Sure, this “advice” might not seem very conventional, but I guarantee you’ll want to use it.
Ear plugs. Invest in some. Of course you can’t ignore baby’s cries, but once the second baby becomes a toddler, and your older child is not quite a toddler, you’ll want them. When the fighting over the Cheerios starts, the “she/he touched me,” the meltdowns from not one child but two, you will want those ear plugs. Home Depot or Walmart.
A good lock for your bathroom door. Again, we’re basing this on, when your children are slightly older (because ignoring a screaming baby is, uh, wrong, I’m pretty sure). When they’ve spilled cereal on the floor, taken markers to your freshly painted walls (uh, well not that you’ll have time to paint, but in the event that you do), when the youngest has licked the dog bowl, and when the older child has put daddy’s underwear on the younger child’s head, you head for the bathroom, LOCK THE DOOR, and start running the water in the tub. No - not to clean the kids up - it’s for you. Your TWO children will come pounding on the door, but you “can’t hear them due to the running water.” It gives you a few minutes to get your wits about you, get clean in the process and feel free to also use those ear plugs in combination with the running water excuse.
Wine. You don’t drink? Oh you’ll want to start. Of course the wine drinking should probably come in after you’re done breastfeeding your child and I don’t recommend getting sloshed while caring for your children, but a slight buzz every now and then does help you to retain some of your sanity. Now you’ll have lost some of whatever sanity you did have left during the second time giving birth, trying to juggle a toddler and a newborn and one child screaming that he or she pooped on the cat and a crying infant, demanding to be fed NOW, but you’ll want to preserve whatever sane brain cells you have left. Remember - slight buzz perfectly acceptable.
Demand that your husband/SO/partner have his cell phone on at all times, even during his important business meetings. There will be times when you’ll need to call him and ask him to GET HIS MOTHER EFFING ASS HOME NOW BEFORE I KILL SOMEONE. Think of it as your own personal “help line.” Trust me, he’ll want the mother of his children to be as happy as possible if he ever plans to get laid again.
Chocolate. Have a few pieces of chocolate hidden around the home. You’ll be out of wine at some point and you’ll want a backup. Be sure to put some in your closet - you will find yourself hidding in there periodically.
Bleach. To clean up the crime scene. Oh no, no, no, not THAT kind of crime scene. The poop one. Your toddler will try to help you “change the baby” and this will happen when your infant has had an explosive poop - you remember those from your first child. It’s just now, it’s happening to your second child and your first child has decided to take little brother or sister’s diaper off (while you’ve left the room for those precious 10 seconds) and it’s turned into the most disgusting mess you’ve ever had to deal with to date. Probably should have a hose, gloves and bio-hazard suit thingy.
Headache pills. Self explanatory.
A good, trustworthy babysitter. You WILL want a night out. ALOT.
I hope I’ve not scared you. Seriously, it’s not that hard going from one to two. You’ll be slightly more on edge for the first few months with a second child, a little crazier overall, and have less thinking ability but there are good points too. I mean, twice the love and giggles, and once your second child is no longer a newborn, you will actually start to relax a bit. Remember when your first born used to suck on a pacifier and that pacifier fell on the floor or ground and you immediately grabbed a freshly boiled, sterilized one? Well those days are gone! With your second baby, you’ll wipe it off on your shirt and say, “listen kid, no one ever died from a little dirt.” See? More relaxed. And another good point - once you have two kids, it’s way easier to get on to the third, fourth or fifth. You’ll survive the hurdle of going from one to two, and if not, I hear prison is more like a swanky camp now.
Good luck, happy birthing, and congrats on going from A CHILD to CHILDREN.
I should have known better when I looked in the bathroom cabinet, that the box was empty. I thought it was a brand new box. When I opened it and realized, to my horror, that it indeed was empty, panic set in. I run downstairs and my oldest son is sitting on the couch, watching television. I begin my schpeal.
You know what brings a mother and a son closer together?
Um, no?
