Crop dusting and sarcasm

I’m in heaven. I’m sitting on my bed watching cable television. I don’t think I’ll ever leave my bed again. Forget couch potato I’m a bedfry! Although I really have to go to the bathroom right now and I don’t want to miss my show. Oh wait, I can pause it! Man, it’s kind of pathetic my level of excitement isn’t it? What can I say, I’m lame but at least right now I’m a happy lame, who’s doing the happy dance (although it’s quickly turning into the pee pee dance).


It’s funny how the things that thrill you change over the course of one’s life. Once upon a time flirting with a hot guy was a thrill, or dancing until 2am, or actually going out for the evening on the town. Now cable television is the highlight of my week. That and when the two year old amuses us by saying “GO” when we say “Ready, Set”. We are crazy people let me tell you, I even sometimes stay up past ten pm. What can I say I’m a party animal.

Meghan went to a babysitting course this past Saturday which also included basic first aid. During the first aid portion the instructor asked what they would do if the baby stopped breathing. Meghan pipes up to her friend “Hide the body, hide the body!” That’s my kid, although I’m not sure if babysitting her brothers after that comment needs to be reconsidered! She may have inherited my slightly sarcastic streak. (Scott, why are you always snorting when you read these posts?)

Do any of you ladies ever feel really tired at that time of the month? I feel like I’ve run a marathon and we all know that isn’t the case, the most exercise I got today was walking back and forth to the bathroom. Too much fibre again. I had to do some crop dusting around the office today so the smell of me didn’t kill anyone. I had to spread the pain you know.

Tonight after Finnegan’s bath I took a vodka cooler out of the fridge figuring I’d have a nice drink while Finnegan watched a movie and played. I sat in the rocking chair in his room and had forgotten about my drink, which was sitting on my night table where I’d placed it before setting Finn up. I was busy watching the neighbour struggle an old stove out of his front door to notice Finnegan has toddled off. Turning around I discovered he was gone and went in search of the little trouble maker. As I came into the hall the little bugger came out my bedroom carrying my vodka cooler and a smile. This demonstrates what a great mother I am. Don’t worry, I wrestled it away from the little brat, I needed that drink much more than he did!

It’s a good thing toddlers have small attention spans, he cried like I’d ripped his heart out of his little chest. Now he’s happily sitting next to me trying to put his finger into my eyes, ears or nose and then throwing the blanket over his head, pulling it down and saying “Boo” before giggling madly. He’s so adorable. Especially since it’s almost bedtime.

So this is a day in the life, not exciting, mildly disturbing.

wifezilla

Sorry for the delay in filling you all in on my fun and exciting life, I know how riveting it is. Mostly I haven’t written because either I’ve been too lazy or too tired. Work has been crazy busy and by the time I get home I’m so tired I start to drool. Apparently that’s not a turn off for Scott, or it could be that he doesn’t look past the boobs!

We attended Meghan’s spring concert tonight, where Meghan had a couple of parts and sang a solo and was the narrator. She’s truly amazing. She does not get that from me, I pretty much peak at mediocre and if I were to sing in front of a crowd the screeching may cause male cats to rush the stage thinking I’m in heat and every human within hearing distance to hold their ears in pain.

You know as annoying as kids can be a moment like the spring play tonight sure showcases why it is we have children. They are great spirit lifters, Meghan made me feel so proud tonight. I know I tell my kids that I had them strictly for slave labour but I have to be honest with you they make the worst slaves ever. They don’t always clean up after themselves, they talk back and they whine when they do their chores. Too bad I’m morally opposed to beating. Although that bodes well for my husband who thinks the kitchen is clean when most of the dishes are in the dishwasher. He seems so shocked when I point out the dirty counters, food on the floor and six dishes spread around, kind of like “How’d that get there?”

I sometimes wonder when we lose that natural confidence that kids have. I know I as an adult certainly don’t have it. Tonight after the play Megs comes up to me and asks “Were we awesome?” I said “Yes Baby, you were!” She smiles smugly and states without guilt “I know”. I wish I could do that, I’d be so conceited (because I’m perfect and all)!

