Ahhhh!

So, so much has been going on in my life lately that I can’t possibly fill you in on it all. Why? Because that damn IRL stuff has been sadly overwhelming my online life. (“Stupid IRL”, she says in her best Homer Simpson voice)

For shorts, you can read this. It’ll give you an idea of the really, really big life and death (for real) issues that I’m talking about.

Then, just for the hell of it, read this, too. Just ’cause I think it was kinda funny and thought-provoking. (If I do say so myself. And I do!)

And now, for some funny in a sad, maybe-I-should-actually-be-mad way stuff:

So. I am living with my sister and her family in Toronto. Why? Read the first link above, doofus. My Mom is in the last stages of her fight against cancer and I’m here to help, okay? And after nearly four weeks here alone, my daughters came out to join me. So all three of us are living with my sister and her family. Which means there are four cousins, all under the age of ten, living together in one (rather smallish, but beautiful nonetheless) house. And because three of them are girls, and they’re young, and stupid unsupervised; they decided yesterday to give themselves (and the neighbour kid, thankyouverymuch) homemade “marker tattoos”.

Yes, marker tatoos. Read the rest of this entry »

Just so you know. Never, never, ever buy your child a “Grow Your Own Triops Kit”. They’re available from Scholastic, only in the catalogue, they call it “prehistoric creatures”. That’s so you can’t go online and google “triops” before you buy the kit.

Because when you get the kit? And you hatch the eggs? 

I know! Can we say 'disgusting', children?

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Children, I mean.

This week, both Girl1 and Girl2 are in a city-run camp that includes swimming lessons, crafts, activities, yada yada, yada. They don’t particularly like it, and it is a bit disorganized. It’s one of those “you get what you pay for” kind of daycamps and it was only $120.

So they are with friends of theirs, and I’m carpooling with the other mom. I do the drop-off in the mornings, and the first two days, Girl2 clung, and cried and looked up at me with her sad, sad eyes when I left. This morning, though, she was fine.

Yahoo, right?!?

Of course not. Girl1 sensed the impending relief of maternal guilt and decided it was time for her to cry.

No rest for the wicked, right?

I saw this book in a small, independent bookstore on the weekend:

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You know, I love that glow of maternal pride you get when you pick your kid(s) up from a playdate, and the other parent says, “oh, she was no trouble; honestly, I hardly saw them the whole time!” or “she’s so polite!” or “she was so good!”. I only wish I could reciprocate.

Only I can’t. Because ALL CHILDREN ARE BAD AT MY HOUSE.

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