No, I haven't started this site up again, but I am at BlogHer this year and handing out business cards to all and sundry. And of course, I realized about two days before I left that I had this old url on the cards. So if your here because I foisted one of my cards on you, you can click over to my new site if you want to read me.
Next year, I will have new cards. Promise.
Friday, August 06, 2010
Monday, February 08, 2010
Gulp
I'm attempting to start a Wordpress blog. Bear with me while I sort this crappe out. God, I suck at change.
A link would help, huh? http://majorbedhead.wordpress.com/
A link would help, huh? http://majorbedhead.wordpress.com/
Tuesday, February 02, 2010
More On Boo
I took Boo to look at a new school today. Well, day care, really, but I'm calling it school because that's what she's used to. She seemed to like the place and was bummed that she couldn't stay. She's going to start there in 2 weeks. She needs it. I need it. I really hope it will help with her behaviour.
Sometimes I think maybe it is all me. When I take her places like that or over to my sister's, she behaves pretty well. She doesn't bounce, she listens to what she's told and she never stamps her feet or sits there in a huff. She was great today at the new school but as soon as we got in the car, she started hitting her sister and yelling at me about something. Honestly, at this point, I just tune it out.
It's maddening and depressing as hell when I let my mind go down that path and believe me, it's a path it goes down a million times a day. What am I doing wrong? I'm sure I'm screwing her up for life somehow, otherwise she wouldn't behave this way, right? If she can control herself at school and at my sister's, why can't she do it when she's with me? I know she's capable of doing it so why can't she do it all the time?
I was thinking about this last night, when I should have been sleeping but was instead waffling back and forth between beating myself up and wondering if maybe she'd always been like this.
And then I remembered this:
She's been doing this since she could stand and jump. So maybe it's not just me. Maybe this is just how she is. In a weird way, I kind of hope so because thinking that I've done something to so screw up my own child is a horrible thought to have.
Sometimes I think maybe it is all me. When I take her places like that or over to my sister's, she behaves pretty well. She doesn't bounce, she listens to what she's told and she never stamps her feet or sits there in a huff. She was great today at the new school but as soon as we got in the car, she started hitting her sister and yelling at me about something. Honestly, at this point, I just tune it out.
It's maddening and depressing as hell when I let my mind go down that path and believe me, it's a path it goes down a million times a day. What am I doing wrong? I'm sure I'm screwing her up for life somehow, otherwise she wouldn't behave this way, right? If she can control herself at school and at my sister's, why can't she do it when she's with me? I know she's capable of doing it so why can't she do it all the time?
I was thinking about this last night, when I should have been sleeping but was instead waffling back and forth between beating myself up and wondering if maybe she'd always been like this.
And then I remembered this:
She's been doing this since she could stand and jump. So maybe it's not just me. Maybe this is just how she is. In a weird way, I kind of hope so because thinking that I've done something to so screw up my own child is a horrible thought to have.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
While I'm Here
I might as well put up a post. This is going to be totally random crappe.
- I slept in this morning. It was lo-o-o-o-o-ovely.
- But upon firing up the laptop, I found I'd been spammed on a bunch of old blog posts. I'm thinking of disabling anonymous comments again. I don't get all that much traffic to this site anymore so I doubt it will keep anyone from leaving a comment.
- I'm wondering if I should bother keeping this up. I don't seem to have much to say any more, unless I'm whinging about something and that gets old. I need to find something to blog about. I wonder if there are blog prompts the way there are writing prompts.
- I have an interview at Whole Paycheck on Wednesday. I don't know which job would be more dangerous for me; that place or a book shop. Of course, if I got the job, I could maybe afford to shop there more frequently. I do love it so. Wanky cheese. Wanky chocolate. And wine. What could be better?
- Boo starts the medication part of the behavioural study she's in on Friday. I'm of two minds about it, to be honest. Sometimes I think all she needs is a full time school program. Other times I think she needs an exorcism. Oy.
- Did I mention I got an iTouch for Christmas? Did I mention that I lo-o-o-o-o-ove it? And that I'm totally addicted to Words With Friends? If you are too, feel free to start a game with me. I think I have about 10 going right now. Hi, my name is Major Bedhead and I'm' a Words With Friends addict. Also? A nerd.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Why You Shouldn't Clean While Naked
Last night I decided I'd had enough and went upstairs to take a shower.
I'd started to get undressed while waiting for the water to heat up but it was taking forever. As I stood there in my holey t-shirt, I realized that the banister in the hall was absolutely filthy, so I rummaged around under my sink looking for some sort of cleaning implement. I found a baggie with a few ancient baby wipes in them. Perfect. No mess, and baby wipes work great on those grubby little finger prints that my children delight in leaving all. over. the. house.