Finnegan has begun speaking more words which is great since the kid is almost two! The only problem is we aren’t sure what language they’re in. Although NO is perfectly clear and often present in his speech.

In other exciting news we got a PVR today and Telus TV. It is a sure indication you need to get out more when getting cable in your bedroom thrills you.

Have I mentioned that I hate menstrual cramps? I got my period this morning and feel like my uterus is being pushed through my spleen. Now thanks to Logan every time I think about my period I think about the thing at the end of a sentence. Trust me when I tell you, you do not want me at the end of your sentence for the next few days, I am Cranky. Scott loves this time of the month, when my hormones take over and turn me into wifezilla, where even his breathing is annoying. He may survive another month! Like I always say, it’s a good thing he’s cute.

I should have known I was getting my period soon this weekend when I felt like a rampaging lunatic.  My family loved hanging around with me this weekend, let me tell you.  They were so happy about it they thoughtfully left me alone whenever possible.  Except Finnegan.  He'll learn.  Eventually.

More tomorrow, I promise.

Farting my ABC's

I’ve discovered I’m a smart ass. No really. My ass talks, but that may be a result of the sausage and egg breakfast sandwich I ate from Tim Horton’s this morning. Good thing it wasn’t alphagetti, I’d be farting my ABC’s!

Have I mentioned my kids are in running club? At their school in April and May they have running club, where students from Kindergarten to Grade 7 can run laps after school and they get ribbons for every 10 kilometres they complete (total distance). Well Logan doesn’t like to exercise unless it’s fun. Walk a metre in the mall and he’s whining his feet hurt but the kid has bounced for five hours straight in a bouncy castle and nary a complaint!

When the notice came out this year Logan informed me that he would not be joining the running club this year “cause it’s boring”. Well I discovered at that particular moment a use for Logan’s lack of filter. Let me fill you in on the background first:
Logan came to me one day and said:

“Mama, I don’t wanna hurt your feelin’s but I gotta tell you, you’re getting kinda fat…you better be careful or you’ll have another baby”

Nice kid huh? You can’t be angry at a kid that looks so sincere, his eyebrows furrowed in worry and his humongous brown eyes solemn.

So now let’s go back to the running club discussion. So when Logan came to me to let me know his feelings about running club, I said to him:

“Logan do you remember when you told me that you didn’t mean to hurt my feelings but I was getting kinda fat?...Well honey, so are you”

The look on his face was priceless, I still giggle when I think about it. Needless to say he joined the running club.

I had a wonderful weekend in Portland Oregon; it’s a lovely city with lovely people. Although the people I was with snore. Well not all of them, Katie, the seven year old doesn’t snore, she was the only quiet one when sleeping (which is odd, since awake she doesn’t stop talking!). Darien, the thirteen year old didn’t snore either but chewed in her sleep, which was fun since I was sharing a bed with miss chewy pants.

Bill and Tracey had a lovely snore duet going on, which was fantastic. They sounded like a pair of motorcycles racing to the finish. I think Bill won. Then there was Logan, who was sleeping on the floor on a blow up mattress. The kid sounded like he was wrestling something fiercely and kept talking in his sleep. “No Katie, don’t!” (Apparently he argues with her even in his sleep!)

Don’t worry; I got even with all of these noisy sleepers Saturday morning. I couldn’t sleep so I got up, had a shower, rustled noisily through the snack bag, then when completely bored I flung open the curtains and yelled “GOOD MORNING!” in my sunshiniest voice. Let me tell you, they all loved that!

I obviously have no annoying habits when sleeping. How would I know since I’d be sleeping you ask? Well I’m perfect, that’s why. Thankfully Scott doesn’t snore much. When he does he gets an elbow to the ribcage and a curt command to “ROLL OVER!” That’s not the annoying thing though. It’s his twitching that’s annoying. There is nothing worse than cuddling up to my honey in a warm cozy bed, drifting off to slumberville and suddenly twitchy boy jumps like he’s got jumper cables attached to his genitals. For some reason when he’s falling asleep he twitches. It scares the crap out of me every time. I tell you if he weren’t so damn cute he’d be sleeping on the floor.

