I could have linked it to the onslaught of stomach acid that ensued...

but that is really not very creative.

I figured that I'd shocked my pancreas and liver into overdrive as they desperately tried to pump out insulin to overcompensate for all that sugar. Hence, the more rhythmic on and off discomfort.

I also concluded (after I'd ruled out pancreatic cancer) that it was probably a bacterial ulcer brought on by the stress of living this poopy ka ka life.

I read too much.

See, if you eat a bag of candy coated chocolate eggs all day, you're probably going to suffer some healthy acid reflux, just as, for example, if you eat pizza for four meals in a row, chances are you don't actually have ASS CANCER, just a whopping case of indigestion.

Logic, my friends.

But I was worried about the hernia, so I went to my doc to have her squish me a little.

Good news: I don't have an UMBILICAL HERNIA, I just have a boring abdominal hernia. No organs are going to come tumbling through a gaping tear.

Bad news: this is still HORRIBLE for self esteem. It's also sad to know that since last year I have only lost FOUR POUNDS. For someone who tries to never look at that number on the scale any longer, finding that out was crushing.

So, I was super bummed. I ranted. I wailed. I proclaimed life to be a SHIT SANDWICH, MADE WITH MOLDY BREAD (do you like that one? I was particularly proud of it). The Man said basically that maybe I'd actually gotten FATTER (not his exact words, luckily) at one point during the course of a year and really I've lost TEN pounds, but I just don't know it! HURRAH! This could well be true. I know my clothes have gotten looser.

I pointed out that a GUY can cut out a couple of cookies every day and lose ten pounds, but I eat healthy, exercise all the time and four pounds??? IN A YEAR???? You girls know what I'm talking about.

We have babies and our bodies change. Our hoots change. They have stretch marks now. Our hips get JUICIER. I can't describe it. They're just juicier. Our actual waist is now somewhere much closer to our armpits.

And we obsess. And we worry. And we fret. And we agonize. And we beat ourselves up over it. And we look at old pictures of ourselves and go into a tailspin of depression. And we miss our long hair. And we miss those old jeans.

And we forget that we are good. We are funny. We are strong. We pushed that double stroller for miles. We learned to drive stick shift, and we could work that clutch no problem stuck in traffic going UPHILL. We pooped on the delivery table, but bygod we pushed that baby out! We made Christmas dinner for a roomful of people. We got those kids through the stomach flu, ear infections, throat infections. Etc, etc, etc...

Why do I keep forgetting all this????

So I'm going to play the song, and then I'm going to make a really healthy sandwich and an Ovaltine, and I'm going to remember I am what I am, and that's all that I am, and it's not as bad as I thought.

39 Year Old Wiener

2012-02-06T15:03:00.000-05:00

OH THE AGONY OF LIFE! I CAN'T TAKE IT!
NO! I CAN'T GO ON!

So,

A lot of you will recall my whining about my thyroid. It's lumpy. It has bumples all over it. It's NODULE CITY.

Well, do you guys remember the last time I whined about it in "A Needle In The Neck Is STILL Not Good Times"? Oh, you missed that? Well it's still a juicy read. Go on, go click on it and see how much fun it was to have a needle inserted into my neck about TEN TIMES.

Well THAT was nearly a year ago. And the results from that biopsy came back as "inconclusive." This means, that even though the doctor looked at the ultrasound and said I had nearly a ZERO probability of thyroid cancer (just a really ugly thyroid), he figured it would be best to stick a sharp object into my throat over and over and over again, so he could SUCK THINGS OUT, study them and make sure.

And you are RIGHT! THAT WAS A PARTY!

So much so in fact that when I was supposed to return within a couple of months for another NECK STAB-O-RAMA, I was a little hesitant to return. And THEN, when they called me and said their ultrasound machine was on the fritz and they'd have to reschedule me, I was ELATED. And THEN when they forgot me and didn't call me back with my new appointment? F*ck that shizz, my friends.

Yeah, you've done the math. It's nearly a year later.

So guess what--at my yearly physical with my doctor, she gave me the gentle scolding and insisted that I "really should get that follow up done."

But it's sooooooooooooooooo unpleasant. I can't even tell you how unpleasant it is, and then afterwards, you get to feel like you were punched in the throat for the next couple of days.

So GUESS WHAT--the doctor prescribed me a CALM DOWN PILL, just so I can go back there and face the neck assault again and feel like even though I'm having someone dig into my neck, and warn me NOT TO SWALLOW WHILE HE'S "IN THERE," (which actually isn't as exciting as it sounds...) I get to feel like I've taken a vacation to hearts and flowers land.

Yeah, that's right. I got me some CALM DOWN PILLS. And the awesome thing was, I had to show my frickin driver's license to get it, to make sure I am me, and not some junkie pretending to be karen with a lumpy thyroid so I could get myself some drugs.

Oh the stigma. OH the shame. Oh the juicy, delicious narcotics!

But, I promptly filled out that prescription, because DAMN IT, I was going to make that thyroid biopsy appointment.

That was in December.

FINALLY, today, I steeled myself, dug out my number for the endocrinologist, and made myself an appointment! Then I got off the phone and PROMPTLY BURST INTO TEARS.

And that is exactly the kind of PRINCESS KAREN TENDERHEART bullshit I am tired of.

WHAT THE HELL HAS HAPPENED TO ME?!?

Yeah, blah, blah, yadda yadda, my mother died a swift death in horrible, shocking agony from lung cancer, while we all sat back and watched the failings of our medical system, and then, apparently,

ALL MY COURAGE FELL STRAIGHT OUT OF MY ASS.*

(* when I was a chambermaid those summers during university, the boss once gave us the best motivational talk ever and told us our brains had fallen out of our asses. Lurv it forever.)

So, what I need from you, my beloveds, is

1) a good swift kick in the ass
2) bogus trumped up words of encouragement

I, karen tenderheart, solemnly swear to MAN THE F*CK UP, not cry again before the appointment, and take my stabbies like a GROWN ASS WOMAN.

Sigh.

"So there's no simple explanation
for anything important any of us do
and yea the human tragedy
consists in the necessity
of living with the consequences
under pressure, under pressure.
Courage, my word, it didn't come, it doesn't matter"

-Tragically Hip

I Have An Idea

2012-02-04T13:03:00.000-05:00

that's what I do. I think. I brainstorm. I think. I obsess. I think.
I am always looking for the better way g*ddammitt

I think I have an idea about this food thing.

But first, let me tell you how I reached my breaking point last Saturday night.

So, Jack and Ella came home from a day at their grandparents'. I enjoyed a day of wonderfully timed, PMS SOLITUDE, and made a trip to Wal of Evil, saw a really cute t-shirt I liked, and realised I had left my wallet at home.

On Thursday when I drove to Wal of Evil, needing to buy groceries, I pulled into the parking lot, turned off the ignition and realised I had left my purse (with wallet in it at the time) at home.

I can't help wondering if this is a sign.

ANYHOO...

When Jack and Ella got home on Saturday, I was at my wit's end about Jack not eating anything. I probably flipped out too much, but by the time he sat down to eat his cinnamon toast for his snack, ripped it to pieces and left 95% of it on the plate, and GAGGED when he tried to eat one piece, I freaked.

I got out a piece of paper and said that I was going to write down all the things he'd eaten that day, and all the things I'd eaten that day (and all the things Ella had eaten that day).

It looked like this:

Mummy Jack

Breakfast oatmeal oatmeal
cup of coffee chocolate milk

snack peanut butter toast nothing

lunch 1/2 salmon sandwich 1/6 peanut butter
apple sandwich

snack handful of baked potato chips little bit of chocolate

dinner bowl of tomato soup banana
cheddar cheese

snack nothing 1 tiny bite of
cinnamon toast

I pointed out to Jack that I had eaten 7 things, Ella had eaten 10 things, and he had eaten THREE THINGS. Does that sound like enough food, I asked him? He said "no."

Then I asked him; if he were me, and I were him, what would he do? He claimed he would make me eat a peanut butter sandwich.

yeah, that looks about right, but you'd better damn well
cut those crusts off...oh, and that's waaaay too much jam.
You run a great risk of running into JAM BLOBS. Nice work on
not touching the edges of the bread though...

"But," I reasoned, "I tried that, and you screamed at me."

"I'M SORRY, MOM, I'M SORRRRREEEEEEEE!!!!!"

So then I got out a new piece of paper. I asked him to tell me some foods, think of some foods, come up with some foods that HE would be willing to eat. He actually came up with a half decent list, and sounded like he looked forward to eating hot dogs with ketchup on Sunday.

Then I decided to BACK OFF from trying to get him to eat ANYTHING for the rest of Saturday. If he were extra, extra, RIDICULOUSLY hungry come Sunday, it could only work in my favour...I hoped.

And so, after a day of fighting, and carrying on, and much freaking out and melting down on both sides, as I was walking him up to bed I said that we'd "try again" tomorrow, and have a better day, because he's so important to me. Then I burst into tears, and Jack put his hand on my arm and said;

"It's OKAY, Mom. Don't cry."

Because, it's not just that the kid barely eats anything ONE DAY and I lose my shit. It's that he's always walking around looking a little run down, with a pasty face and dark circles under his eyes. It's because he's the kid who gets a cold or some other bug and when he finally feels better and is desperately hungry, he literally can't think of anything to eat if he's still a little revolted by food. It's a kid who has to leave the room when I'm baking homemade mac and cheese because the smell is killing him.

THAT, partnered with several days of melt-downs is what BREAKS ME.

And because things always seem to improve after I've been BROKEN, the kid ate 3 hotdogs for lunch, a whole banana at his afternoon snack, and two more hot dogs for dinner. You should have seen him after his lunch: all hepped up on REAL ENERGY thanks to food! He turned into an INSTANT PEST, and even though his sister was none too pleased, his dad and I were snickering in the kitchen.

And this is my idea: we are going to do "FOOD SCIENCE" every day. I tried it tonight. I had a Ritz cracker with peanut butter on it I was hoping he'd eat, but I decided we'd use it for discussion purposes instead.

I took that cracker and compared it to the spice snaps cookies he likes. We compared texture, smell, which one felt harder when we broke it. I compared the peanut butter cracker to a plain cracker. Which one smelled more appealing? When he licked the cracker, what did it taste like? What did it taste like when he licked the cookie?

Jack is unaccustomed to salt, so I put 4 tiny grains of salt in his hand and let him lick it. How did it taste? Then in the other hand I put 4 tiny grains of sugar in his hand. How did IT taste? Which did he like better? If I put some salt on the cracker, could we actually smell the salt? Does salt have a smell?

What I'm going to do is become his own food therapist. We're going to do lots of sessions with getting to know food before we move to the next step which is actually biting food.

Tomorrow I'm thinking of comparing a piece of chocolate with a piece of cheese. Or maybe I'll do mashed avocado versus butter.

I get very tired hoping for services that either have endless waiting lists, or don't exist. In my desperation the other day I emailed our local chapter of Autism Ontario (there's not even a location in MY city) to see if they know a food therapist. I doubt they'll find one when I hear back from them. I would be pleasantly shocked. Oh, and it's a week later and NOBODY has contacted me. Big surprise.

I have no idea what Jack's going to eat to fill the hole left by cinnamon toast just yet, but I'm hoping my idea won't be completely crazy.

Always hoping.

a shit lunch to you--a MIRACLE to me.
If he actually ate the bun, I'd pass out :)

** Hey everyone, some of you might not know the difference between a picky kid on the Spectrum, and your super picky kid, so you're wondering, "what the hell is HER damage?" Here is my favourite post I've come across about kids on the Spectrum with restrictive eating. Sunday really hits that nail on the head:

Your kid is picky, my kid is Stalin.