I was scrubbing away, taking great satisfaction in seeing the white paint again, smirking in an "I'll show you, dirt" kind of way when I stood up.
That's when I realized my naked, white ass had been level with the landing window.
The curtainless landing window.
The curtainless landing window that is about 6 feet away from our neighbor's bathroom window.
I'm never leaving my house again.
I'd started to get undressed while waiting for the water to heat up but it was taking forever. As I stood there in my holey t-shirt, I realized that the banister in the hall was absolutely filthy, so I rummaged around under my sink looking for some sort of cleaning implement. I found a baggie with a few ancient baby wipes in them. Perfect. No mess, and baby wipes work great on those grubby little finger prints that my children delight in leaving all. over. the. house.
I was scrubbing away, taking great satisfaction in seeing the white paint again, smirking in an "I'll show you, dirt" kind of way when I stood up.
That's when I realized my naked, white ass had been level with the landing window.
The curtainless landing window.
The curtainless landing window that is about 6 feet away from our neighbor's bathroom window.
I'm never leaving my house again.
Monday, January 18, 2010
Hanging On By A Thread
She doesn't listen.
If I tell her not to do something, she does it as soon as the words leave my mouth.
She touches things she's not supposed to touch, like the computer and the camera and the knives.
She poops in her closet.
She wets her bed every night.
She's defiant. She glares and stomps her feet and screams and shrieks at me.
She's destructive. She rips up books and papers and colors on the walls and herself and her sister. She's cut her sister's hair so many times that The Bug has a pixie cut now. She breaks her toys and her crayons and anything she can get her hands on. I can't leave her alone in a room for 30 seconds or she will destroy things.
I cannot handle her at all.
I'm working with a doctor about this and have enrolled her in a study but oh my holy hell, I am losing my mind with this child. She needs full time school or full time day care or something. Something more than I can give her. It depresses the hell out of me that I can't seem to figure this child out.
Friday, January 15, 2010
Oscar
I got Oscar in early January of 2004. He was adopted from The Baypath Humane Society
I couldn't believe that someone had turned him in. He was a Persian and gorgeous. Being a Persian, he had that smooshed up face, which made him look extremely crabby all the time. He had been named Licken but I christened him Oscar.
Boo loved him.
He didn't feel the same about her, but he was patient and rarely swatted at her, even lately, when she would cart him around, front legs flapping around. He'd just look at me with this resigned expression on his face and meow pathetically.
He liked sleeping in gift bags and paper bags and cardboard boxes.
He was absolutely furious with me when I had to have him shaved due to severe matting. He stalked around the house, glaring at me and shivering as he followed the patches of sun from one spot to another. I laughed at him because, hey, he was funny.
A few weeks after we brought him home, I miscarried. I laid on the floor in my living room, not knowing that I was miscarrying, just knowing that my back was killing me and I couldn't move. He'd curl up next to my head, purring and licking my hand. Two days later, when the OB said there was no heartbeat there, I came home and crawled into bed. Oscar jumped up after me and stayed with me while I cried.
Even though he was a pain in the ass and would pee on the floor rather than the litter box sometimes, I loved that cat. I put him outside on Wednesday night, so he'd pee outside. Normally, he'd go outside for half an hour, tops, but Wednesday, he didn't come back. I called and called. I went outside to see if I could see him somewhere. Finally, around midnight, I put his cat bed on the back porch and left the door ajar for him. I did the same with the front porch door. Thursday morning, no cat. And today, still no cat. I don't think he's coming back. He's at least ten years old and he's skinny under all that hair.
I'm going to miss him. A lot.
I couldn't believe that someone had turned him in. He was a Persian and gorgeous. Being a Persian, he had that smooshed up face, which made him look extremely crabby all the time. He had been named Licken but I christened him Oscar.
Boo loved him.
He didn't feel the same about her, but he was patient and rarely swatted at her, even lately, when she would cart him around, front legs flapping around. He'd just look at me with this resigned expression on his face and meow pathetically.
He liked sleeping in gift bags and paper bags and cardboard boxes.
He was absolutely furious with me when I had to have him shaved due to severe matting. He stalked around the house, glaring at me and shivering as he followed the patches of sun from one spot to another. I laughed at him because, hey, he was funny.