And it also guarantees a spot in her will.
Um, okay? What?
They will know it’s not for you.
Who? What?
I need something from the store.
Okay, what?
You like driving your new car right?
Right.
Well then, here’s a perfect opportunity for you to drive that shiney new car.
Wanna spill it already?
I need tampons.
Oh no, that’s not happenin’.
But I need them.
I don’t buy those for anyone. No way.
The cashier will assume they’re for someone other than you - you know since you don’t have a vagina.
Not doing it. I will drive Matt over and he can go in.
Fine then.
I approach my youngest son and ask him if he could run down and tell Matt to come upstairs, that it’s an emergency. He jumps up and races down to get Matt.
Matt comes running up, a look of panic on his face. I begin my schpeal with him.
You know what brings a mother and a son closer together?
Uh, no?
When a son walks into a store and buys his gorgeous (just adding an adjective for a more interesting story) mother a box of tampons.
OMG.
What?
Geez, Ryan came downstairs and said there was an emergency - I ran up here thinking someone was, I dunno, bleeding!
*Crickets* The room went silent.
He soon realized that his words, couldn’t have been more true. I assured him, that he’s definitely in my will.
If you missed Teri Hatcher’s rendition of Carrie Underwood’s “Before He Cheats,” thank your lucky stars. Your ears will praise you. If you were unlucky enough to hear it (why oh why did I click it?), then you will now know that she is a horrible singer. True, I’ve probably heard worse via American Idol tryouts, but seriously, Teri needs to stick with the acting - because, ya, she’s the best actress there is.
Most people I know, who’ve listened to or saw Hatcher’s performance on Idol Gives Back, thought she sucked. I’d have to agree. Every blog or celebrity site I’ve read, came to that same conclusion. However, there is at least one person on the planet who thinks “she was pretty good.” Ya, that’d be my husband.
Mr.Man has a boner for Teri Hatcher, but still, I was sure when he actually listened and watched her performance, he’d agree with the masses - that Teri should never pick up a microphone and sing in public. Ever.
But nope, he only had positive, nice things to say, such as:
She’s pretty good, stayed in key the whole time (Yes, her voice was like liquid gold and that’s why she’s famous for her singing - oh she’s not famous for her fantastic singing? My mistake)
She’s not a professional singer but did fine for not really having any training (Uh huh)
I’ve heard worse, but really, she wasn’t bad at all (I’ve heard worse too - Teri Hatcher, ha)
I don’t know why people are saying she sucked (Uh because she did?)
Listen, I’m not stupid - had she been 5000 lbs of jiggly fat, hairy, sporting a thick mustache, had huge pit stains on her blouse and farted live on stage, then he’d say she sucked, no doubt about it, even if the “quality” of her performance was exactly the same. But since he’s got the hots for her, ya, “she was pretty good.” Ha, men. Soooo transparent.
And just incase you missed it, here’s Teri in her full singing glory - note: You MAY want to wear earplugs or pray beforehand that your ears don’t bleed.
Or should I say I hated being pregnant? Ya, because I’m currently not pregnant nor will I ever be again.
I recently wrote this for work (Tori Spelling gushing about loving being preggo, blah blah) and I mentioned at the end of the post, that I must be the only woman in the world who hated being pregnant, but to my surprise, I’m not alone.
I was obviously happy to be having a child and not to dismiss the fact that I was lucky enough to conceive a few times, as some women aren’t, I’m not trying to sound ungrateful, it’s just that I didn’t get the warm fuzzy feelings that alot of women get when they’re preggo.
Some women gush about how they love their bodies, they’ve never looked better, feel fantastic, yada yada yada, and if that’s how you feel when you’re with child, fabulous, more power to you. I never did. I never felt glowy (although people told me I was), I did NOT like my pregnant body and although I didn’t gain more than 16 pounds in any of my pregnancies, I always felt fat, bloated and yucky. I did have great hair though, so that’s one nice thing.