PMS karen Was Having One Of THOSE Days

2012-02-01T09:32:00.000-05:00

Sometimes there are THOSE DAYS--those special, special days when PMS is like THIS:

(okay, you know you should click play first. Don't make me tell you again. Don't make me come click PLAY for you. Yeah, it'll be noisy and obnoxious. Do I need to come hold your F*CKING HAND?!?)

New World Order by Ministry on Grooveshark

First, a nice little MANDATORY trip to the grocery store. You'd rather bury yourself in your own bed, but alas, you seem to be completely out of 95% of your MUST-HAVES. You've driven all the way to the Wal of Evil, which is at the opposite end of town, and it's only THEN that you realise your purse is still at home. So, you drive all the way back, get your purse and go to the much closer grocery store. Sure, it's closer, but it too is HEINOUS in its own special way.

I HATE vegetables. Vegetables are SO STOOPID.
Just looking at these vegetables makes me want to GAG.
Fried food. I need fried food with melty cheese and chocolate. Together.

;) why, hello there
WHUZZAT?!? DID SOMEONE JUST SAY SOMETHING TO ME?!?

Yeah, you get the vegetables, even though they make you want to YARK.

Then, just past the vegetables, something catches your eye: DATE SQUARES! Oh, how yummy! You've always loved date squares, but nobody else in your little family is too enthused so you never have them. In fact, you haven't had them in ages because--OH--OH---OHDEARGOD, the two people YOU know who used to make them ARE GONE. GONE FOREVER!!! NOBODY WILL MAKE YOU DATE SQUARES AGAIN. You are nearly sobbing right there in the store.

MOOOOOOMMMMMM! GRAMMMMMMAAAAA!

Beware: Satan lurks among the racks in a very, very attractive form...

buy me, karen. I know how much you love me.
Come on...the kids are at school,
so it could be just you, me and a spoon.

FIGHT IT, KAREN, FIGHT IT WITH ALL YOUR MIGHT

You survived getting groceries. You almost had to yell GET OFF to several ancient people who were all breathing down your neck in the produce section, but you kept your calm. Okay, time to check out!

OH SON OF A %$*#!!!! WHORE, WHY DO THEY ALWAYS HAVE ONLY ONE CASHIER OPEN!?!?!?

I HATE YOU SOBEYS!!!!!!!

* Sobeys is a heinous Canadian grocery store chain, my American and International friends.

So then it's back to your car. Hey! It's been SNOWING! AGAIN!!!

DID WINTER ACTUALLY EVER USED TO BE FUN?!? NO, SERIOUSLY, WAS SNOW EVER ENJOYABLE? DOES ANYBODY REALLY LIKE PUTTING ON THE GIANT COAT, BOOTS, HAT, MITTS, SCARF, WOOL SOCKS EVERY FREAKING SON OF A BITCH TIME THEY GO OUT?!? DO THEY? DOOOOOOO THEEEEEEY!?!?!?

I HATE YOU WINTER!!! I HATE YOU SOOOO HARD!!!!!!!!!

At last..back to the safety and warmth of your own home....

yes!

Yes! Yes!

YES! YES! YES!

OH YES BABY YES GIVE IT TO ME YES YES YES YES

Okay karen, what you need is a GOOD night's sleep. If you have THE PMS, sleep will HEAL YOU!

WHYYYYYYYYYYY ??????

Something has to give....

WE DON'T NEED NO WATA LET THE M*THAF*CKA BURN! BURN M*THAF*CKA
BURRRRRRNNN! HOORAY! HOORAY! HOORAY!

SIGH

(* yeah, those are not actual photies of MY house. What do you think I am, people?)

HORRIBLE DISASTER MESS BEDROOM ~ AFTER

2012-01-30T21:01:00.000-05:00

PRESS PLAY, pour yourself a cocktail, and scroll down sloooooooooooowly

THE GIRL FROM IPANEMA by Instrumental on Grooveshark

I know -- I'm happy too!

Shelf: $64.99 ~ Zellers
bins: $12.00 ~ Dollarama

Serenity: PRICELESS

(did you see the BEFORE pictures?)

HORRIBLE DISASTER MESS BEDBROOM ~ BEFORE

2012-01-29T21:59:00.000-05:00

Ella's room...AKA PIT OF DESPAIR...

Polly Pockets...Squinkies...Zoobles...Barbie FLOP HOUSE...
Mr. Potato Head & family...despair...

Draculaura is NOT impressed. Somebody better
clean this sh*thole up before I throw a GOTH FIT!!!

stay tuned for AFTER!!!

This Food Thing Is Going to Break Me

2012-01-28T14:11:00.000-05:00

Hey there! If it weren't for YOU, my son might actually STARVE TO DEATH! Hooray!
We buy at least 4 of these per week....for now. AWESOME.

I've lamented/whined/complained NUMEROUS times about the state of my son's eating. I have a list of various posts I was particularly ranty in, which you can find HERE, in case others of you out there need to feel like you're not alone in the great JUST F*CKING EAT battle.

I know when a food is on its way out. When Jack started complaining about the consistency of the cheese in his cheese sandwich, I knew that sandwich's days were numbered.

When Jack started getting really picky about little blobs of jam in his peanut butter sandwich, I knew time was running out for jam. Then when he started freaking if peanut butter came over the borders of the bread, I became more nervous. Then when I had to start putting them in the fridge to firm up for a while before he ate them, I knew it wasn't good. And when he started freaking that little bits of bread were getting mixed in with the peanut butter, I had a mental going away party for the peanut butter sandwich.

The same goes for instant cinnamon flavoured oatmeal. Jack started leaving half of it in the bowl. I hope he's just taking a break from it. Luckily he's eating apple cinnamon flavour, but since he already burnt himself out on that one and ditto for "maple and brown sugar," I know it's just a matter of time.

So the only thing that's REALLY been keeping the kid going is f*cking cinnamon raisin toast. Oh, and not just any brand will do. We have to buy the most expensive one of all: the SUNMAID brand, which is around 4 bucks a bag.

The most galling part is, that by the time Jack has pulled off the crusts, and pulled off any other parts he has somehow arbitrarily deemed as INEDIBLE, he has a PLATE FULL of bread that goes into the organics bin. I.E; GIGANTIC WASTE.

So lately, when I've lifted up untouched, perfectly fine pieces from his plate for question, Jack has insisted LOUDLY;

"I DON'T WANNA EAT SMALL PIECES!!!"

Oh great. There's something wrong with the "small pieces" now. I'm getting worried. Very worried.

But here is the best, best thing of all: Jack is now freaked by the way I eat. Me. Me in particular. Me, who always chews with mouth closed, as is supposedly proper.

It started as the Christmas break was winding to a close. You know--filling little Auties everywhere with near-crippling dread? One day I was eating something and talking at the same time. Jack got upset and insisted he be allowed to eat his lunch or dinner in the dining room, not the kitchen.

"I DON'T WANNA HEAR YOU TALKING IN YOUR MOUTH!!!!" he wailed.

Talking in my mouth?!? What the HELL does that mean? You know, as a parent with a kid on the spectrum, you soon learn that they have more creative ways of describing things, and you have to be a FREAKING DETECTIVE sometimes to figure out just what the hell they are talking about before they actually COMBUST.

MOM YOU'RE AN IDIOT!!!!!!!!!

So, I figured that talking in my mouth actually meant "talking with food in my mouth." Damn it, as far as family etiquette is concerned, I don't care who the eff is talking with food in his/her mouth. If their mouths are super crammed and it makes their talking muffled, or if I can really see what's in someone's mouth while he/she yaps, okay, then maybe that's a problem.

Okay, so he was freaking out about people talking with food in their mouths. All of a sudden. Out of nowhere. Fine, fine, these OCD things are the manifestations of great anxiety, and a need to buckle down as only a control freak can.

But it's gotten worse. He can hardly eat at the table with me. And I've mostly stopped talking while I'm eating, because let's admit it--we can't help being molded by our kids' idiosyncrasies just so we can have some damn peace.

But Jack? Well, Jack hates the way I CHEW now.

Jack: "Mom, why do you chew like THIS?" (imitates a closed mouth chewing motion)

Me: "I don't know?!? That's how I eat! Teeth have to come up and down to grind food."

Jack: "but I wish you wouldn't chew like THIS:" mimics a chewing motion that involves the front teeth predominately.

I don't quite know what to do about this. It's making me feel self-conscious as hell, and I don't know how long before this neurosis carries over to the classroom lunch session. Right now, I've decided that I won't let him leave the room and eat by himself, because the best way to overcome a phobia is to confront it all the time.

Actually, my stomach is in knots over this, and I'm having a hard time even writing about it.

I have to find some kind of food therapist for the kid before he winds up like this:

oh the horror....

help???

Frumpy Stay-at-home Mom? NOT TODAY B*TCHES!!

2012-01-26T09:00:00.002-05:00

Please, allow me to be shallow for a little while. I must, I must.

As stay-at-home moms, we are busy. As working moms we are busy. The difference is, that you moms out there at the office, working hard for the mon-ay get a chance to wear nice things.

Us shlepps at home wear jeans or some form of "exercise" pant day in, day out. Day in, day out. Oh, and top those off with some nice functional hoodies. Also, I have forgotten what "hip" shoes are, because I'm always speed-walking to and from school and everywhere else, so as not to let my ass become as gargantuan as it wants to, so I'm mostly in running shoes. Or some sort of clunky black boots to keep my frozen toes from falling off. Winter blowz.

Then, when the weekend arrives, we are freaking tired, and a good book trumps an evening out at some bar filled with 20-somethings in tight mini dresses any day. Plus, we have no mini dresses any longer. Actually, some of us never did. Maybe just some really pale, super high-wasted jeans and a crop-top. So sad.

Luckily every now and then someone will get married or kick the bucket, so then we can actually dust off all those pretty things way at the back of our closets, whore-up the face, dig for the fun jewellery that would normally scratch the little people in our lives and look HAWT.

Ha ha, don't get upset about the death joke. I kid. Funerals are no picnic.

But what I'm saying is basically this: I have a few really pretty things that I almost NEVER get to enjoy. Yes, yes, fashion-forward girls like Sarah and Curtise make every day a super awesome lookin' fab day, but the rest of us might not have the balls.

So,

I got out all my fun stuff for a day and took pictures, and now I'm forcing you to enjoy them too! Plus, it's January, and January is so freaking lousy with boredom and greyness, that I encourage all of you (and you men too--what the hell. Maybe you have a Boba Fett tie or something you've been dying to wear) to get out all those pretty things you miss, and roll around in them for an hour or two.

Things I miss:

Sparkly things!!!

These shoes...which I've NEVER even worn out anywhere, but one HAS to have a pair of super slick-shiny black shoes...

Oh hello--I am so SHINY

THESE shoes--which I think are kinda sexay in a retro way...

FALSE EYELASHES !!!

LIPSTICK RED SHOES. OH YUMMY.

yeah--roll up to the schoolyard wearing these

I love this dress. Will I ever wear this dress again?!? SCREW YOU, SUPER COMFY BLACK YOGA PANTS

ooo--can you see the gorgeous red satin handbag I'm showcasing?
The weirdest part was getting The Man to take these dress pics...

I love these shoes. I love them. They HATE ME. They KILL my feet if I wear them longer than 15 minutes. Frowny face.

This shirt...because it has SATIN SLEEVES! OOOOOO SATIN...and cleavage...

satin is yummy-nummy.

GOLD THINGS! Because they are SO DISCO-GOOD!

bracelet and necklace ~ H&M
clutch ~ Value Village

LET'S DISCO

MYSTERY AND MAGIC at the Thrift Store!!

2012-01-24T14:42:00.000-05:00

Coffee chat time, everyone! I have a story to share with you, and I need to know what y'all think, so I cranked up my super crappy video cam! Hooray!