A few weeks after we brought him home, I miscarried. I laid on the floor in my living room, not knowing that I was miscarrying, just knowing that my back was killing me and I couldn't move. He'd curl up next to my head, purring and licking my hand. Two days later, when the OB said there was no heartbeat there, I came home and crawled into bed. Oscar jumped up after me and stayed with me while I cried.
Even though he was a pain in the ass and would pee on the floor rather than the litter box sometimes, I loved that cat. I put him outside on Wednesday night, so he'd pee outside. Normally, he'd go outside for half an hour, tops, but Wednesday, he didn't come back. I called and called. I went outside to see if I could see him somewhere. Finally, around midnight, I put his cat bed on the back porch and left the door ajar for him. I did the same with the front porch door. Thursday morning, no cat. And today, still no cat. I don't think he's coming back. He's at least ten years old and he's skinny under all that hair.
I'm going to miss him. A lot.
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Say Hello, Dammit
I've no idea who started this, but I've seen it all over teh internets today, so I'm jumping on the bandwagon. Sometimes, yes, I am a lemming.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
The Bourdain Thing
Saturday night, my friend TT and I traveled to Lowell to hear Anthony Bourdain speak. I shall pause while you all drool and swoon and squee. All set? OK.
Some of his speech I'd heard before, when he spoke at the Commonwealth Club (they have a pretty cool podcast) but much of it was new. He refrained from dissing Rachel Ray because they have a bit of a truce going now. Honestly, Rachel Ray annoys me a bit, but she seems like a good sport about all the flak she's taken over the years from Bourdain, so kudos to her for not getting into a knot over it.
He spoke about Sandra Lee *shudder* who creeps me right the fuck out - the story was very funny and very self-deprecating. He thinks Guy Fieri is a douche (true) and Adam Richman, of Man vs. Food, isn't getting paid enough for what he has to eat (also true).
What stuck with me the most was what he had to say about being a traveler and how awful most Americans are at it. I agreed with all of it - that you should avoid the restaurants where the tourists are, that you should try the local food; when in Jakarta, don't order gumbo. Eat what the locals are eating. Eat the street food. Try things you haven't tried before, go places that are off the beaten path and really experience the place. Stay away from tour groups.
He took a ton of questions from the audience. Most were predictable - what would your final meal be? (Bone marrow on toast.) What's the best restaurant to go to in city X, Y or Z? (Local places and street food.) But the audience was weird. People were yelling things out, random words and hollers came from every side of the auditorium throughout his speech. And several people tried to shill products to him, including, god help us all, a dessert hummus. (His answer? "Do I look like the kind of guy who eats hummus?") It was really odd.
Overall it was a good talk. Not mind-blowing or anything, but funny and entertaining and a nice way to spend a Saturday night, even if it was in Lowell.
And sadly, aside from a few people who rushed the stage, he didn't do autographs. Myboobs, uh, I mean books, are Bourdain-signature-free.
Some of his speech I'd heard before, when he spoke at the Commonwealth Club (they have a pretty cool podcast) but much of it was new. He refrained from dissing Rachel Ray because they have a bit of a truce going now. Honestly, Rachel Ray annoys me a bit, but she seems like a good sport about all the flak she's taken over the years from Bourdain, so kudos to her for not getting into a knot over it.
He spoke about Sandra Lee *shudder* who creeps me right the fuck out - the story was very funny and very self-deprecating. He thinks Guy Fieri is a douche (true) and Adam Richman, of Man vs. Food, isn't getting paid enough for what he has to eat (also true).
What stuck with me the most was what he had to say about being a traveler and how awful most Americans are at it. I agreed with all of it - that you should avoid the restaurants where the tourists are, that you should try the local food; when in Jakarta, don't order gumbo. Eat what the locals are eating. Eat the street food. Try things you haven't tried before, go places that are off the beaten path and really experience the place. Stay away from tour groups.
He took a ton of questions from the audience. Most were predictable - what would your final meal be? (Bone marrow on toast.) What's the best restaurant to go to in city X, Y or Z? (Local places and street food.) But the audience was weird. People were yelling things out, random words and hollers came from every side of the auditorium throughout his speech. And several people tried to shill products to him, including, god help us all, a dessert hummus. (His answer? "Do I look like the kind of guy who eats hummus?") It was really odd.
Overall it was a good talk. Not mind-blowing or anything, but funny and entertaining and a nice way to spend a Saturday night, even if it was in Lowell.
And sadly, aside from a few people who rushed the stage, he didn't do autographs. My
Saturday, January 09, 2010
Squeeeeee!!!
Thanks to the lovely Velma over at A Smeddling Kiss, I'm going to see Anthony Bourdain tonight at the Lowell Auditorium.