I don’t snore, I don’t twitch, I don’t chew in my sleep, I don’t wrestle or argue with friends, I sleep quietly and with grace. It’s when I am awake that I wreak havoc.

Band-Aids and hair removal

So here I am on the Amtrak, headed towards Portland Oregon with friends and Logan to see a play tomorrow. It’s frankly a relief to be away for a couple of days, it’s been a hectic and stressful couple of weeks. One thing I told my husband from the death of my friend recently. I told him that under no circumstances whatsoever is he ever allowed to die before me. He must survive me, which is harder than it appears since he then has to suffer me for many, many years.


I know it shocks you that I am difficult to live with based on your knowledge of my sweet and docile nature. Scott, honey, don’t choke, you know it’s true. Okay, maybe that’s a slight exaggeration, in truth I’m only a little sweet and docile (when I’m sleeping maybe. There is a remote chance that’s true and since I have no idea I’m going with that.) Poor Scott, his fun loving, fly by the seat of his pants nature is stifled by my incessant need to have a well ordered cleanly existence. I like excitement, really I do but it must be well executed. Scott plans like he drives, with his own, odd direction, too fast, and about five minutes late.

On a totally different tangent, this morning I was in the shower in the hotel room, with the lovely hard as rock little hotel soap and my pink razor shaving when I slipped and cut myself. Have you ever cut yourself shaving? Maybe your legs if you’re a girl or your face if you’re a boy? Yeah, well that hurts doesn’t it? Try cutting yourself between your private parts and your ass. Remember my previous log where I mentioned what would happen if I didn’t shave, pluck, wax or maintain? Well that of course means everywhere. If I didn’t shave I’d look like a Wooky. Well I would suggest not doing it in a hotel shower with the industrial soap. Not only did I remove a chunk of skin but I’m pretty sure I missed the hair completely and got skin around the hair.

So now not only am I still sporting a beard, every time I move my ass my jeans rub the raw spot beautifully. When I got out of the shower I did look for a Band-Aid, thinking the idea of ripping the Band-Aid off when the bleeding stopped would be two fold (would hurt like a son of a.. but would do). I sadly couldn’t find a band-aid, although I thought I had in Tracey and Bill’s toiletry bag, which would have been a bit hard to explain why I had a breathe right strip stuck to my ass. It’s a good thing I knew what they look like (I have sinus issues and wear them to bed sometimes; Scott thinks they’re SUPER sexy). Although when farting I would have much better breathing (or my ass would have).

Another thing I loved about the hotel bathroom was the giant mirror which angled on two of the walls directly across from the bathroom. When I happened to look over my shoulder this morning as I was getting into the shower I got a panorama view of the back of me, which was great. I needed to see my big ass, my back boobs and the rolls gently rolling downward. Not to mention the lovely chunks of cottage cheese fat on the back of my thighs. Talk about depressing!

The hotel we were staying at had a continental breakfast included with these very cool waffle machines where you pour the batter into the waffle iron, close the lid and flip it over. It counts down 90 seconds then beeps to let you know it’s done. Well when we got down to breakfast Logan goes over to that table and says “cool waffles” and proceeds to place his giant paw on the top of some ladies waffle that was sitting on the table while she went to get utensils. Needless to say she was not impressed and decided not to eat that one. I don’t blame her, I KNOW where his hands have been.

Logan has a love of his penis. He likes to touch it any possible chance he can get, which means he “adjusts” himself a lot. In fact, in Kindergarten his teacher, who was about a hundred, asked that we call her one day. When I called her she explained Logan wouldn’t stop touching himself in class. We did explain to Logan the appropriate times he can touch himself and when he cannot but it’s really hard for him. It’s just dangling there between his legs, a perfect handle for his hand. Needless to say any future notes that came home I made Scott call. He’s getting better or more likely I’m just not seeing him do it as much, although it is not an unusual thing to say “Logan, hands out of your pants.” Truthfully though, haven’t you seen plenty of grown men “adjusting” themselves in public? I don’t think they ever outgrow it. Logan discovered his penis as a very young infant and probably will die an old man with one hand on his handle.