BUY NORTH AMERICAN

2012-01-23T11:07:00.000-05:00

DAMN STRAIGHT

This is a public service announcement from your friendly neighbourhood karen.

So, I get ~~a ton, a FREAKING TON~~ a lot of FORWARDS from my Dad in email. Ssh...don't tell my Dad, but every time it has either a little movie attached, or a link to a little movie, or some soul-enriching power-point slide show about how WONDROUS the Earth is...yeah, I probably never click on those.

Aherm...

Anyhoo, I did get one email this morning, which I've read somewhere before, and you've probably read somewhere before, and it is actually WORTH passing on to as many people as you can. So, instead of forwarding it to a bunch of people who might be just as ~~bad~~ discerning as I am, I'm pasting it RIGHT HERE, because I think it's really, really, important.

Do me a favour and read it, okay? I didn't write it myself, but I fully endorse it. I think we should all support our own continent when it comes to the things we buy--ESPECIALLY our groceries! It's a Canada-based email, but this works for you too, my fine, charming American friends.

Then we'll get back to business talking about poops, lady tsunamis, PMS and photoshop magic with cropped heads.

BUY LOCAL!!!!!

Please read this very carefully, and read to the very bottom.

Its important for all of us.

How is it possible to ship food from China cheaper --

than having it produced in Canada or at least the U.S.?
FOR EXAMPLE THE "OUR FAMILY" BRAND OF THE MANDARIN ORANGES

SAYS RIGHT ON THE CAN FROM CHINA .. SO FOR A FEW MORE CENTS

BUY THE LIBERTY GOLD BRAND OR THE DOLE IS FROM CALIFORNIA.

ALL "HIGH LINER" AND MOST OTHER FROZEN FISH PRODUCTS COME FROM

CHINA OR INDONESIA. THE PACKAGE MAY SAY "PACIFIC SALMON" ON THE FRONT,

BUT LOOK FOR THE SMALL PRINT.

MOST OF THESE PRODUCTS COME FROM FISH FARMS IN THE ORIENT AND

THERE ARE NO REGULATIONS ON WHAT IS FED TO THESE FISH..
(recently a Montreal Gazette had an article by the Canadian Gov't how Chinese

feed the fish... they suspend the chicken wire crates over the fish ponds,

and the fish feed on chicken shxxt.

Canadian Government recommended and stressed NOT to buy any type of fish imported

from China. If you search the Internet what the Chinese feed their fish you'll be alarmed,

eg. growth hormones, expired anti-biotics from humans, and never buy any type of fish

or shellfish that comes from these countries...Vietnam, China, Philipines.)

Check this out personally. I did..

ALSO WATCH FOR PICKLES. A LOT OF THE NO-NAME PICKLES COME FROM INDIA .
BICK'S HAVE RECENTLY CEASED OPERATIONS IN CANADA --

DON'T BUY THEM .

Another example was in canned mushrooms. No-Name brand came from Indonesia.
Next to them were President Choice brand. Produce of Canada!!

The P. C. went into my grocery bag.
Also check those little fruit cups we give our children.

They use to be made here in Canada in the Niagara region until about 2 years ago....

They are now packaged in China!!!!

While the Chinese, export inferior and even toxic products and dangerous toys and goods

to be sold in North American markets, the media wrings its hands and criticizes

the Obama Administration (and the Harper Government!) for perceived errors.

Yet 70% of North Americans believe that the trading privileges afforded to the Chinese

should be suspended!!

Well, duh.. Why do you need the government to suspend trading privileges?
SIMPLY DO IT YOURSELF CANADA /US!!

Simply look on the bottom of every product you buy, and if it says

'Made in China' or 'PRC' (and that now includes Hong Kong),

simply choose another product, or none at all.

You will be amazed at how dependent you are on Chinese products,

and you will be equally amazed at what you can do without.

Who needs plastic eggs to celebrate Easter? If you must have eggs,

use real ones and benefit some North American farmer.

Easter is just an example; the point is not waiting for the government to act..

Just go ahead and assume control on your own.
Canadian Thermos bottles were made here for many years..

Thermos sold out in the 1990's and now the bottles,

those that keep our food warm or cold are now made in CHINA.

We lost---about 200 jobs!

THINK ABOUT THIS, If 200 million North Americans refuse to buy just $20 each of Chinese goods,

that's a billion dollar trade imbalance resolved in our favour....fast!!
The downside? Some Canadian/American businesses will feel a temporary pinch from

having foreign stockpiles of inventory.

Just one month of trading losses, will hit the Chinese for 8%, of their

North American exports. Then they will at least have to ask themselves

if the benefits of their arrogance and lawlessness were worth it..

START NOW and don’t stop.

Send this to everybody you know. Let's show them that we are intelligent Canadians/Americans, and NOBODY can take us for granted.

If we can't live without cheap Chinese goods for one month out of our lives,

WE DESERVE WHAT WE GET!

Pass it on, North America!! I DID!!

The Week Has Worn Me Down Like A Pencil

2012-01-20T21:40:00.000-05:00

You will be EXTREMELY tired on the Monday, Wednesday and Friday
of EACH AND EVERY WEEK

Dig my horoscope for today:

Today, karen, you're probably feeling especially sexy and passionate. Don't be surprised if you find yourself browsing through catalogues with luxurious underwear or delicate fabrics! Erotic novels could also be very appealing to you. If you're currently involved, you'll probably want to spend the evening alone with your partner. If you aren't, don't be surprised if you pull in someone new! Either way, you'll probably attract admiring glances from strangers you pass on the street.

As freaking if.

Catalogues with luxurious underwear. Pppffft.

I'm re-writing this thing, RIGHT NOW.

Tonight, karen, you're feeling exceptionally burnt out. You will have reached your zenith of intolerance over children constantly shouting questions from other rooms. You will employ a new rule over this that says 'if you want to talk to someone and he/she is in another room, you must actually GO to that room and ask her/him in person.'

You probably were forced to go get groceries at a really retarded hour on a Friday night because you were out of MORE THAN ONE KEY ITEM, and if you plan to go bargain trolling through thrift stores with your sister tomorrow, you have no choice but to go to the heinous and evil Wal of Evil to get those groceries on a Friday night.

You had an upset tummy all week, and yesterday you may have had a mild but nagging pain in your right side ALL DAY. You concluded you had the following ailments:

1) a strangulated organ
2) ovarian cancer (duh, you always think that)
3) pancreatic cancer

No worries karen, it is probably just air bubbles caught in a mangled inner part of your body after they yanked out your gallbladder.

You have embarked on your 2 week PMS bloat, so your tummy is sticking out. You'll feel a strong urge to just wear the same cream coloured cotton shirt and black yoga pants today, because--f*ck it--choosing new outfits every day is both pointless,tedious and exhausting.

Tonight at dinner you were still nauseated by food, so you made fish sticks and broccoli for your daughter, and a tuna sandwich for yourself, because The Man was out of town.

Earlier in the week, there may have been a power outage in your area. This may or may not have wiped out the last 2 messages from your MOTHER on your answering machine, left not long before she died, which you managed to keep on there for nearly 2 years.

This will send you into a tailspin of bummer-dom

Take a break from those black yoga pants. Yes, they are the most comfortable pants known to MAN, and yes, they're a nice break from your jeans, but every day is a little much, don't you think?

Go outside and get some fresh air. Laundry is a job, not an accomplishment.

I'm TAGGED, You're THRILLED

2012-01-16T22:16:00.000-05:00

So, I was tagged by the charming and lovely Ms. Jessica B. at Jessee's Spot...ages ago. Sorry Jessica. Well, a long while at least. I'm brutal for getting to ANYTHING in a timely manner though, and I don't know if I love these things anyway, as they force me to SELF ANALYSE.

Oh well. Onward.

The rules of this thing are:

1. Post these rules.
2. You must post 11 random things about yourself.
3. Answer the questions the tagger set for you in their post.
4. Create 11 new questions for the people you tag to answer.
5. Go to their blog and tell them that you've tagged them.
6. No stuff in the tagging section about ‘you are tagged if you are reading this.’ blah blah blah, you actually have to tag 11 peeps!

11 Random Things About Me:

1. it takes me AGES AND AGES AND AGES to get to ANYTHING other than what I happen to want to blog about that day. Dishes, cleaning, laundry, favours to friends--yeah, either be prepared to wait endlessly or CUT ME OFF, people.

2. I hate it when anyone touches my nose. Don't touch it. Don't pinch it. Definitely don't pinch it. I have no idea why you need to touch my nose.

3. I think Gene Wilder was so dreamy in "Blazing Saddles"

4. I can't sleep on my left side for long periods of time ever since I was a young teenager. It aches after a while and feels like the organs have been squeezed.

5. there's this lidded dish with leftover mashed potatoes at the bottom of my fridge, waaaaay in the back and I can't remember how long it's been there, but I'm patiently waiting for THE MAN to get that f*cking thing out.

6. I will never go see a horror movie with you.

7. Space is so, so boring. Don't even bother talking to me about black holes and asteroids on a crash course for Earth.

8. I'm sick of colouring my hair

9. Names that I don't know how to pronounce IMMEDIATELY drive me up the freaking wall. Like that last name "Gough." Is it Goff? Go? Goo? Goog?!?!

10. Jell-o freaks me out. It's so disgusting when you think about it, and can only come from ONE SOURCE, PEOPLE: ANIMALS. Blech. So, one day someone boiled up a ham hock until it fell apart and gelatinized, and they decided "this would be YUMMY with some CHERRY FLAVOURING!"

gross.

11. I'm a massive, monstrous introvert

OK, so here are the questions I'm s'posed to answer:

1. What is your idea of a perfect date?

Dating?!? What is that? Wait...you've given up too easily, karen. Concentrate...

a really good dinner that's not filling to the point of all-night-gas-a-thon, with yummy cocktails! Oh! Oh! Maybe some appetizer that's set on fire! Yeah!

2. What would you consider your specialty as far as cooking is concerned?

My macaroni and cheese kicks so much ass. I don't know why you haven't made it. The recipe is right at the bottom of the blog.

My pie would make you wet your pants. Yeah, you heard me right.

3. Who do you admire and why?

My son. He relinquishes his need to control his whole universe every day just by going to school. Also he's an amazing artist, and a very sweet person besides.

My daughter. She is the happiest, huggiest, most content little soul I know. I hope she doesn't become the girl I turned into at 15.

4. If you could go back in time and change the outcome of one event in your life, what would it be?

I would let them induce me when I was so many days past my due date with Jack--either that or demand a c-section before I reached the 3 hour mark trying to push that kid out, while his heart rate kept dipping.

5. What is one regret?

When I didn't transfer all my poems to an internet email addy before my diskette f*cked itself.

6. What do you consider yourself: a city, country or beach person?

None of the above. I like my small town with it's crappy pot-hole filled roads, and near total lack of pretentiousness.

7. Have you ever met anyone considered famous?

I met Debra DiGiovanni at a comedy club a couple of years ago.

8. What are the top 5 most played songs on your iPod?

*Do You Wanna Touch by Joan Jett

*Vuelvo Para Vivir by Illapu

* Love You Madly by Ella Fitzgerald (it's the best version I could find..but it's er..set to a video for someone's doggie who passed away)

* Station Approach by Elbow

* White by Lights

9. What is your favorite quote?

"This is my simple religion. There is no need for temples; no need for complicated philosophy. Our own brain, our own heart is our temple; the philosophy is kindness."

-Dalai Lama

10. What was the worst job you ever had?

Cashier at the casino. That sucked LARGE. Seriously--why are people so heinously rude?!?!?!? And ohmygod--what's with shitting your pants?

11. If money were no object, what one thing would you splurge on for yourself?

I'd totally make my bedroom pretty. Bye bye wood-free cheap crap Sears bedroom furniture!!!