Now, which book should I have him autograph?
Wednesday, January 06, 2010
An Update
I got another email. I think I may have overreacted just a bit. Just a teensy, weensy bit. One of these days I'll learn.
The email:
Yikes.. That did not go the way I intended.
So yeah.
This would be me right about now:
The email:
Yikes.. That did not go the way I intended.
Sometimes I have a hard time getting across what I want to say. Between my dyslexia and being very sick since November my writing has become garbage. But I've been sick my whole life so I try to just get on with it.
Sorry my first email came across all wrong. I still think your awesome, and love reading your blog, when it's not about me. And even if some of us find your Twitter style overwhelming many others hang on every word. I was excited to meet you last summer at the BYOR, and hope you find the time to do more around town. The city desperately needs more good people taking an active role. All the Holyokers I know would love to get to know you in person.
PSo yeah.
This would be me right about now:
Sticks And Stones
I got this email late last night:
Hey Major BedHead,
While sitting at (local Irish bar) last night I brought up the random subject of whether I should stop following "Major Bedhead" on twitter. To which everyone immediately said YES! It was funny because your so well known for being a super tweeter - to the point of annoyance. So I decided I will stop following you. Even though I hate un-friending anyone.
Just thought you should know why I stopped following, and how famous you are around town.
btw, Congrats on becoming a Grandma
P
My initial reaction was to fire off an email saying "Well that's a slap in the face, but whatever floats your boat," so that's what I did. But then I went to bed and started thinking about it.
People in town find me annoying. People who only know me via Twitter. People who I'm not even sure are following me. Nonetheless, they find me annoying.
This, of course, has fueled my paranoia that everyone I know must find me annoying. It makes me want to stay in my house and never talk to anyone again. It's going to make me second guess everything that comes out of my mouth for a while, that's for sure.
I cried about this for a while, which is pathetic. But it stung. Really stung.
This morning I woke up thinking about it. Maybe I do post too often on Twitter. I'm home with two toddlers and a 15 year old all day. For most of the time, the only adult interaction I have is with people on Twitter, so I am guilty of posting on there quite frequently during the day. I can leave the window open and pop on and off while I'm doing things around the house and make a comment or two. Sometimes people respond, sometimes they don't. I like it.
I still think the email was a shitty thing to send. Unfollow me if you want, but to tell me that you're doing it because your friends told you to and that you all find me annoying smacks of junior high school cliquishness. The person who sent the email is really involved in town improvement issues, which was something I was hoping to be able to get into, too, but if this is the way they are, I don't want to now. I tried to play that joining-in game in high school and college and failed at it because I wasn't cool enough or something. I'm too old to do that again. My self-esteem doesn't need the bruising either.
I hate this shit. I hate that my ego is so fragile that something like this sends me into a tailspin. I hate knowing that people find me annoying because that's not my intention at all. Mostly I hate that this has changed my mind about getting involved in town stuff. I was really looking forward to that. I love where I live and I was hoping to help out in some small way with the improvement efforts that are going on.
And whoever wrote that little sticks and stones ditty was full of shit. Words do hurt. A lot.
Hey Major BedHead,
While sitting at (local Irish bar) last night I brought up the random subject of whether I should stop following "Major Bedhead" on twitter. To which everyone immediately said YES! It was funny because your so well known for being a super tweeter - to the point of annoyance. So I decided I will stop following you. Even though I hate un-friending anyone.
Just thought you should know why I stopped following, and how famous you are around town.
btw, Congrats on becoming a Grandma
P
My initial reaction was to fire off an email saying "Well that's a slap in the face, but whatever floats your boat," so that's what I did. But then I went to bed and started thinking about it.
People in town find me annoying. People who only know me via Twitter. People who I'm not even sure are following me. Nonetheless, they find me annoying.
This, of course, has fueled my paranoia that everyone I know must find me annoying. It makes me want to stay in my house and never talk to anyone again. It's going to make me second guess everything that comes out of my mouth for a while, that's for sure.
I cried about this for a while, which is pathetic. But it stung. Really stung.
This morning I woke up thinking about it. Maybe I do post too often on Twitter. I'm home with two toddlers and a 15 year old all day. For most of the time, the only adult interaction I have is with people on Twitter, so I am guilty of posting on there quite frequently during the day. I can leave the window open and pop on and off while I'm doing things around the house and make a comment or two. Sometimes people respond, sometimes they don't. I like it.