I remember when I was pregnant with my first son, I was 19, newly single and had not a frigging clue what to expect. Sure, I knew how people got pregnant (duh), knew the technical stuff about actually giving birth, realized that I’d be shaped like some dude with skinny legs and a beer gut, but really had no idea what I was in for.
I had gone shopping - I was about 7 or 8 months along at that point - and found the cutest peach colored loafers (sure peach coloured loafers now, sound hideous, but this was the 80’s k?) and didn’t even bother to try them on - I was always a size 6.5 or 7, so never any need to try shoes on. I get them home and excitedly take them out of the bag and want to wear them out that night (was going to a movie with a friend) and low and behold, the fuckers don’t fit my feet. What? I immediately look inside the shoes at the size stamped on the side - 7. Again, I try to put my foot in, and nope, that puppy ain’t going in. I take a good look at my feet and realize that they’re SWOLLEN. No one told me that pregnant chicks get swollen feet! I start crying, going on and on how I’ll never wear a size 7 shoe or smaller again. My life was ruined. Never mind the fact that I was about to have a baby at 19 and single, living with my parents, MY DAMN SHOES DON’T FIT. Priorities people, priorities. I vowed then and there, that someday I would wear those peach loafers (oh I did wear them btw - the day I left the hospital).
Other things I didn’t know about being pregnant (at 19) - you don’t get alot of sleep in the latter stages of your pregnancy. Who knew? Strangers come up to you and mention that you look a tad too young to be having a baby and ask personal questions, like are you married (I was separated), do you have a job (I did), are you going to breastfeed? (that’s your business?), do you know if you’re having a boy or a girl (it’s one or the other, yup), can I touch your belly? (um, no), do you have a name picked out? (no), will you have more? (I haven’t even had this one yet) - amazing what people you don’t know, think they’re entitled to know.
Other things I had no idea would happen (again when I was 19) - as I was peeing at around 2 a.m., the pee just kept coming out (ah in the toilet, luckily) and it was sorta freaking me out. After a good two minutes, it clicked that my water had broken. I grab a towel and make it like a diaper and run and get my parents, tell them it’s “time.” My contractions were about every 3 or 4 minutes, and I actually took the time to sit in my room, in front of my big mirror and carefully apply full makeup. Foundation, eye shadow, mascara, blush, lipgloss - the full shebang. I even curled my hair - I mean no one told me that I’d end up looking like a drowned sewer rat after 8 long hours of labour and that hair and makeup is really not required when giving birth.
The best part though - was as I was being wheeled into the delivery room (yes way different back then, you laboured in one room and were carted off to another room to actually give birth), I was asked by a doctor if it would be okay to have some med students watch and take notes? I was high on Demerol, so I naturally said sure. I remember being pretty much stoned, but yet seeing about 5 med students with clipboards and pens, staring at my vagina. One of them was super cute, that I do recall very distinctly. And the next day, as I’m laying in my hospital bed, that same cute dude accompanies the doctor making his rounds. and although his face was in my privates the day before (and um, not in a good way), I totally wanted to ask him out. I bet he would have said yes.
It’s amazing that I went on to have more kids, and although my life circumstances did improve - I still hated being pregnant all the other times too. The heartburn, the feeling like someone (uh the baby?) was pressing on your bladder 24/7, the impossibilty of trying to find that perfect sleeping position, the morning sickness for SEVEN MONTHS, the fear that your water would break in the mall, the bizarre food cravings - how I do not miss those days. Sure I liked getting the cute baby after all of that torture, but the pregnancy itself? Never liked it. Not. one. little. bit.
My 7-year old daughter always has many burning questions and seriously, who doesn’t want to know this:
Mom is the Easter bunny like real?
Sure.
Ya but is he real? And…is he really a he? Or a she?
What do you think?
I think he’s a boy and I think it might just be some dude dressed up in a rabbit suit. I mean really, a giant rabbit going around with eggs and chocolate? Plus, rabbits poop ALOT. And I never see any rabbit poop in our house at Easter time.