Now I'm supposed to invent 11 questions of my own and tag 11 somebody elses. Nuts to that. I hate rules. Let's see how many questions I can come up with.

1. What is your favourite kind of pasta?

2. how many people did you meet in your life who were really good kissers?

3. what is your favourite book of all time

4. what have you done that you are most proud of?

5. if you could go anywhere in the world, where would it be?

6. how many pairs of your underpants are actually doctor-worthy at this point in time?

7. What movie really, really, really made you cry?

There. 11 is bullshit. 7 is just right. OH, and these questions are for YOU, the lovely people who actually suffered through this post! Enjoy!

Why Does This Bother You?

2012-01-14T14:21:00.000-05:00

Okay, I've had it. I try not to be too political here in blog land, but I do have strong opinions on some things. Today I'm thinking about TOLERANCE. Come on, can't we all just be fwends???

There are a lot of people in the world, and we all really do have to live together to a certain extent. I was going to also ramble on about why we feel a need to laugh at that poor morbidly obese person we see when we're out, or the person who is wearing what you think is an INSANE outfit and about who never did ANYTHING to bother or hurt us, but instead, I'll just focus myself for now.

I want to talk about GAY MARRIAGE. Only for a minute or two.

This is from Wikipedia:

On July 20, 2005, Canada became the fourth country in the world and the first country in the Americas to legalize same-sex marriage nationwide with the enactment of the Civil Marriage Act which provided a gender-neutral marriage definition. Court decisions, starting in 2003, each already legalized same-sex marriage in eight out of ten provinces and one of three territories, whose residents comprised about 90% of Canada's population.

BOO YAH, CANADA!

A friend of mine is going through some legal bullshittery right now. It is convoluted, but one of the issues at hand is how gay marriage, and families therein are viewed in the eyes of the law in the United States. Imagine: same country, but there are many states in which same sex unions have been vetoed, or the decision to allow is still pending.

I'm paraphrasing here, but someone had emailed him and said that while he/she does not agree with gay marriage, he/she still hopes everything will work out happily.

I have also had conversations with people who were up in arms about gay marriage. They were very displeased that it would be allowed at all. It would RUIN the whole definition of marriage, they insisted. A marriage is a sacred, and marvelous, and romantic, and infallible institution between a STRAIGHT man, and a STRAIGHT woman.

But they're right. Marriage is AWESOME. Only STRAIGHT PEOPLE know how to do it correctly. Nobody ever gets divorced, right?

Three failed marriages and counting! Marriage is FUN!! (source)

Marriage is like, super cool awesome! We were married for 14 whole months!
That's almost an eternity, right? (source)

Longest TWO MONTHS of our lives!!! (source)

Okay, so that was easy.

So, what exactly is going to happen when gay people everywhere can finally get married? Is your marriage going to *POOF !* disappear? Will you have to tell everyone you had a STRAIGHT marriage, just so they don't get confused? Are they going to make straight people everywhere nullify their marriages, so gay people can have a turn? Is your relationship with your partner going to feel "less special" now? Is your neighbourhood going to be BOMBARDED with tedious gay newlyweds? Are you going to HAVE to go to GAY WEDDINGS all the damn time now?

(I bet they'd have better music after dinner...)

Are those wedding dress reality shows going to be RUINED now when they feature two men getting married, or two women?

Okay karen, that's enough ideas.

But gay people have always made you uncomfortable. You've always hated images like this:

You think it's lewd and offensive. Fine, I can dig that. Maybe these two guys are total TOOLS. I mean, do you really need to make your point in your underwear? I'm going to say no, you make a better point and have more credibility nicely attired.

Do you know what really offends me?

Come on girls, get your whipped cream titty gun bras on!

Oh look--they can share! Good girls!

Things will improve, my gay friends. It's taken you THIS LONG just to get a toe in the door of rational and compassionate.

As always, my friend, you gots to crank that shit UP!

Give Peace a Chance by John L on Grooveshark

Sticks And Stones May Break My Bones...

2012-01-13T11:31:00.000-05:00

...but NAMES are SO FREAKING ANNOYING!!!!!!!!!!!

But first, a letter to McDonk's

Dear McDink's,

I love your coffee soooo much. It makes me soooo happy. It sucks outside right now, but I used my feminine charms to coax The Man to get us all egg muffin thingies and coffee. So, I'm sitting here sipping it, and clacking away on my computer in this freezing pantry, and it's all snow and bullshit outside, and freezing winds, but I don't even give a crap because you are so delicious.

fondly,

karen Somethingorother

The week started off rather unpleasantly. We were just getting back to business after the Christmas break. Jack was not a happy camper.

Okay, I have to interject here and talk about that stupid expression: "happy camper." My friends used to go to summer camp, and they'd send me letters about how bored, mosquito-bite-covered, and STARVING they were. Happy camper, my ass.

But as I was saying, Jack had a ton of anxiety about returning to school. And, because he is him, there is always SOMETHING that he puts at the top of anxiety mountain. It used to be MATH, and now it is TYPING. So, the school runs on a 10 day schedule, and now on day 10, they have typing. I have no idea why he hates typing so much. Maybe it's a little tedious, and probably the kids were told to try to type without looking at their fingers. So that would lead to MISTAKES, and MR PERFECTION STOMPS ON MISTAKES. Of course, that makes it THE MOST HORRIBLE SUBJECT IN THE WORLD.

So now we have lots of discussions about typing:

I hate typing...
why do I have to learn typing...
on Day 10 I get to stay home from school!
I hate going to school on DAY 10...
I wish I never had to learn typing...

etc, etc. At least it made him forget how much math sucks.

Oh don't give me that face. Math does indeed SUCK. That Barbie Doll? The one who tried to spread THE TRUTH, and declared to little girls everywhere that "MATH CLASS IS TOUGH!" before they YANKED HER FROM THE SHELVES? Well, sing it sister! She was right.

I was the kid who was in the "extra help" class for math in grade 5 because I could NOT GET the concept of "rounding off" numbers. You know: 4.7 gets rounded up to 5 and 4.4 gets rounded down to ...oh wait...4? Yes, I think I'm right on that one. Finally. 30 years later. I also almost failed grade 10 math. Factoring. One of these days, Factoring, I'll get mine. Oh yes, I'll get mine.

And so began a long career of EMBRACING WORDS rather than numbers. Eff you, numbers.

Wow! It's taking me a LONG time to get to my point today, yes??? Blame the delicious coffee.

Okay Spectrum homemoms and homedads: how do your kids like going back to school after a nice long break? Yeah, I bet they love it to death too. Jack had a lot of anxiety as the days of his break disappeared. By the end of the week, he was starting to get fairly shouty. By the first day back to school, his tics had re-emerged in full force, and he did one fine, choreographed dance that last stretch of sidewalk to the school yard. Poor kid.

On Tuesday morning, not long after getting up, I was sobbing over the bathroom sink. The usual "I can't do this! I just can't do this" kind of stuff. I was tired, and felt like a sack of crap from holiday hedonism body abuse, and I just did not have the metal to stand up to Jack's barrage of hostility and belligerence. Every thing I said to him on Monday and Tuesday was met with sarcasm and pure rage.

When he's in that mood, and when I'm tired already, it's a deadly combination, because he taunts me until I break. He'll say something obnoxious, and I'll ask him to knock it off because I'm tired, and he'll become relentless; laughing at me, exclaiming how "funny Mumma is! Isn't she funny? I just don't know why my mother is so funny! I can't stop LAUGHING!"

That shit will drive you.

The problem is, is that that kind of behaviour has really, really declined. So, I am almost out of shape for that stuff now. I can't really take it any longer. Mostly he is the sweetest kid, but when he has days like that, there is nothing I can do except stay out of his way as much as possible, and dip in to my reserves of patience.

Like I said, he's very, very sweet (to me, anyway. Still working on that hostility he has for his father). There is one ongoing problem we have though that has been around for a long time and we have NOT been able to get rid of yet:

Name calling.

Because Jack is a control freak, and because he is easily frustrated (or mostly frustrated all the time), and because he has to relinquish that control often, his mode of defense is NAME CALLING. Oh how he loves it, because it ALWAYS gets a reaction. For instance, he came up with the great idea of calling his sister "Elliott" instead of "Ella." Yes, he's a master pest, and he thinks this is a hoot. He called her Elliot until we ALL wanted to snap. He's finally eased off on that, but it still comes out in the most strategic of moments.

Then there was that long period of time he called us "Heh Heh." You know--it's kind of like "Ha ha" but said more sarcastically? Like when a kid sings: "Heh heh heh heh heeeeeh, you ca-an't catch me!" Like that? So it would go a little something like this:

The Man: Jack, hang your coat up please.
Jack: Okay, HEH HEH.
The Man: "JACK, don't call me that please."
Jack: Okay, heh heh, I won't.
The Man: $%*@ (I'm guessing--he never swears in front of the kids)

And then, when we reached our breaking point with "Heh Heh," he came up with a better one: STU. See, this is genius, because it's a real name, but it's also short for STUPID. So, despite myself, I found it funny at first. Really--hats off to the kids because he is a pest genius:

Jack (to the Man and I): Okay! I'm going to tell you all the members of my family!"
Unwitting Us: okay.
Jack: There's Jack Somethingorother, Ella Somethingorother, karen Somethingorother, and STU Somethingorother!

You know when kids are little buggers, but they're so devilishly amused by what they came up with that you can't help but crack up along with them? I still laugh at "Stu Somethingorother," even though a lot of this hostility is directed at The Man. It's that tenuous father/son relationship thing.

But, it's mostly not funny. Like, 99% of the time it's not funny. Oh, and he interchanges Stu with Meanie just to mix things up.

Me: Jack, I need you to go get dressed and brush your teeth now.
Jack: Okay, Meanie!
Me: Jack! Don't be rude, just go brush your teeth!
Jack (in mock exasperation): OKAY, Stu!
Me: JACK!
Jack: oops! I mean, okay Mom! Calm down! Ai-yi-yi!

Lurv "Ai-yi-yi." Just LURV it.

And it's ALL THE TIME. Imagine asking your kid to do ANYTHING, and being called Stu or Meanie in return. You would turn into the HULK, no?

I have been working on it. After lengthy discussions on how name-calling makes a person feel, I have appealed to Jack's kinder nature, and his MASSIVE EGO. I told him that he is smart, and HE can fix the problem. He just needs to teach himself. So, whenever he calls us "Stu" or "Meanie"...oh, and I forgot "IDIOT" when he's particularly vexed with us (how could I forget Idiot? That's a special favourite), and so when he calls us these things I say; "correct what you said," or "fix it," and he tries again, and then I praise him for fixing it and saying the nice thing instead. Praise. It sounds like I've just given him a chunk of wiener and a pat on the head.

The NAME CALLING drives us CRAZY. And it reached a zenith, along with all the other hostility at the beginning of this week.

But then, by Wednesday, I had new outlook. It should have been obvious, really. That little voice in my brain said; "gee karen, if YOU feel like shit, now that you're back in the routine, imagine how HE feels. And just like that, I dropped my weapons, and remembered to be patient and empathetic again.

So, I put my arm around the little guy's shoulders after school on Wednesday and apologised for the fighting we had done the day before. I told him that I felt pretty crummy with this back to school business, and I understood how he felt. I told him it was okay to feel upset and nervous about being back to school. Hell, every kid feels like that, don't they? And we walked home the rest of the way like the buddies that we are.

After all, Jack and Stu? We're lifelong friends.

Mighty Thighs Of FIRE!!!

2012-01-11T13:50:00.000-05:00

You might think that the title of this post means that I am sexy beyond belief. That I am, in fact, a woman who is writing after she SATISFIED HER HUNGER FOR HER MAN and my SMOKING HOT LOINS ARE STILL STEAMING AND...

You would be wrong.

I'm in total f*cking pain.