I still think the email was a shitty thing to send. Unfollow me if you want, but to tell me that you're doing it because your friends told you to and that you all find me annoying smacks of junior high school cliquishness. The person who sent the email is really involved in town improvement issues, which was something I was hoping to be able to get into, too, but if this is the way they are, I don't want to now. I tried to play that joining-in game in high school and college and failed at it because I wasn't cool enough or something. I'm too old to do that again. My self-esteem doesn't need the bruising either.
I hate this shit. I hate that my ego is so fragile that something like this sends me into a tailspin. I hate knowing that people find me annoying because that's not my intention at all. Mostly I hate that this has changed my mind about getting involved in town stuff. I was really looking forward to that. I love where I live and I was hoping to help out in some small way with the improvement efforts that are going on.
And whoever wrote that little sticks and stones ditty was full of shit. Words do hurt. A lot.
Thursday, December 31, 2009
These Apples....
That Canadian Boy I Married and I have been together for 10 years tonight. Ten years ago, it was holding hands and kissing and hanging on each others every word. Now it's kids and rent and jobs and chaos.
But it's also what seems to me, at least, to be a serious lack of anything in common with each other. Tonight, he's at a house party. I have no desire to sit around with his hockey buddies as they play beer pong and watch sports incessantly. His friends are fine, decent enough people, but I'm not into sports (The Red Sox excepted) and I'm definitely not into beer pong. So we never go out together.
I go out on Friday nights, usually, to my friend C's house. I hang out with my sister and a bunch of other people and we laugh and talk politics or current events or get all wanky over word usage and proper grammar (I know - me, who'd have thunk, right?) and I have a great time. When TCBIM has tagged along, he looks out of his element and gets bored. It's how I feel when I hang out with his friends.
I'm just not sure how to fix this. I don't even know if it is fixable. We're so different. I geek out over books and historical programs on the television; He's excited over the Winter Classic. I long for a complete, 27 volume set of the OED; TCBIM doesn't even know what that is. He told me the other day that he needs a new hybrid driver. Cue one blank look and crickets. (Apparently, it's a type of golf club.)
I don't feel like he should have to change who he is for me, though, because I don't think I should change who I am for him. I don't want him faking an interest in art or books any more than I want to fake an interest in hockey or, god help me, football.
It's funny; when I do drag him to a museum or an artists gallery, he enjoys himself. But I have to beg and plead and bug the shit out of him prior to getting him to go. Once he's there, he's into it. We went to Snow Farm in Williamsburg MA a few weeks ago and he loved the things he saw there. We watched a blacksmith work and he was asking the man a ton of questions. I know he has the curiosity and interest in these types of activities but he never seeks them out. He's content to go along on the surface of life, watching television, playing sports and farting around on the computer.
I want more, though. I want to go to New York City to see the Tim Burton exhibit. I want to find more cool places like Snow Farm. I want to go to Vermont, to see the Lake Champlain chocolate company and go to the Vermont General Store. I want to go on an antebellum house tour down south. I want to see Frank Lloyd Wright's buildings in Chicago, I want to go to Powell's book store in Portland. And I'd love it if I didn't have to beg and plead for him to want to come with me.
Most of all, I want to go back to school. I want to get my bachelor's degree and I want to do it at a good school. Smith College and Mt Holyoke College both have programs for women returning to school and I have sent for information on both of them. I really want to do this so I can learn to write properly, so I can get a good job that will challenge my brain rather than just provide a paycheck. I mainly want to go because I love school. I love learning new things, I love the challenge of it and I love the environment. I want to do this. Hell, I need to do this, for me, so I can be happier with who I am.
But I worry that having that will drive us even further apart and that scares me. I need to do it, though. I need to put myself first this time.
But it's also what seems to me, at least, to be a serious lack of anything in common with each other. Tonight, he's at a house party. I have no desire to sit around with his hockey buddies as they play beer pong and watch sports incessantly. His friends are fine, decent enough people, but I'm not into sports (The Red Sox excepted) and I'm definitely not into beer pong. So we never go out together.
I go out on Friday nights, usually, to my friend C's house. I hang out with my sister and a bunch of other people and we laugh and talk politics or current events or get all wanky over word usage and proper grammar (I know - me, who'd have thunk, right?) and I have a great time. When TCBIM has tagged along, he looks out of his element and gets bored. It's how I feel when I hang out with his friends.
I'm just not sure how to fix this. I don't even know if it is fixable. We're so different. I geek out over books and historical programs on the television; He's excited over the Winter Classic. I long for a complete, 27 volume set of the OED; TCBIM doesn't even know what that is. He told me the other day that he needs a new hybrid driver. Cue one blank look and crickets. (Apparently, it's a type of golf club.)