True. Thank goodness for small miracles.
I think I’m going to write about this in my journal.
This post entry has no title. Why you ask? Well when I add a title, I get a bunch of jibberish at the top of my post where my title should be and I have no earthly idea what the hell to do, so I will not be titling posts until further notice. Are you okay with that? Good.
It’s 1:23 a.m. and I’m still awake - well duh, because I’m typing this. I’m not in the least bit tired unless you count holding my eyelids open with toothpicks and punching myself in the neck to keep from falling over, symptoms of being tired.
I had a lady call me today and ask me where her order was. I said I didn’t know and then she screamed at me, saying she was going to sue my ass off or some such silliness. I think she had the wrong number because I haven’t taken orders from crazy people in the last, say, oh EVER. We often get wrong numbers for some glass company, so I’ll assume that’s the place nutjob thought she was calling. I wish her luck in whatever she does. Seriously.
I honestly think I had better go to bed. My kids will be up early - they’re on March/spring break but have yet to realize that this would a perfect week to SLEEP IN. But yet, next week, I will literally have to drag their butts out of bed to get up for school. Why is this? When you figure out the answer let me know please.
Okay, I’m honestly going to bed. By bed I mean I’m going to edit more photos. And watch a movie. And eat candy.
Hey check out my new (and temporary) photography site here. I’ve been busy taking photos and only have about 500 to go through and edit - anyone have any spare hours they can lend me? The standard 24 isn’t enough, I need about 36 hours in a day. That’d be great. Thanks.
I love my cameras. I love taking pictures. I’ve been doing it for many years now and don’t plan to stop anytime soon.
Last week, my husband asked if he could borrow my smaller camera. I said sure. He doesn’t often take pictures but he wanted to go shoot some wildlife photos. Before he left, he had asked me to charge the battery. I put the battery in the charger and then headed out, telling him to call me if he needed help figuring out the camera.
He calls me a couple of hours later and asks me if the camera battery is charged. I tell him it should really charge for several hours but it should be good enough for the short time he’ll need it.
I get home later in the afternoon and see the battery for the camera - still in the charger. I start laughing, because duh, how is he supposed to take pics if the battery is missing? Well he can’t.
He and oldest son get home sometime after dark and when husband walks in, I start laughing and tell him I hope he didn’t see something fantastic that he took photos of because, ah, they won’t turn out. I show him the battery still in charger. He sorta laughs - kinda, not really. I ask him to bring my camera in from the truck but he had already locked it up and said he’d get it in the morning. No biggie.
A couple of days go by and I ask him to bring the camera in before he leaves for work. He goes out to his truck and comes back in a few minutes later - with no camera.
Where’s the camera?
I don’t know. That’s weird, I must have brought it in on Monday night.
Um, no you didn’t - I asked you when you came in to get it and you said it was locked in the truck.
Okay, I’ll check again. He checks again. No camera.
Okay, strange, but it’s not in my truck.
Not in your truck? OMG tell me you didn’t lose another camera? He’d lost my other camera last fall, somewhere in the great big wilderness of Alberta.
I can’t see me losing TWO cameras.
I hope not. That’s TWO cameras.
He arrives home after work and realizes that the camera is no where in his truck. At all.
I can’t find the camera.
You can’t find it? For real? Are you shitting me?
No I’m not kidding you.
Um, you lost ANOTHER camera? It’s practically brand new! AND, I had 10 videos of the kids and 100 photos on it!
I’ll get it.
You’ll get it? Where is it?
I must have left it out on Mark’s property, somewhere in the field.
Somewhere in the field? You mean the acres and acres of field?
Yes.
Oh well, that should be easy. My camera lying out in the wilderness. Wild animals eating it.
I don’t think the wild animals are going to eat your camera. And we have no snow and it’s going to be nice here for the next few days. I’ll go out on Saturday and get it.
You’re just going to “get it?”
Yup.
Okay.