Do you see that little side counter there on the left pane of my blog? The one that tells how ~~few~~ many days I have left until I turn the big FOUR-OH? And do you remember me talking about my great 'FIT TO FORTY' campaign of more broccolies and power walks, and less peanut butter toasts and good times?

Well, all of that is freaking me out now. Here is the problem:

I JUST came back from the Christmas/New Years break. It was a really nice 2 weeks. In fact, it was the nicest time I have had at home with the kids in, well, EVER. Normally they're bored the minute school has ended, and they're either ripping each other apart on the area rug, or they're ordering me around, or Jack is just generally HORRENDOUS, and we're trapped because he has invented some arbitrary rule that we never go out and do anything BEFORE dinner.

Very little of this happened though. The kids were good and happy and very pleasant to be around. I slept in till 9:30 EVERY DAY. I finished reading my book. It was Voyager by Diana Gabaldon by the way. I am still unsure why a book needs to be 1060+ pages long. Seriously--do you just love your characters THAT MUCH? You can't stop talking about them? You just want to live in their world? You tried to keep the book to 900 pages, but that was simply impossible?

Oh, I did the bare minimum of laundry for that two weeks. That basically means: the UNDERWEAR LOAD. I went back to my bad habit of eating next to nothing for lunch, or all day, and then eating too much dinner. I tried to redeem myself by throwing the bag of mini carrots on the table with whatever crap we were eating. I went for ONE POWER WALK. One. I did NOT lift any weights. I did NOT huff and puff around the neighbourhood.

There would be DAYS IN A ROW in which I did NOT go outside. Fruits and veg started to become a memory. My "bathroom" schedule began to disappear. I drank hardly any liquid that didn't have the word "Baileys", "Amaretto" or "Canadian Club" on the label. I stayed up till 1:00 every night (morning), and not 10:30.

In other words, it was WONDERFUL AND HORRIBLE.

And finally, I capped off the last night of the break with a CELEBRATION OF POLISH FOOD, had my dad and sister over and we ate an ass load of pierogi and some really fantastic Polish pork shish kebobs.

Blech.

And I have to tell you, I felt TERRIBLE: bloaty, gassy, exhausted, DEPRESSED, overwhelmed, disgusted with myself, and as soon as the kids went back to school I turned into THE HEADLESS CHICKEN, scuttling around in a frenzy to get back to my pre-break self.

Because pre-break? I was KICKING ASS. I was out there, power-walking for over half an hour EVERY MOTHERTRUCKING DAY, and then I was lifting weights when I got home, and I was eating teeny meals all day, and drinking WATER (yech), and going to bed and getting enough sleep EVERY NIGHT.

I had my yearly physical just before the break and I was all "YEAH, I FEEL GREAT. I DON'T EVEN FEEL THAT TIRED ANYMORE AND I EXERCISE ALL THE TIME BECAUSE I AM AWESOME NOW. DON'T YOU THINK I'M AWESOME? COME ON, WHILE YOU'RE UP THERE DOING MY PAP ANYWAY, TAKE A GOOD LOOK UP MY CROTCH AND YOU'LL SEE MY AWESOME CORE, I'M SURE."

If you know me, you'll know that this was like a KAREN RENAISSANCE. I am not a very energetic person, naturally. Never have been. I could happily sit and read a book ALL DAY and then eat dinner, read some more and then hit the sack. No problem. I have to fight this. So, I was trucking around actually feeling GOOD for the first time in about a zillion years, and then I got

DERAILED by the Christmas break. Thank god I hardly baked anything.

Let's take a look:

That's me on New Year's Eve ALL SUPER GLAM with my FOURTEEN DOLLAR FAKE HAIR. If you look carefully you can see my cocktail on the shelf beside me. It may be sparkling wine. Sparkling wine is a terrible thing to drink when you've just had an hors d'oeuvres orgy.

And here is New Year's Day:

WARNING! THESE NEXT PHOTOS MAY BE DISTURBING TO SOME VIEWERS

hi karen! I see you've got YOUR BAGS PACKED

THIS IS WHAT "TIRED" ACTUALLY LOOKS LIKE

I had to take another one, because those first couple made me feel nauseous

Oh yeah--here's me making yummy sausage meat balls. It doesn't really have anything
to do with this post, but I wanted to show you my BITCHIN' NEW YEAR'S EVE
FINGERNAILS! AH YEAH, DO YOU LURV IT BITCHES???

Oh yes. There's something truly magical about getting older: when you have a few drinks, and live the life of a ROCKSTAR, it shows the next day. Oh, how it shows. You'll know exactly what I mean my not-yet-thirty-year-old little friends! Oh yes you will! Coochee coochee coo! Whooz a cute widdle wrinkle-free young person? You is! Yes you is!

By the time the New Year rolled around, things were getting pretty bad around here. The housework was REALLY starting to pile up:

The Man did the dishes after I whined and cried a bit. What a doll!

(see? see? You people didn't believe me when I say I get THAT bloated during PMS time. Look at that massive other chin! MY GOD THAT THING IS HIDEOUS! Yes, that's right--I also had PMS for the last part of the break.)

I eventually gave up.

SERENITY NOW!

Yuck. That was gross.

Let's cleanse the palette with a gratuitous glamour shot:

Oh THERE YOU ARE, karen! Say, karen, who's that really ugly fat chick
in those other pics who kinda looks like you?

Phew. Self-esteem almost back in place.

Anyhoo, so as soon as the kids went back to school, as I was saying, I turned into a total retard, and tried to FAST TRACK my way back to the fit, succulent karen I was BEFORE the break. That means I've been doing laundry LIKE AN IDIOT, and I POWERWALKED YESTERDAY, OH YES, I SURE DID, and then I went for another walk when I took my daughter to school after lunch,

but that wasn't quite enough,

so I came home and lifted some weights and did LUNGES AND SQUATS. I was even making NOISES LIKE A CHAMPION. You know--like how the lady tennis players sound when they WHACK THAT FREAKING BALL?!? Yeah, I was making those sounds:

lunge, "UNNNNH!"

squat, "UNNNNH!!!!!"

And today I can barely climb the stairs. Oh my freaking quadriceps. I won't tell you the noises I've been making today whenever I have to, say for example, sit, or MOVE.

Is there any hope, my friends? ANY?!?!?!?

KAREN-LICIOUS

2012-01-07T23:54:00.002-05:00

I have to confess something.

Have you guys heard of a show called JERSEYLICIOUS?

Well, I'm OBSESSED with it. I love it. I don't watch a lot of tv, but I freaking love this stupid, melodramatic, over-the-top show. I have to tell you about it, and damn it, you HAVE to listen!

Oh, don't waa waa at me. I'm not going to bore you to death telling you all about the episodes, or how Tracy spit in Olivia's face out front of Sonic, or how Frankie is trying to win Gigi's heart again...

Wait, you don't give a shit. Oh just be patient for crap's sake.

image

Okay, karen, so what the hell is this show, you're asking? What?!? You haven't heard of it??? You haven't WATCHED IT!?!? Oh, I am weeping. You've been wasting all your time on Jersey Shore, right?

Jerseylicious is an American "docusoap" which follows a group of salon workers around, and is set, obviously, in New Jersey. The girls on the show are CRAMMED with attitude, have NO PROBLEM with self confidence, have many cat fights, always dress like it's Friday night, and wear fantastical, unbelievable, inconceivable amounts of MAKEUP.

No, seriously--it's a LOT OF MAKEUP. Check it out:

Olivia

Tracy (source)

Olivia and Tracy LOATHE each other.

Gigi (source)

Gigi's boyfriend Frankie

I have to admit it. I find Frankie a little hot. Strangely, because he has a super mobster crunchy ridiculous gel hairdo, but he's got that TAKE IT OR LEAVE IT BAYBEE attitude. Tee hee!

Oh wait...we were talking about makeup...

Alexa

Alexa is the salon's makeup artist, or "Glam Fairy" as she calls herself. I think this means that she's like a fairy who comes and throws a SHOVEL FULL OF MAKEUP at your face, and VOILA! YOU ARE GLAMOROUS!

Okay, so there's a bunch of other people on the show, but who gives a shit. You're only going to watch the show if you want to watch it. And you're never going to love it like I do!

In fact, recently my kids went for a sleepover at their grandparents, so The Man and I got to go out for dinner. Blah, blah, that was all very nice. When we got home, I thought to myself: "karen, the only thing that would make this evening more perfect would be if JERSEYLICIOUS was on TV."

And guess what!!! IT WAS! Sniff! I'm going to shed a little tear, the memory is so beautiful. It was even an episode I hadn't yet seen!

Okay, enough of this crap. Let's get to the point shall we? I am FASCINATED by the amount of makeup these young women wear. I have been thinking about it all the time. I mean, I have never worn that much makeup. Even when I was a hooker that time for Hallowe'en, I still never wore that much makeup. How does one even put on that much makeup? What is involved in GETTING THAT MUCH FREAKING MAKEUP ON MY GRILL??!?!?

I had to find out.

So, I decided to do my own Jerseylicious makeover. And I took photies!

You're welcome.

So, here's me with my fuzzy, shapeless, air-dried, squeaky clean hair, and usual amount of makeup, which is: a little bit of foundation to even out blotchy skin, some eyeliner, a bit of eyebrow pencil and...well, looks like that's about it.

Straightened out the lid a bit. I don't think Jerseylicious karen can have au naturel hair.

Okay, hair up and out of the way...one last look at my ruddy complexion before I start SPACKLE-ING IT ON.

I have coated my face with some pancake-ish foundation, and as much mineral makeup as I could cram into my pores. If there is one thing I have learned whilst watching them do makeup on the show, it is that any hint of natural skin is BAD. GOT THAT GIRLS? NATURAL SKIN TONE = BAD

You know what they talk about nearly every freaking episode? THE SMOKEY EYE. It's all SMOKEY EYE THIS, AND SMOKEY EYE THAT and OOO DON'T YOU WANT TO HAVE A SEXY, SMOKEY EYE LIKE THIS? Smokey eye is actually code for: "shit ton of black eyeshadow."

Keep cramming on the eye makeup, karen. The picture doesn't show that we added some purple sweeps at the outer corners for a FOXY LOOK

See that? Sexy, right? Like I PUNCHED myself with glamour!

Next: eyebrows weren't HAPPENIN' enough, so I took the brow pencil to them again. Oh, and I added some blush. Then I added some more blush. Then I kept swirling in more and more blush. Then I wondered just how much f*cking blush they put on on the show in order to get that LOOK AT ME, I'M WEARING SOME F*CKING BLUSH look. I think I have achieved that look.

Notice the light coming in to the bathroom at this point? The GODS OF GLAM are smiling down upon me. Is it because I'm wearing SO MUCH FREAKING BLUSH AND EYESHADOW, or is it because I've just lined my lips in a dark-ish lip pencil for maximum sluttay-ness??

Is it just me, or does anyone else think this is starting to look creepy?

Oh goody! I've added some oo-ey goo-ey dewy pale pink lipstick. My lips now feel disgusting. Are you digging my SMOKEY EYES?

AH YEAH. SOMEBODY'S STARTING TO LOOK HAWT IN A SEXY CLOWNY-CLOWN KIND OF WAY. You know you like it.

But wait...that hair is awfully flat. There's not even any hairspray on it. No self-respecting Jersey girl would ever go out with such lank, FLAT hair.

Luckily, I have a solution!

BUMPITS™!!! ARE YOU AS EXCITED AS I AM? HUH? HUH? Oh come ON! Surely you've seen that Bumpits™ commercial, have you not? You know--the girl with the stupid, natural hair goes from DRABULOUS to FABULOUS in minutes! All she has to do is tease her hair and stick the plastic thingy there, smooth the hair over top, and POOF! SHE IS FABULOUS!

Ha ha ha ha...what a stupid product! The only reason I bought it was because it was two bucks at the local dollar store.