I don't feel like he should have to change who he is for me, though, because I don't think I should change who I am for him. I don't want him faking an interest in art or books any more than I want to fake an interest in hockey or, god help me, football.
It's funny; when I do drag him to a museum or an artists gallery, he enjoys himself. But I have to beg and plead and bug the shit out of him prior to getting him to go. Once he's there, he's into it. We went to Snow Farm in Williamsburg MA a few weeks ago and he loved the things he saw there. We watched a blacksmith work and he was asking the man a ton of questions. I know he has the curiosity and interest in these types of activities but he never seeks them out. He's content to go along on the surface of life, watching television, playing sports and farting around on the computer.
I want more, though. I want to go to New York City to see the Tim Burton exhibit. I want to find more cool places like Snow Farm. I want to go to Vermont, to see the Lake Champlain chocolate company and go to the Vermont General Store. I want to go on an antebellum house tour down south. I want to see Frank Lloyd Wright's buildings in Chicago, I want to go to Powell's book store in Portland. And I'd love it if I didn't have to beg and plead for him to want to come with me.
Most of all, I want to go back to school. I want to get my bachelor's degree and I want to do it at a good school. Smith College and Mt Holyoke College both have programs for women returning to school and I have sent for information on both of them. I really want to do this so I can learn to write properly, so I can get a good job that will challenge my brain rather than just provide a paycheck. I mainly want to go because I love school. I love learning new things, I love the challenge of it and I love the environment. I want to do this. Hell, I need to do this, for me, so I can be happier with who I am.
But I worry that having that will drive us even further apart and that scares me. I need to do it, though. I need to put myself first this time.
Monday, December 28, 2009
Oh, Canada
So we've spent a week in northern Alberta, freezing our asses off and visiting the in-laws. For the most part it was nice. A little dull, but when you're 300 miles north of Edmonton, there's not a lot to do, really. The girls had a good time, though, and That Canadian Boy I Married's parents were thrilled to bits to see us.
I do have a beef to pick with Canada as a country.
I saw a lot of cool things on the endless drive back to Edmonton.
A wolf. Running along the side of the road. Very cool. I wish The Bug hadn't puked all over my camera - I would have loved to have a picture of it.
And a guy running a dogsled. Also on the side of the highway. Very cool, in a good-god-I-wouldn't-do-that-in-a-million-years sort of way.
I've also seen a baby black bear.
I saw horses and magpies and oil rigs and lots and lots of snow.
But in all my trips to the Great White North, I have yet to see this:
And believe me, I've looked.
What the hell, Canada? I think you're lying about the moose. You don't really have any, you just say you do so Yanks like me will keep coming up there, hoping for their own Northern Exposure experience.
I do have a beef to pick with Canada as a country.
I saw a lot of cool things on the endless drive back to Edmonton.
A wolf. Running along the side of the road. Very cool. I wish The Bug hadn't puked all over my camera - I would have loved to have a picture of it.
And a guy running a dogsled. Also on the side of the highway. Very cool, in a good-god-I-wouldn't-do-that-in-a-million-years sort of way.
I've also seen a baby black bear.
I saw horses and magpies and oil rigs and lots and lots of snow.
But in all my trips to the Great White North, I have yet to see this:
And believe me, I've looked.
What the hell, Canada? I think you're lying about the moose. You don't really have any, you just say you do so Yanks like me will keep coming up there, hoping for their own Northern Exposure experience.
Frozen
I haven't posted here in ages because we were going to visit That Canadian Boy I Married's parents and I don't know if they read this and I didn't want to give the game away but now we're here so now I can post. We surprised his parents with a visit for Christmas.
Oh my holy fucking HELL it's cold up here. And it gets dark at, like 3:30 in the afternoon and the sun doesn't come up until almost 9:30 in the fucking morning and it's insane. In. Sane. I could not live here. I would kill myself. Seriously.
But his parents were so happy to see us and it's been a pretty nice visit, all things considered. The girls were fine with flying - in fact, TCBIM is far worse of a traveler than they are. The girls got snow suits from their grandparents and have been having a blast playing outside in the snotsicle-inducing cold and I haven't had to keep an eye on them at all because hello? Doting grandparents. Fab. U. Lous.
In other news, my son and his wife had their baby on the day we flew to Canada. Which officially makes me a grandmother. If I could figure out how to move photos from my phone to my computer, I'd post them, but suffice it to say, she's adorable (of course) and I can't wait to hold a little, smooshy baby again. I'm looking forward to hitting the Roots store in Edmonton tomorrow so I can get her some cute Canadian gear. (Holy SHIT, I'm a grandmother. Holy shit.)