Saturday rolls around and I decided I’m going with him. I mean I want to see him actually find it. I’m not believing it.
We drive out to the farm, which is an hour away. The owner is there and tells us to go through another gate, not the one that hubby normally goes through when he’s there. We drive down and then spend almost 2 hours driving through the massive field, husband trying to figure out where he was parked days ago. The field is free of snow, so the black camera bag will be easy to spot should we actually find it.
He’s convinced that he must have set it on the truck when he got back from his walk and then when he drove off, it had fallen and was lying in the field. After hours of looking, we head back down to the main yard. Hubby says he’s going to walk over to the gate he normally goes through - we couldn’t previously drive through there because the owner had brought his calves closer to the main yard, so it was gated off.
After a few minutes, I see my husband walking back to the SUV with my camera bag! OMG! It was there, in the bag, I was in shock - he actually found it. My heart is skipping a beat. Here’s a picture:
Isn’t it lovely? My heart soon stopped skipping and I pretty much had a stroke right there. My practically brand new camera, which was a replacement for the OTHER one that my husband lost. And the best part of all of this? Had he gone on Tuesday or Wednesday or Thursday or Friday to search for the camera, it would have most likely been just fine. But just our luck - the farmer had just let his cattle out through that gate Saturday morning. My poor camera hadn’t a chance - it was trampled by 85 700 pound calves. Moo.
Yes, he’s buying me a another new one. I’m going to stock up on disposable cameras for him. Say cheese.
Remember when Jimmy Kimmel’s girlfriend Sarah Silverman broke the news to him on his show that she was f*cking Matt Damon? If you don’t, you can see it HERE.
Well, Jimmy wasn’t going to sit back and let Sarah have her fun and leave him with nothing! So he’s plotted his revenge and it’s GOOD. Watch it HERE and be prepared to die - from laughing. Lots of celebrity guest appearances too, even Brad Pitt! Not for kids, but definately for adults with an awesome sense of humor.
Is it every day you can say you were hit in the head by a Calgary Flames player? The answer is no! However, I can totally say that. Cory Sarich hit me in the head (ah for non Flames fans, that is a photo of Iginla, because he’s hot my favourite). As for me being hit in the head by Sarich, read on:
We attended the Calgary Flames Skills Competetion back in January (yes I’m just now writing about it because I wanted to have pictures to show you and I had taken over 200 and just got them uploaded - hey I’ve been busy) and we were lucky enough to get seats directly behind where some of the team was sitting. There are different things going on during the Skills Competetion - obviously skill stuff, duh, but also things being thrown into the crowd, because let me tell you, that takes some talent.
There are T-shirts being thrown, chunks of ice, hockey sticks - naw, I’m kidding about the ice and sticks but they do throw other things besides shirts. As I’m sitting in my seat, minding my own business, taking some photos, I’m momentarily stunned by a sharp pain on the right side of my head and ear. I look over at my husband and oldest son, who I figured would be opening their mouths to ask me if I’m okay, because, clearly I was in pain. I do see them open their mouths but no words of sympathy come out. Instead my son is oviously quite thrilled.
Woo Hoo! Wow I can’t believe that!
What? What can’t you believe? I was hit in the head by something and man does it hurt.
Ya I know! Awesome eh?!
Awesome that I was hit in the head?
Ya!
Um, no not awesome. I think my ear is going to fall off.
Probably not but holy shit, that is awesome!
Why is it awesome? Explain to me how me in pain is awesome?
Duh, you got hit in the head with an autographed frisbee! Cory Sarich signed it and threw it and it hit you in the head and I caught it! Ya!
Well then, never mind my bleeding wounded half falling off ear, just as long as you got an autographed frisbee. Glad my ear and head could help.
Woo Hoo!
Ya, woo hoo.
Anyway, got some decent photos - I still had the glass to attend with but it was cool being that up-close. My favourite player is Iggy and a close second (my oldest son’s fav) is Dion Phaneuf. Here are a few pics and there’s more HERE.