See? It's EVERYTHING I need: hair moon thingy, and teasing comb! Who's excited?

SEE THAT? DRABULOUS TO FABULOUS IN MINUTES!

they wear a LOT of jewellery on the show. I mean, they cram that crap on. I had to really root through my jewellery box. Luckily I had kept this bracelet from the 90's. BOO YAH! Is it gaudy enough??? Oh, I also fished out the biggest hoop earrings I own....

Also, that pink MOM HOODY had to go. Yes, it was pink, but it was way too conservative. But...I don't really have any good "BAR clothes", so a tank top with rhinestones on it will have to suffice.

Ta-da! Ignore that bra strap peeking out, and feast your eyes instead on THE FACE.

But wait....the Bumpit™ is good, and all, but something is missing. Something is just not quite DELICIOUS enough.

OH I KNOW WHAT I NEED! FOURTEEN DOLLAR FAKE HAIR! YES! THAT IS THE TICKET!

YES YOU KNOW YOU WANT SOME OF THAT. DO YOU WANT SOME OF THAT? YOU DO, DON'T YOU? JUST ADMIT IT?

I had hair that long once. Sigh. Frowny face.

Oh, it also helps to make some really slutty face. It's the face that makes the men folk take notice!

Here's another stupid face you need to make. It's the "I can't remember where I put my brain down" face. Charming, no?

The "I'm in love with my fourteen dollar hair and I'm in love with ME" face.

The "Everything is SO awesome, I smile with my teeth open!" face.

Wait...this is starting to not be very fun anymore...

I feel like I'm wearing a coat. On my face. I just want to wash this shit off now. I really, really want to wash my face. This was a stupid idea.

oh god. Get this CRAP OFF MY FACE

and there you have it. A solid half hour, and one hell of a lot of makeup.

Look! It's my KARENLICIOUS FACE ALL OVER THE TOILET PAPER!!!

Ah, back to my usual scant amount of makeup. What--you were expecting a completely scrubbed face? Pppft! Are you people INSANE?!? I'M PUSHING FORTY!

Still, I like THIS regular old karen much, much better.

Wasn't that fun?!?

The Spectrum Is A Sneaky Bastard

2012-01-03T12:16:00.000-05:00

You know, given enough time, I think we can get used to anything. This means, that the initial shock, and trauma that sometimes comes with new and abrupt change can not sustain itself.

Say, for example, you find out someone you love is sick--scary sick--you will have all the appropriate bodily responses: heightened adrenaline, racing pulse, night sweats, full-on anxiety attacks, inability to eat, shaking limbs, etc., but over time you will probably become accustomed to this new reality.

So, remember when this Autism business came into your life? Well, it was already in your life before you had a name for it, or a diagnosis. You just didn't know it yet. How did you feel that first time somebody took you aside for a confidential chat about your child, trying to sound reasonable, regretful and soothing all at the same time, and said what you never wanted to hear: that your child was "different" from other children. That your child was in his/her own, new, "defective" category. That your child has an AUTISM SPECTRUM DISORDER.

Now, before you get angry at me, when I use the word "defective," we all know that this isn't so. It's an emotional INITIAL response to finding out you have a new, HUGE thing to deal with. You know it's huge: Jenny McCarthy was suddenly out there on all the magazines and on tv as an AUTISM WARRIOR and suddenly thousands and thousands of mothers are there behind her crying out about VACCINATIONS, and DIET and WHEAT and GLUTEN and CASEIN in the diets, and there are those stories about BISPHENOL-A and my god! My child drank his milk from bottles made with BISPHENOL-A and suddenly...

and suddenly

there was this AUTISM TRAIN and you felt panicky because you needed to get on that train but how did you get on that train when it was already so full, and moving so fast?

And you googled. And you read. And you were in that section of the library reading the Autism books and feeling so alone. And you cried at night, because suddenly you saw your son/daughter's WHOLE LIFE ahead of them, and you saw them without friends. And you saw them unmarried. And you saw them living with you their whole lives. Sometimes this was okay, because damn it, you will protect them FOREVER, and you will, but you always thought there should come a time when your children become old enough to start, happily, their own lives, and maybe this will never be.

You read about vitamins, and nutrition, and you printed sheets off the internet, about how your little guy needs MAGNESIUM but how will I get magnesium in him! All these dietary reports say that MAGNESIUM is one of the key minerals autistic children are lacking in...

But in the meantime, you have to get some sort of SERVICES for your kid, but all you do is get in line. Waiting list after waiting list for IBI services and respite services, and oh, have you applied for the DISABILITY TAX BENEFIT? Wait? Wait? My son is NOT disabled?? He's smart, and he's wonderful and all of his parts work!

You are overwhelmed.

Then, the days pass by, and the months, and the years. Your child becomes more reasonable as he gets older. The massive weekend tantrums have all but stopped. Your IEP meetings go by smoothly with nothing new to report. The teachers all like your little guy. They all know his "quirks".

Everyone in the whole school seems to know that he's sensitive to noise. No biggie. He just waits in the hall while they get the TV ready for a dvd, in case there's that initial staticky hiss. If there's feedback on the microphone during the assembly, it doesn't make him dissolve into panicky tears any longer. He simply covers his ears. No big whoop.

The morning bell is no longer so terrifying your kid is gagging as he gets closer and closer to the school, so worried about that noise that he's on the verge of vomiting right there in front of the playground.

Those obsessions at home? The way you have to talk about Willy Wonka's chocolate factory all the time, and where you can obtain Wonka bars and why human hands should never touch the chocolate river? Well, that's just the way it is. You have those kinds of conversations and you have plenty of "normal" conversations about things that are funny, things that are interesting, art you like, music you like, that kid who mouthed off to the teacher.

And things pass by nice and easy for a long time. It's smooth sailing for a long time. Those fights that are on the weekend? Well, haven't there always been fights on the weekend? Isn't that normal?

You begin to imagine that your son has "outgrown" nearly all of his Spectrum stuff. He doesn't look any different from any other kid. Hell, he doesn't even look like that Autistic kid who's in the upper grades. He's got a great sense of humour. He makes eye contact all the time. So, he's got a little bit of anxiety. So what! He's like everyone else now! He even hugs you, and tells you he loves you, and you read stories together at bedtime, and he's even been helping his little sister pick up her toys lately!

But, then every once in a while, you get a little message from the teacher: he's just starting to play with the other kids! Isn't that great? He's still copying kids in class. We're trying to explain to them that he's not making fun of them, and that some people think differently than others. He's been hostile all week and just not himself. Oh, is this because we moved the desks around and he no longer sits beside his cousin?

And then, you want to go out for an impromptu walk down in the tourist section. It's cold but you've all been cooped up for too long. Everyone's excited. Your daughter has already peed, brushed her teeth, and is putting on her winter gear without complaint. But your son...he's freaking out. He's wailing, begging, screaming, calling you an IDIOT. He shrieks; "I HATE YOU!" He smacks you, hits you, punches you, bites you. You're having a moment with your finger an inch away from his nose. You know that finger--it's the MOM FINGER, the DON'T YOU EVER finger. You're still using calm tones but you're saying; "don't. you. ever. bite. anyone. in. your. family. again."

Finally it's all over, and ten minutes later, he's getting his winter stuff on, and the look on his face is heart breaking. It tells you that he would never ever choose to be so volatile, so upset, so angry, so abusive. It's pain and anguish and regret, and that great early-young-man's desperate attempt to suppress emotions. So, hug him and tell him that you are still going to help him find a way to express emotions better, and that you always love him, and you are not mad at him.

He gets into the car feeling fine. You get into the car feeling like you've been steam-rolled.

So all this made me think: f*ck you, Autism. I keep fooling myself into thinking you'd disappeared.

Sneaky bastard.

I Can Waste Time Better Than You

2012-01-01T16:17:00.000-05:00

The Man got me new computer speakers for Christmas! It's been taking me 2 hours to do the same sink-full of dishes! I've been singing show tunes all day! The kids hate it!

Meh--everyone needs more show tunes on New Year's Day.

PLENTY of Angst Before The New Year!

2011-12-30T22:02:00.000-05:00

Ah, my friends,

the year is drawing to a close. I feel like I've been so busy, I've hardly had any "LET'S SHARE" time at all, and THAT is tragic.

Thus, I would like to recap what's been going on around here lately, but I think I'll do it in nice, tidy, individual segments--you know, kind of like one of those TOILET BOOKS! The interesting little blurbs are never so long that they'll make your legs go dead (unless you read too many in a row!), but they're interesting enough to allow the bathroom to be "MOMMY'S BREAK ROOM."

Besides, a lot of you people out there have those super expensive TABLET things now, right? Or your itouches or iphones, or whatever, so this way, you can enjoy this post on the can too--one little section at a time! Or, if you find that gauche, you can just read the whole thing at your computer, old skool style.

Let's start here:

Make The Holiday Zits Stop

My loves, do you know where I was mere days before Christmas? At the drugstore! Was I buying stocking stuffers? NO! I was buying zit cream! Yeah, I was thrilled. Thanks Santa, for the present that just keeps giving this holiday season.

I came in the store and hoped there would be some clever signage to direct me to the TEENAGE ACNE SECTION. I did, incidentally, find a really nice concealer stick that also contains salicylic acid! That thing is freaking awesome.

Remember those days of farty scented acne creams that were supposed to be flesh coloured, so you got to walk around with a great big orange mountain of zit makeup on your cheek? Yeah, that didn't fool ANYBODY.

Mouse Trap and Tsunamis

So! Where are my SPECTRUM homies at, because I want to talk about OBSESSIONS! You know--like, when your kid likes something, they have to LOVE IT, and they have to LOVE IT NEARLY EVERY MINUTE OF THE DAY, and they have to talk about it constantly, and ask you approximately googleplex questions about their special interest, and repeat the same questions over and over again, and basically make you want to run screaming from their special latest fixation?

Oh, we've had many over the years. Jack was obsessed for a long time with the 20th Century Fox logo, and opening fanfare-filled animation. Back before Jack would even attempt drawing, he used to commission people to draw this logo for him. We had stacks, and stacks, and stacks of 20th Century Fox drawings, and he would look at it on youtube CONSTANTLY.

* What's interesting though is that there are lots of people out there who went to the trouble of POSTING these 20th Century Fox intros on youtube. I don't know--I think my son is charming, so obviously he's not the only one...but I digress

That's just one of many examples. Currently Jack has been LOVING that Mouse Trap game.

You know the one:

Image

It's that game that's been around for a thousand years, and most of us wanted it desperately when we were kids, but our mothers thought it was stupid and had very little "play value" so we never got it.

Well, Jack was going mental for that game. Before Christmas he would ask which stores had it, how many days until he'd get it, would Santa bring it for him, why does he have to wait, THAT'S A STUPID IDEA TO MAKE HIM WAIT FOR TOYS UNTIL CHRISTMAS, MOM! WHY DO I HAVE TO WAIT?!?

So, I'm trying to play up this whole bullshitty idea of Santa anyway, right? So things went like this:

Jack: "is Santa gonna bring me Mouse Trap?"

Me: "probably (smiley face!)!"

Jack: "well, is he???"

Me: "I'm sure he will."

Jack: "IS HE BRINGING IT?!?"

Me: "yes! He's probably going to bring it! You just have to be a good boy--"

Jack: "WELL IF HE DOESN'T BRING IT, WE HAVE TO GO TO THE STORE AND BUY ONE."

By the time Christmas eve came, that kid was beside himself for NEEDING to know if he would be getting EVERYTHING that was on his list. I'm seriously considering handling Christmas this way next year:

Me: Jack, you will be getting the following presents, but you will have to wait until Christmas day to open them. So you can chill the eff out, okay?!?"