I'd show pictures of all that's been going on up here but The Bug puked all over my camera on the drive up. I am definitely going to need a new camera soon. It was already in rough shape - now, it's totally screwed up.
Oh my holy fucking HELL it's cold up here. And it gets dark at, like 3:30 in the afternoon and the sun doesn't come up until almost 9:30 in the fucking morning and it's insane. In. Sane. I could not live here. I would kill myself. Seriously.
But his parents were so happy to see us and it's been a pretty nice visit, all things considered. The girls were fine with flying - in fact, TCBIM is far worse of a traveler than they are. The girls got snow suits from their grandparents and have been having a blast playing outside in the snotsicle-inducing cold and I haven't had to keep an eye on them at all because hello? Doting grandparents. Fab. U. Lous.
In other news, my son and his wife had their baby on the day we flew to Canada. Which officially makes me a grandmother. If I could figure out how to move photos from my phone to my computer, I'd post them, but suffice it to say, she's adorable (of course) and I can't wait to hold a little, smooshy baby again. I'm looking forward to hitting the Roots store in Edmonton tomorrow so I can get her some cute Canadian gear. (Holy SHIT, I'm a grandmother. Holy shit.)
I'd show pictures of all that's been going on up here but The Bug puked all over my camera on the drive up. I am definitely going to need a new camera soon. It was already in rough shape - now, it's totally screwed up.
Sunday, December 13, 2009
*Head, Wall, Bang* Lather, Rinse, Repeat
This is a sweary, stabby kind of post. You have been warned.
Sweet suffering FUCK, people.
I want to write. Really, I do. I have things I want to say, ideas that are floating around in my head, but I can't write them down. Not because I don't want anyone else to see them but because my girls have gone absolutely BATSHIT CRAZY.
They run. All the time. Everywhere. They jump. They scream, at each other, at the clouds, at the dog, at motes of dust. They make massive messes and scream when I ask them to pick them up. They hit each other, they hug each other, they poke each other in the eyes. They're starving, all the time, even immediately after eating.
It is driving me INFUCKINGSANE..
I spend most of my days repeating myself endlessly. "Stop hitting. Stop jumping. Stop dragging the cat around by his neck. Put your shoes on. Put your pants on. Stop chopping off your hair. Stop sticking beads up your nose. For the love of god and all that is holy, STOP SCREAMING!"
I am losing the will to live.
And in a few days, we have to go on a very, very long trip with them.
Please. Send vodka. Or tranquilizers. Or both.
Sweet suffering FUCK, people.
I want to write. Really, I do. I have things I want to say, ideas that are floating around in my head, but I can't write them down. Not because I don't want anyone else to see them but because my girls have gone absolutely BATSHIT CRAZY.
They run. All the time. Everywhere. They jump. They scream, at each other, at the clouds, at the dog, at motes of dust. They make massive messes and scream when I ask them to pick them up. They hit each other, they hug each other, they poke each other in the eyes. They're starving, all the time, even immediately after eating.
It is driving me INFUCKINGSANE..
I spend most of my days repeating myself endlessly. "Stop hitting. Stop jumping. Stop dragging the cat around by his neck. Put your shoes on. Put your pants on. Stop chopping off your hair. Stop sticking beads up your nose. For the love of god and all that is holy, STOP SCREAMING!"
I am losing the will to live.
And in a few days, we have to go on a very, very long trip with them.
Please. Send vodka. Or tranquilizers. Or both.
Tuesday, December 01, 2009
Old (ish) (Wo)Man Yells At Cloud
My email was hacked tonight while I was at work. Some sort of "Hey, get a free computer" thing went out to my entire address book. Lovely.
And what did the majority of people write back to me about it? Not "Hey, what the hell, dood?" No. They all said "You would never write something so grammatically incorrect - this has to be spam."
It's official.
I have become my mother.
And what did the majority of people write back to me about it? Not "Hey, what the hell, dood?" No. They all said "You would never write something so grammatically incorrect - this has to be spam."
It's official.
I have become my mother.
Monday, November 23, 2009
Portrait Of A Woman, Slowly Being Driven Insane
My day started awfully early. I have no idea what time she woke up, but The Bug pattered into my room at what-the-fuck o'clock to crawl into bed with me. This is something that happens three or four nights a week and I am sick of it. I bought some melatonin to give to each girl before bed, but so far, it doesn't seem to be keeping them asleep.