If I had a direct pipeline to my pleasure zone so conveniently available perhaps I would be the same. Perhaps not. Now you will all leave this blog post wondering though...

peeing in the dark

I’m eating salad. Yum. Really. Okay, maybe not yum but its okay, not entirely rabbit like. I brought a frozen weight watchers meal today and when I pulled it out to go warm it up I couldn’t stomach the idea of eating it, I’m not sure why. So I went to the market downstairs to get something for lunch.

You should be proud of me; I skipped the Chinese food, the Indian butter Chicken (sings off key”three butter chickens, two nosy in-laws and a totally insufficient dowry!”To hear song click here) and went to the salad bar. I could lie and say it was just as satisfying as the other two would have been but that’s not me.

Instead I’m going to whine about it. A lot. I even put ground flax seed on my salad so I should be spending half the afternoon in the bathroom purging, which is great to do in an employee bathroom with three stalls and usually a line up. It doesn’t help that I’ll be giggling while simultaneously trying to muffle said giggles with coughing.

But I always hear it’s good to spread the love, so I figure, instead of just me whining; now someone will be whining about the person stinking up the bathroom. My luck it will be a VP or something who happens to be waiting. Do you ever go into a public bathroom and have to do your business, which then takes a while? Then inevitably a line forms and now you’re stuck. Do you do the walk of shame and come out of the stall that smells like a barn or do you hide in the stall until they all go away?

I usually hide, which is great when there’s a big line up and my feet fall asleep. When the coast is finally clear I try to stand up and fall over. That’s graceful and sanitary (have you ever really looked at the floor in a public bathroom – yuck!) I’ve taken to bringing reading material with me when I know I’m going to be a while. I’m one of those people who can’t sit without having something to do for more than a minute. So I bring a newspaper, or a novel or worst case scenario I pull out my cell phone and play bejewelled.

It seriously sucks when I’m visiting someone’s house and the evil stomach cramps strike. Not only is it embarrassing to stink up a friend’s bathroom but also because most people don’t keep reading material in their bathrooms (I do). After about a minute (oh come on I do wait a whole minute which feels like forever when I’m trapped on the potty) I start to read things like the back of shampoo bottles. When really desperate and I’ve already done that I try to read the French writing and translate. Is that pathetic or what?

So people, if I’m coming over for dinner could you maybe throw some magazines onto the back of the toilet? That’d be great thanks!

Speaking of bathrooms, my sister gave me a bottle of Vitamin B this past weekend; apparently it helps with Stress. Why do you think she figures I have stress? Maybe the nervous twitch or the shampoo bottle reading?

Anyway, I’ve figured out the secret to why they help with stress. I happened to peak into the toilet this morning as I was flushing about an hour after I took the Vitamin. Either I am peeing toxic waste or the vitamin turns my urine a vibrant psychedelic yellow. Just seeing it in the toilet and imaging either not flushing and the next persons reaction or turning off the lights and still being able to see my pee made me feel so much better.

In fact I left the bathroom giggling and in much better spirits.

Sunday morning Bliss

"Mama? Mama? Mama? Mama? Mama? Mama? Mama? Mama? Mama? Mama? Mama? Mama? Mama? Mama? Mama? Mama? Mama? Mama? Mama? Mama? Mama? Mama? Mama? Mama? MAMA? MAMA? MAMA? MAMA? MAMA? MAMA? MAMA? MAMA? MAMA? MAMA? MAMA? MAMA? MAMA? MAMA? MAMA? MAMA?”

“WHAT ?!?!”

“Are You awake ?”

That’s how Logan used to wake me up on a Sunday morning. That or he would come in and peel open my eye lid and whisper “Mama, are you awake?” That seems like such a long time ago! Now under his dad’s threat of death he doesn’t come into our room. Instead this morning he played a rousing game of "let’s slide as many hard plastic toys down my slide because it makes a great sound" game. Then giggling he’d thump down after them to retrieve the giant pile on the floor. I guess getting him a bed with slide attached was not a great idea.