So, the Mouse Trap board has been set up for days, perfectly, pristinely, but for F*CK'S SAKE, DON'T TOUCH IT!!!!!!! It is now VERBOTEN to everyone except for Jack, and heaven help the person who accidentally gets the ball in motion.

But,

this is not good enough. Why didn't we buy him the 1970's version of Mouse Trap he has seen on youtube? Nevermind that it isn't in STORES. Jack knows that almost anything can be found online.

Oh, and he loves the funnels one particular edition had, for the little ball bearing to slide through. Do we have funnels? Why don't we have funnels for TOYS? Where can we BUY funnels? Can we go to the hardware store and look for funnels? Mom, can you come here and look at the computer and see how these FUNNELS look? For MY BIRTHDAY, MOM, I want FUNNELS and JINGLE BLOCKS..

What. The. F*ck. Are. JINGLE BLOCKS?!?

I feel the icy hand of fear starting to grip my heart.

Anyhoo,

Jack's other obsession (this is an ongoing one since summer) is/are HUGE WAVES. You know: tidal waves, tsunamis, typical beach waves. He got a dvd set about waves and the ocean for Christmas. One disk features various surfers. I've had THIS conversation now 5 billion times:

Jack: "Mom, do you like huge waves?"

Me: "well, not HUGE ones."

Jack: "why not?"

Me: "I like to look at them."

Jack: "would you like to surf HUGE WAVES?"

Me: "no."

Jack: "WHY!?!"

Me: "because they're dangerous."

Jack: "do you like tsunamis?"

Me: "no."

Jack: "why?"

Me: "because they're really dangerous! Lots of people get killed."

Jack: "would you like to surf a tsunami?"

Me: "NO."

Jack: "WHY?!?"

Me: "BECAUSE YOU CAN'T?"

Jack: "why can't you?"

Me: "BECAUSE IT'S TOO DANGEROUS YOU CAN'T EVEN SURF ON THEM YOU WOULD GET KILLED"

Jack: "I wish you would like to surf huge waves."

Me: "I wish you would like dogs." (Jack has a massive phobia of dogs)

Jack: "THAT'S STUPID!"

Jack: "Mom, would you like to swim in huge waves?

Me: "no."

Jack: "why not?"

Me: "I don't like huge waves, I'm not a strong swimmer. I don't want to SWIM IN THEM."

Jack: "Mom, would you like to surf 10 foot waves?"

Me: "NO! I DON'T WANT TO TALK ABOUT WAVES ANYMORE! WOULD YOU LIKE TO PET A PUPPY!?!"

Jack: "NO, MEANIE!"

Me: ( $%*&!! )

How Old Do You THINK I am?!?!?

You know what I used to think was THE WORST THING? When someone thought I was pregnant LONG after I'd had Ella. Oh, that happened twice. Once I was at a wedding, and a woman at our table who was The Man's boss at the time, leaned over and patted my stomach, and asked if I was expecting "another little buddy for Jack."

The second time happened at the WAKE OF MY MOTHER'S FUNERAL. It's a good thing I love this cousin, because honestly? She even thought I had "a glow." AT A FREAKING FUNERAL, I HAD A GLOW. PONDER THAT, PEOPLE.

So yeah, I HATED that, but last night topped that! I went out for dinner with my dad and my sister for Chinese buffet goodness.

The waitress thought my sister was my daughter.

Yes, take a moment.

My daughter.

MY DAUGHTER.

W T F

Seriously. WTF.

My sister is SIX YEARS YOUNGER. NOT SIXTEEN. SIX.

40, clearly, is rolling in with a vengeance. I loaded on the wrinkle cream at bed time.

I Broke My Butt

Speaking of getting old and falling apart, the freakiest thing happened tonight. I was brushing my teeth after dinner, and doing my usual overly thorough TONGUE BRUSHING, and I guess it was a little too thorough because I

SUPER GAGGED

and then, OW! OW! OW! I hurt my bum! I'm serious! I was kind of bent over at a slight angle, and I did one of those gags whereby it feels like your whole inner workings are going to come up, and then I felt this TUG and TWANG right at my BUTT DIMPLE and it was all burning, and super hurtish, and I couldn't even rinse my mouth. It felt like a cord or sinew or something got moved out of place and stretched over my butt dimple, and it FREAKING HURT

So, I hobbled downstairs all grimacing, and I tried to sit on the couch for a moment, but that didn't help, so I laid out flat on the area rug. The kids thought this was hilarious, and as I was stretching my butt out, Ella quickly ran for her new little Barbie digital camera so she could snap a picture. Then she put on my apron and danced around me singing: "I'M THE NEW MOM! I'M THE NEW MOM!"

And The Man? He kind of made some lame sounds that were pretend sympathy, and kept watching tv.

"I'm going to clone A FEW OF ME!" I shouted, "so maybe THEN I could get some SYMPATHY!"

Here, I made a little drawing to show you where it hurt:

You know what all of this means people? I'm falling apart. BETTER ASH CAN MY "FIT TO FORTY" DREAMS! THEY'LL NEVER COME TRUE!

I know you guys care: my bum feels much better now.

And you're all caught up now! Hope your butt dimples are all fine.

Time To Crawl Out Of Butter Mountain

2011-12-27T13:28:00.001-05:00

Holy FROCK people.

Is anyone tired of eating?

Is anyone just plain tired?

I started my day with 3 Ferrero Rochers. They are the CRACK COCAINE of Christmas treats.

No--I don't actually want to talk about chocolate. I may throw up a whole chocolate river.

So...

So! What did you guys eat for Christmas/Your Personal Holiday dinner? My sister, brother and I try to keep the Polish Meat Overload tradition going, in honour of my Grandmother, and my MOM.

This means that I make the special MEAT pierogi, my sister makes the breaded/fried/roasted pork shish kebabs (mięsa na patyczki), and my brother made the kapusta (cooked saurkraut dish with chunks of Polish sausage)

This looks a lot like Grandma's special secret roasted pork/sauerkraut
pierogi. Yeah, you boil them and then fry them in BUTTER, and coat them with caramelized onions
which were, uh, fried in BUTTER

"meat on a stick" as we always knew it. Breaded, fried, roasted. You know--glistening with FAT?
I don't know what the f*ck that rice and peas thing is though.

To make kapusta, you have to drain and rinse some sauerkraut, but leave some of the sour-ness
and simmer it for 2 1/2 hours with a can of mushrooms, Polish sausage, a little squirty of ketchup
and a couple of tablespoons of LARD or BUTTER.

Yeah! Then you also have to have your basic roasted turkey, mashed potatoes,(BUTTER), gravy, bread stuffing, bowl of corn, cranberry jelly thingy in the shape of the can, simple green salad tossed in oil and vinegar, and GREEN BEAN CASSEROLE!

GREEN BEAN MOTHERF***ING CASSEROLE

Herewith, I must compose a small love letter:

Dear American friends,

Thank you for your GREEN BEAN CASSEROLE. We here in Canada don't make such fun, fantasy dishes like GREEN BEAN CASSEROLE, and that really weird sweet potato casserole thingy that I've heard has MARSHMALLOWS in it.

Oh...there's that other thing you guys created called Ambrosia salad or something, which has pineapple and marshmallow fluff and other stuff? Yeah, we can't decided if that Ambrosia salad is really good or really, really disgusting. Leave it to you guys to come up with a way to take green beans and AMERICAN-IFY them! Hooray! Who even knew that crispy onions came in a FREAKING CAN?!? YOU GUYS DID, THAT'S WHO!

That green bean thingy is DOPE. I wish I had some right now, but I was so completely revolted by the sight of food that IMMEDIATELY after dinner I made my sister walk those leftovers RIGHT back across the street to her house. Please visit again soon. You make green vegetables PALATABLE. Can you do the same for BROCCOLI?

Affectionately yours,

karen Somethingorother

Oh yeah...also, my Mother-in-law brought THE WORLD'S BEST POTATO SALAD. Yes, I can hear you now. You're saying; "actually, that's MY recipe. I use celery and mayonnaise and blah blah blah.."

and,

you're wrong.

THIS potato salad is warm, not cold, and is made with ROASTED POTATOES tossed with crispy bacon and green onions in CAESAR SALAD DRESSING.

OMG, people. Somewhere the ghost of my gallbladder is weeping.

See that? The turkey is NOT the centrepiece on the POLISH TABLE!

My sister and I rolled 107 pierogi last Wednesday. We are rock stars. Now, in order to make all this Polish food, you need a shit ton of butter and, apparently, a whole BUSHEL of ONIONS.

I discovered that if you chop enough onions, your nose will just begin a free-flow.

Over the past few weeks, I made a lot of Polish food jokes--but with AFFECTION you must understand, because this food has a very special, fond place in my heart. Like, I told my brother that the ONION is the Polish apple, and beets are the Polish tomato, and kapusta is the Polish SORBET, because that vinegar-y sauerkraut is THE ONLY THING THAT CUTS THROUGH ALL THAT FRIED, LONG COOKED GOODNESS. IT'S A PALATE CLEANSER! GET IT???

Oh! And I'm super proud of myself because I made a PLUM PUDDING for dessert! Me! I made it! I did it all by myself!

Wait...you don't know what the hell that is.

A plum pudding, is a traditional English Christmas dessert cake with raisins, cherries, almonds, spices and sherry (or booze of choice) that is STEAMED for 5 to 6 hours. Well, I made one half the size and I used Port wine instead of sherry, because SHERRY IS DISGUSTING, and I even made the traditional "hard sauce" to go on top.

This is an old recipe from my paternal grandmother, and haven't had one since Christmas 2009, because nobody attempted it last Christmas without my MOTHER.

HOW DO MY ENGLISH HOMIES LIKE ME NOW?!?

HOW DO YOU LIKE ME NOW B*TCHES?!?!?

this looks a LOT like mine did, and it was YUMMO.

And so that is what we ate. I would like all of you to know that once all the food was ready and on the table, after days of work, I felt like HURLING and having a cocktail instead!

Everybody else assures me it was delicious.

So what did you guys eat???

The Carol Of The Doritos

2011-12-20T13:18:00.000-05:00

I have a present of lurv for you...turn yer speakers down a bit...

Christmases Past

2011-12-18T13:23:00.000-05:00

There's no getting away from it: this is a nostalgic, emotion-heavy time of year. If you celebrate anything during this holiday season, or have celebrated in the past, doubtless you have some fond, and not so fond memories.

Because it's SENTIMENTAL SUNDAY anyway, I couldn't help thinking of all my Christmases in the past, and the little things that stand out from all of them. So, I'm forcing you all to join me on my little nostalgia trip. That's right! I'm FORCING YOU. Anyway, it's been hectic: you've been baking and buying and decorating, so clearly you need a little break.

When I was a kid, we always had a real tree. We tried one of those tree farms one year. I don't think my sister was born yet, because I can't remember her in this picture! I do remember having to wear that super itchy hat thing that was basically like a hat and neck warmer all in one with a hole for the face. My brother and I called it "the egghead." I'm scratching my forehead now just remembering it.

We had to go waaaay off into the field to try to find a tree, because we were a little late, and most of the good ones were gone. Finally we found a slightly crooked, Charlie Brown-ish tree, and my Dad hacked it off. We had a wagon ride that day, and I got a styrofoam cup of soup that burnt the hell out of my mouth. That soup was actually hotter than anything that's ever been called "hot".

The tree farm was unusual though. Normally we would get stuffed into the station wagon, and driven to every tree lot in the city so my Mom could hem and haw and "turn it this way" and "lift up that one. Oh, it's a 'long needle.' We don't want that," for what felt like FOREVER. And then we'd return to LOT NUMBER ONE and get the first tree we saw anyway.

Tree decorating night was fun because Dad would always put on the same records, and Burl Ives would be belting out "Holly Jolly Christmas," and we got to drink egg nog, which at the time, was the best drink known to man.