Boo woke up just before 7 a.m. and before I could stumble into her room, had peed all over the floor. I don't know what this is - she's going to be five in a couple of days and has been potty trained for two years now. But the last couple of months, she wets the bed a couple of times a week and has peed on the floor several times, too. It's not diabetes - I've had her tested.
After breakfast, The Bug had to pee, too, and went into the bathroom. She peed on the floor rather than on the toilet. So I've cleaned up pee twice today, all before 8 a.m..
That Canadian Boy I Married and I had a spat this morning, too, which didn't do anything to help my mood.
Finally, I was walking into the kitchen with some dishes that had been left in the living room and slipped. The Bug had put a glass of orange juice on the floor, which I kicked over - because, really, I didn't expect there to be a glass there, plus I had my hands full. I went ass over teakettle, dropping the dishes and sliding into a dining room chair, which fell on top of me. I was covered in orange juice and whatever was in the glass I was carrying.
Needless to say, after cleaning all the crap off the floor, I went upstairs and took a shower and had a bit of a woe-is-me sniffle under the water.
I desperately need to get a full time job. This stay-at-home shit is going to be the death of me.
(And if anyone could tell me what to do to fix the template on this thing, I'd be eternally grateful. It's a mess.)
Boo woke up just before 7 a.m. and before I could stumble into her room, had peed all over the floor. I don't know what this is - she's going to be five in a couple of days and has been potty trained for two years now. But the last couple of months, she wets the bed a couple of times a week and has peed on the floor several times, too. It's not diabetes - I've had her tested.
After breakfast, The Bug had to pee, too, and went into the bathroom. She peed on the floor rather than on the toilet. So I've cleaned up pee twice today, all before 8 a.m..
That Canadian Boy I Married and I had a spat this morning, too, which didn't do anything to help my mood.
Finally, I was walking into the kitchen with some dishes that had been left in the living room and slipped. The Bug had put a glass of orange juice on the floor, which I kicked over - because, really, I didn't expect there to be a glass there, plus I had my hands full. I went ass over teakettle, dropping the dishes and sliding into a dining room chair, which fell on top of me. I was covered in orange juice and whatever was in the glass I was carrying.
Needless to say, after cleaning all the crap off the floor, I went upstairs and took a shower and had a bit of a woe-is-me sniffle under the water.
I desperately need to get a full time job. This stay-at-home shit is going to be the death of me.
(And if anyone could tell me what to do to fix the template on this thing, I'd be eternally grateful. It's a mess.)
Monday, November 16, 2009
Better
Things are a lot better between me and That Canadian Boy I Married. We've talked a lot and he hasn't been talking to the other girl and it all seems better. I have restrained myself from checking his email to see if anything is going on because, frankly, it was fucking with my head and not doing me any good whatsoever.
I don't have much more to add, other than I'm cautiously (very cautiously) optimistic that things may work out. That's my hope. I think.
Could I be any more confused? No. I didn't think so. Stay tuned. Things may change at the drop of a hat, as they tend to do around here.
In other news, New England Mamas blog is starting up again and I'm going to do food blogging there so if you have any recipes you want me to test and post about, feel free to email them to me. I think my email is in the side thingummy over there but if not, leave a comment and I'll get in touch.
I don't have much more to add, other than I'm cautiously (very cautiously) optimistic that things may work out. That's my hope. I think.
Could I be any more confused? No. I didn't think so. Stay tuned. Things may change at the drop of a hat, as they tend to do around here.
In other news, New England Mamas blog is starting up again and I'm going to do food blogging there so if you have any recipes you want me to test and post about, feel free to email them to me. I think my email is in the side thingummy over there but if not, leave a comment and I'll get in touch.
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Still....
He's still talking to the woman in Bulgaria.
He's changed the passwords to his email and Facebook accounts.
I will have one more conversation about this and then I think I'm going to be done. He seems to be incapable of stopping and he seems to be going to some lengths to hide this from me, which does not bode well nor does it make me want to trust him even a little bit.
I really thought we'd had a good conversation about this last week, that I'd made my point and gotten it thru to him but apparently not. I'm not going to try to keep something alive if he's not going to reciprocate.
He's changed the passwords to his email and Facebook accounts.
I will have one more conversation about this and then I think I'm going to be done. He seems to be incapable of stopping and he seems to be going to some lengths to hide this from me, which does not bode well nor does it make me want to trust him even a little bit.
I really thought we'd had a good conversation about this last week, that I'd made my point and gotten it thru to him but apparently not. I'm not going to try to keep something alive if he's not going to reciprocate.
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