It’s Sunday and the day of rest! I feel like I’ve been put through the ringer and am not looking forward to going to work tomorrow. Sadly I did not win the lottery this weekend. I guess it would have helped my chances even a little if I had purchased a ticket.

Our car is still broken down, which leaves us with only the minivan to get around in, which makes for some fun mornings. Scott has been working graveyards so it hasn’t been too bad except intensifying the mad morning rush. I’ve been taking the bus and skytrain, which my friend Shannon calls “the loser cruiser”, but I prefer to call it the “Public Limo”. I love the skytrain, I always get to sit next to interesting people. Like the person who sits down next to me in the crowded Skytrain and proceeds to take off their running shoes, which they have obviously been wearing for a very, VERY long time. Even my gagging beside them doesn’t deter their determination to air out their feet.

Although that rider is fun there is always the guy who comes on and is only wearing one shoe. I never ask where the other one went. My personal favourite though is the odd time I’m on and the train isn’t full and someone comes on, sits down next to me and starts talking to himself. Although at rush hour the train is rarely not full. I love when it’s so full you get to snuggle with a hundred of your closest strangers with myriad of bathing habits.

And I pay $9 bucks a day for the privilege.

Speaking of minivans, isn’t it funny how your life turns out? I remember when I first met Scott, he had some delusions back then. He stated quite firmly that he would NEVER live in Surrey (a suburb of Greater Vancouver with a reputation for loose women). He also insisted that he’d never own a minivan or when it came to kids he didn’t do puke. Not a week after we started dating he was down on his hands and knees helping me clean our friends beige carpet where Logan had just vomited from one end of the large hall to the other. Did I mention Logan had recently consumed chocolate milk?

Scott now lives in Surrey, owns a minivan and has four kids who do a variety of gross things that he has to deal with. Man was he deluded. I think he may also need medication soon! He’s actually made the transition from his past life of peaceful existence to this insane chaos we call life now. He only has a slight nervous twitch :P (And he managed to catch one of those loose women of Surrey – but I suppose I should have told him I’m loose due to the birthing of three children and not my morals....)

Merry Go rounds and out of sequence clocks - a villanelle

In the aftermath of this painful shock
Invisible sucker punch right to the gut
Time skews and confuses tick from tock

Unbeknownst at the crowing of the cock
Life’s insanely fast pace in a sudden rut
In the aftermath of this painful shock

When did the heart become the rock?
And from which lecture do I rebut?
Time skews and mixes tick from tock

Genuine truth takes a stop to mock
From the very cloth I was surely cut
In the aftermath of this painful shock

Every few seconds I glance at the clock
As I sit here and wonder where from what
Time skews and confuses tick from tock

Does this heartache fall upon the block?
Classic lines disguised in vulgar smut
In the aftermath of this painful shock
Time skews and confuses tick from tock

Don't fart on plastic

Having kids is a lot of hard work yes, but the entertainment value alone is worth it. The other night I passed Meghan in the hall when she was coming out of the bathroom. Just as I passed I said in a horrified voice “You have pooh on your pants Meg!” The look on her face was priceless as she frantically turned around in circles trying to look at her bum, “Where?!?!”


I slowly reached my hand up and pointed. She was wearing pyjama pants with Winnie the Pooh heads all over them. She said I was evil as I laughed so hard I thought I just may pee my pants. Then she chased me down the stairs as I ran to share my joke with Scott. Even now as I remember the look on her face and her frantic dance I giggle. Oh come on, it was funny!

Kind of like Logan, who held his head in his hands last night complaining it hurt. He then turned to me with huge eyes and proclaimed completely sincerely “There’s just too much stuff in it”. That kid cracks me up. He never fails to make me laugh. We had guests tonight for dinner, and after making Logan the nudist go get some jammy pants on, he came down with his pants pulled up to just under his armpits and a grin.

Finnegan has discovered the wonderful power of the word “NO” and likes to use it whenever possible to assert his independence. Although it kind of loses its power when you’re only two feet tall and weigh twenty five pounds and your parents simply pick you up when you refuse to move. But he’s got the “no” part down. He was kind of cranky today, one second giggling and happy, the next crying and throwing himself dramatically on the couch. I felt like doing the exact same thing at several points today but didn’t think I could pull it off as cutely as he seems to. I guess it helps that he’s wearing cute footie jammies. They don’t come in my size.