We played the same tree decorating tricks on my Mom EVERY SINGLE YEAR. We would pile a whole lot of the same colour ornaments in the same section of the tree. Or, we would take the entire pile of tinsel and plop that on ONE branch. Or, we'd take one piece of tinsel and thanks to static, it would stick to the tv screen and look like a crack. Then we'd say; "Mom, what happened to the TV?" all innocent like, and it would get her EVERY TIME. One time my brother put my mother's pack of smokes up on the tree. One time he put my sister's hearing aid on the tree.

Good times!

Of course every kid freaked for toys. Let's be honest: you can try to instill all the good values you want into your offspring, but deep down in their greedy little hearts, it's mostly about the receiving. A few toys really stand out in my memory. One year my grandmother gave me a little jewellery box. It had a little plastic ballerina, and played "We've Only Just Begun" by the Carpenters. I thought that was WICKED.

But, the best, the top, the pinnacle of presents was The SINDY HOUSE.

image

What I DIDN'T know, was that after the usual Christmas eve festivities at my grandmother's house, we kids got dropped off and my parents headed on over to the States to go to an aunt's party. Back in the good old days, it was perfectly fine to GET RIPPED, have "one for the road," and hop into your car and head on home.

Yeah, I'll let you think about that for a moment. Let's all say a small thanks that times have CHANGED.

Anyhoo, when my parents got home, it was late, and my Dad STILL had to put that freaking house together. This may be why the elevator never, ever worked properly the whole time I had it.

I woke up that Christmas morning, and let me tell you--that majestic cardboard house was UNBELIEVABLE. I freaked. I totally freaked. It had an elevator, a SPIRAL STAIRCASE...

wait, I have to tell you that I thought spiral staircases were the top notch of awesome when I was a kid.

So, the spiral staircase led up to the roof top patio, where Sindy would have all her outdoor barbecue parties, or lounge in the sun for as many hours as you want, because back then, if you weren't BRONZE, you weren't HAWT.

Of course, because the house had its small imperfections. Like, the cord that was supposed to pull the elevator up would always get all tangled. And, that spiral staircase didn't reeeeeally fit into the cardboard frame so well, and tended to want to pop up a bit at the top, instead of fitting level with the patio floor.

Oh, and I never did have all the furniture that was supposed to come with the house. I mean, I never had that little bedside table with the WORKING LAMP on it. I mean, MON DIEU, a working freaking lamp?!? COME ON! I did have the dining room table and china hutch, the bed, and a fridge that came with lots of plastic foods--enough to fill the fruit/veg crisper, and a little plastic brown turkey.

Oh! And the china hutch had little dishes and glasses. One time my Mom made teeny tiny pancakes that would fit on Sindy's little plates. That was so awesome.

I should also mention (again---I've lamented this before) that one of the cardboard floors used to cave in regularly unless I was super careful, because my brother accidentally winged his basket ball into it.

So, imagine that you've just received all your super awesome presents, including this beyond-comprehension Sindy House, and then your Mom says; "okay, put your toys away. We have to go to CHURCH."

It may surprise you people to know there was a time in my life I was forced to go to church. Like any good psuedo-Catholic-ish family, we went to church on Christmas and Easter. Sorry if you like church, but to me that was SUPER SUCK. My sister is lucky, because by the time she came around, she probably only had to go to church like a couple of times.

Yeah, I know some of you are going to point out the FUNDAMENTAL FLAWS in my view of Christmas, but whatever. Christmas is for everyone. That's why they invented Santa--for us heathens.

Then we'd have to put those toys away AGAIN, pile into the FREEZING station wagon, with its PLASTIC SEATS, and drive over to Grandma's for dinner. We'd all sit round the table eating turkey, and pierogi, and meat on a stick, and meat stuffing, bread stuffing, cranberries, oily salad, corn, kapusta, pickled mushrooms, and stained glass cake, while my Grandmother walked around looking angry saying; "You don't eat nothing!" or "you don't eat much!" or "EAT, PEOPLE!"

And all the while we'd be dreaming of our toys. Dying for our toys. Longing for the moment we could get back home to our toys. Projecting ourselves to that time when we could be in our new jammies, quietly in our beds with that special new toy, and all the other treasures piled carefully beside the bed.

The best Christmases were when we had the tree in the "good living room." We were young, and it was cozy, and Christmas still gave me that magical feeling deep in my stomach. I didn't realise it then, but Christmas was really much, much more than just the presents.

Wherever you are and whatever you do, I wish you happy holidays. I have no problem wishing anyone "happy holidays," rather than Merry Christmas. There are a lot of people in this world who celebrate a lot of different things at this time of year. I hope they're all happy times, even if just a little.

my brother, my aunt, and little me, at my grandmother's
I live in this house now, but without the yellow and black plaid furniture.

my sister, at just over a year old. I remember she kept hanging red ornaments on the same branch.
After each ornament, she would stand back and babble some lengthy baby gobbledegook about the
ornament, and the tree and what she'd done, with hand gestures and everything.

5 SECOND DINNER F.Y.I.

2011-12-17T18:32:00.000-05:00

California Spring roll = GOOD! :)

Wasabi = BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAD

Happy Happy Art!

2011-12-15T21:36:00.000-05:00

It was a miserable, sucky, poopy, crappy, cruddy day here today. It was dark and grey, and has been raining NON STOP since Wednesday. Also, it would appear I'm going to have a cold for the rest of my life, so...

So, what we need is a good dose of ELLA ART!

My four year old daughter enjoys drawing, and it's so interesting to me to see the difference between her and her brother. When Ella draws she's always satisfied with the outcome. When Jack draws there are great, angry *SCRUNCHT* sounds coming from his vicinity all the time as he crumples his less-than-satisfactory drawings and tosses them away in a great fit of pique.

The most noteworthy thing about Ella's art is that it's just so freaking happy. Maybe it will make you feel happy too!

Hooray!

The Happy Sun!

Heart And Happy Face

The Happy Rectangle

say YES!

The Happy Bunny

The Happy Square

The Happy Hand

Ella, her brother, and her cousins at the beach

Have a SUPER HAPPY DAY everyone! YAAAAAAAAY!!!

BE NOT APATHETIC

2011-12-14T13:51:00.002-05:00

I'm frustrated right now.

About the middle of last week, there was a note in one of the kids' school bags informing us that our school principal will not be there after the Christmas holidays, and he's going to a new school in the next town over, and some woman will be our new principal, and blah-de-blah, he hopes we will show her the same welcoming spirit that we showed him.

Am I the only one who cares? Because, I care. I like this man. I think he's an excellent principal. He knows every kid in the school. He knows their idiosyncrasies, their limitations and strengths, and their issues. I hate to sound like a corn dog, but he instills the kids with excellent morals and school spirit.

See that? I'm all grown up, right? I like morals and good school spirit now! Isn't that great? But, in highschool, I was all ANTI-SPIRIT, AND YOU PEOPLE ARE SHEEP, STUPID, LAME, PREPPY SHEEP AND THIS SCHOOL IS BULLSH*T AND HOW COME YOU'VE ALL GOT YOUR HEADS BURIED IN THE SAND AND CAN'T SEE THAT??? YEAH, GO AHEAD AND PAINT PURPLE AND WHITE FLOWERS ON YOUR FACES. I'LL BE OVER HERE IN REALITY-VILLE.

Yeah, that's how I used to be. Whatever. I still say it made me interesting.

So anyway, we've been offered a steaming load of "too bad, so sad," and nobody gives a crap.

I have learned that this is provincial policy for the school board to be able to move a principal around to another school on a whim, even if it's mid-year, and totally disruptive to the school. I have also learned that principals in this province only stay at schools for five years anyway, and then they're shuffled around.

Oh, I'm sorry, but I was under the impression that this was RETARDED. What about continuity at our schools? What about school spirit? What about the principal being the captain of his/her SHIP?

So, I wrote my letter to the school board and it was IGNORED. Nicely played, school board. Great tactic. Then I was scrambling around after school, feeling out a few of the other parents. Aren't you upset that Mr. So-and-so is being sent to another school? I asked.

In response I got SHRUGS, and a general attitude of "yeah, this sucks, but what are you gonna do?"

APATHY! ARGH! I HATE APATHY!

Even The Man doesn't get all fired up ever about this stuff. And do you know what I said to him, which is the same thing I will tell EVERYONE:

NEVER BECOME COMPLACENT. ALWAYS CHALLENGE THE STATUS-QUO.

I believe that.

I have exactly 7 days to do any kind of ralleying/lighting fire under asses. Is it a total losing battle? I don't even know how to get my word out.

So, I was flapping my yap to The Man about it again today. I don't know what's the point, I said, if everyone else is apathetic. Even that one guy parent at the school? I think he was MOCKING me. When I mentioned that we should do something, he said; "should we start a protest?"

"YES!" I said, all excited.

think he was making fun of me though. Sigh.

Oh yeah, so as I was saying, I was telling The Man that why should I bother, because even HE isn't behind me, har har. I like to rib him. It's my job.

I said;

"If there were a poster of ME being a CHAMPION, YOU would NOT be behind me in the picture."

Exasperated, he finished making his lunch and quietly escaped back to the safety of his dining room table desk.

Seriously though, see THIS?

I TOTALLY don't see him in there. Take THAT, HUSBAND.

So what does one do, my friends? What does one do?

Sometimes Life Kicks You Right In The Poodle

2011-12-12T10:48:00.000-05:00

I need 3 fingers of rye--STAT

My 4 year old daughter came up with that expression. She accidentally got a foot to the privates one time while swimming, and said she got kicked in the "poodle."

She is a SCREAM.

Listen people: little karen sunshine is NOT here today. I have NO words of encouragement to offer. Why? Because it's NOT GOOD, that's why. How not good is it, you ask? Well, I was just chowing Doritos for breakfast, and washing it down with Vitamin Water--my favourite one for improved eyeballs.

I'm coming down with a cold. This will be my third cold in about as many months, and frankly, that sucks ass. You know what else sucks? I just came out of THE PMS.

So, I am still a bloaty water tower. A FREAKING WATER TOWER. Let me give you a small update (for anyone who cares) about PMS, since I started taking THE SUPPLEMENT. If you've been with me from the start, you'll know that I used to suffer massively from debilitating PMS, ie; a full two weeks of homicidal depression. Since I started taking the all natural supplement thingy, instead of having 14 days of OH GOD PLEASE LET ME DIE, I have about 4...and kind of peppered here and there during those two weeks leading up to my period, not all in a row.

Improvement!

There are a couple of things those little ass-flavoured pills can't touch though: MONSTROUS WATER RETENTION, and the need to eat as many Doritos as I can get my grubby, oniony little hands on. Seriously people, if you chop onions one night, why does that smell have to be reactivated for the next couple of days every time water hits your hands? How does one get rid of that? Must google this later...

So, when I cram down half a bag of smelly sock chips whilst watching evening television, I tend to feel BAD about myself. I can't imagine why. Then I go to bed and wake up with the worst tongue ever.

I don't even know what the hell this post is about, but it feels good.

But you know what happens when I'm all full of that much water? I get jowls. For two weeks I have jowls, and for two weeks I don't. My sister says this is ridiculous, and she has noticed no jowls, but she does NOT KNOW. I'm considering duct taping my face back for a couple of weeks and seeing if that will help.

Yeah, so I've been stumbling around, trying to go for these super lame power-walks, with a big doughy winter white ham hock jowl face, and sore ta-tas, and feeling yuck and exhausted because I'm getting a cold.

So that's all. I just wanted to share my Monday pain, because somewhere out there, some a$$hole is trying to spread INSPIRATION, and that is so, so freaking NOT what we need.

for my sister

2011-12-11T19:13:00.000-05:00

"Christmas Lights" by Coldplay