You should all be proud of me; I attended that low impact aerobics class for three weeks in a row! Even better I haven’t died, although I walked like I had a stick up my ass for a couple of days after the first two times. I still hate the mirror and the perfect instructor who shouts out happily “How you all doing?!” expecting us all to say “Great!” Lady if I could speak at that point it wouldn’t be “great” or “good” or “fine” it would be much more colourful and a lot less cheerful. Good thing for her I can’t breathe and simply give her the stink eye until the sweat runs into my eyeballs and blinds me.

Then there are all the other ladies in the class who bounce along in perfect rhythm as they go left I go right, as they do the complicated moves with perfection I look like a mixture of Finnegan in the midst of a tantrum and a cat in heat. It’s a beautiful sight. The instructor obviously taking pity on me showed the different moves in different levels. So she would start by saying “this is level one”, then make it more complicated by lifting her leg before saying “this is level two”, before finally I swear lifting her ankle above her head to state “level three”. I couldn’t manage to maintain level one let alone kick my leg up over my head.

I am so glad the whole front wall of the gym is a mirror so I can witness my own graceful presentation. This past week she brought out the giant exercise balls, which let me tell you are NOT easy to stay on top of. While all of the ladies climbed on and completed the moves flawlessly, I was in the back rolling about like I was in a log rolling competition and losing terribly.

At one point we were all sitting on top of the balls and all I could think of is we all looked like we either were blowing bubblegum bubbles out of our asses or we all had giant pink haemorrhoids. Trust me; you don’t get a good reception when you start giggling madly in the middle of the class. Next week maybe she’ll bring out some new form of torture. It should be fun, like a root canal (except there’s no blissful freezing before the exercise class).

On a parting note, I farted at the seabus terminal the other day, which was fun.  In a packed room sitting on a plastic bench, innocently reading my book when one slipped out.  It was this tiny little puff of air which shouldn't have made such a big noise.  Apparently farting on plastic has a magnifying effect which makes it sound much louder.  The men sitting on either side of me politely pretended nothing happened.  Too bad I'm immature and started to giggle.  I suppose you have to take your amusement where you can find it.  Needless to say they chose not to sit next to me on the seabus.

Goodbye my friend.

Today in the life of me is absent of any jokes, cute stories about my kids or wild adventures. Today I am filled with complete and utter sadness. After five years battling cancer my teacher, mentor, boss and friend passed away from cancer.

There are no words to aptly describe the tightness of my chest or the sadness in my heart. I feel like someone has sucker punched me.

Cathy was my manager, a very intelligent, wise and caring person who taught me an incredible lot about myself, people management and about the incredible strength one woman can have when faced with the impossible. She was in incredible pain at the end but despite this the last time I saw her she had a smile on her face and optimism that I cannot even fathom.

So I sit here, in the office, comforting people when I can, talking to my team, going through the motions, when really, all I want to do is curl up into a little ball and cry. I can console myself with the fact that she is no longer in pain but in reality all I can think about is that an incredible light has been extinguished and will not burn again.

I want to let you all know how special you all are and that I care, because you never know when you can tell someone again.

Silly dreams on rainy days

My sister prays “Rain, rain, please go away
So I can go outside to play”

But I say “No, no rain you must stay
I don’t want to play, or pray on this clammy day”

“Stick in the mud” she glibly replies
I might have lied but instead I do confide

Yes, I am indeed stuck in the mud
Want to be up to my neck in thick soapy suds

When the toddler sleeps, I want to steep
Until all of my worries slowly, slowly, creep
And the world so quietly slips away
And finally for once I get the very last say

But I all I can do is deeply, deeply sigh
As that dream painfully dies with insistent cries

And I’m still stuck, in the yuck
This, of course, is just my luck

Diapers and the facts of life

My toddler is currently trying to shake his apple juice out of his cup into four of my candle holders he has lined up on the coffee table. He has one of those “leak proof” straw sippy cups, which by the way, leak. So now there is apple juice everywhere and a giggling toddler, who just grins at me when I tell him to play with his toys and not my things.
He has strange ideas of what is fun. For instance, apparently my ass is a race track and my cleavage is a storage unit. The other night when I was at my sisters for dinner, Finnegan came running up behind me and drove his toy car around my butt, giggling all the way. Then he put his arms up for me to pick him up and then stuffed his car into my cleavage before getting down and running away.

Now he’s running in circles giggling like a mad man. What a weirdo. He must get that from Scott. Speaking of Scott, this weekend we’re like strangers in the night, he’s throwing his tired body into bed as I’m peeling my tired body out of bed. Graveyard shifts seriously stink, he’s up all night and sleeps all day, and I’m just the opposite. Don’t tell him (it may go to his head) but I miss his sorry ass when he’s not around. Someone’s got to do the cooking!

So at dinner the other night the subject of hair came up. My sister mentioned that she only shaves infrequently because she doesn’t get much hair. I sighed and admitted that if I didn’t maintain, I’d have a full moustache, hairier arms than Scott and a bush that a seventy’s porn star would envy. I have to shave every day, I feel like a damn chiapet, water me and my hair just keeps on growing. I also get the odd lovely pubic hair on my chin, which god knows where that came from. The other day I reached up to scratch my chin and discovered a hair about two feet long. How did nobody notice and tell me I was growing a fu man chu on my chin? I pulled that sucker out quicker than you could say boo, but it was still disturbing.

As I get older, more hair pops up in wonderful places. For instance, what is with the sudden sprouting of whiskers around my nipples? Can we say EWWWWW? Luckily I pull them out before Scott notices, because I can’t see him saying “ooh, sexy!” Now that he’s probably just read this, he too will need shock therapy. If I stop maintaining maybe one day I can look like I’m always wearing a sweater, in old age Scott and I could be twins. That would be fun.

Speaking of growing, my little girl is growing up. She’s got boobs. It’s just weird. She got her period for the first time last month, and this weekend she and Logan were going to their other dad’s house. Being about a month since she had her last monthly, I told her to pack some pads just in case she got it while on the Island. Unfortunately for her, Logan was in the bathroom when the feminine supplies were being retrieved. Scott had run up to grab them while Megs was getting something else to pack. When Scott pulled them out of the cupboard, Logan asked “What are those?”

Scott simply told him that they were for Meghan. Logan then pipes up “Meghan wears diapers?!?!?” Scott not wanting to touch that one with a fifty foot pole, simply left the bathroom for safer ground.

When I went upstairs a few moments later, Logan repeated his question to me “Meghan wears diapers?!?!?”

Trust me when I tell you I wanted to hot foot it out of there on Scott’s heels but somewhere along the line I got it into my thick head to be honest with my kids and explain the facts of life in a no nonsense manner when they had questions. So that’s what I did. I explained to him that girls get a period, to which he interrupted and piped in “uh, the thing at the end of a sentence?”

Trying very hard to keep my composure, I said “No bud, when a woman’s body is getting ready to house a baby it collects blood and tissue and stuff and stores it in case.” To that he said “You’re gonna have another baby?” To which I said “NO!!”, to which he replied after brief thought “Meghan’s gonna have a baby?!?!”

At this point I again contemplated jumping ship and leaving it at that but I didn’t want him telling everyone that not only does Meghan wear a diaper but she’s having a baby too. I could imagine the phone call home from school. So explained, patiently (don’t snort Scott, its rude!) that no, neither mommy or Meghan were going to have a baby, Meghan not for a VERY VERY VERY VERY long time and me never again! But our bodies get ready every month just in case a baby is made (thank god he didn’t then ask, how do you make a baby) and if a baby is not made then our bodies get rid of all the blood and tissue and we have to wear a pad so our underwear doesn’t get all yucky.

To this my seven year old son stated with a disgusted look on his face “That’s just disturbing, I’m glad I’m not a girl!” I replied with the only thing that came to mind at the time. “Me too bud, me too.”

So you can see, life here in my world is pretty much the same as in every household. Right?