thoughts on life, parenting, news, and crazy shit

Month: January, 2013



I’ve had this little obsession lately.  I’m terrified of The Destroyer growing up without contact with other little people and being all maladjusted.  I’m not talking about midgets, here kids.  I mean other children.  Although getting to hang out with a troupe of midgets all day would be kinda cool.

Maybe I won’t feel so bad once the The Destroyer, Part B arrives.  There will automatically be contact and play and sharing then right?  I mean, I don’t want to breed just for the sake of giving my child a playmate, but it can’t hurt, right?

And so, during the week while Daddy is busy working or sleeping after a long night shift, I bundle the little bugger up in search of playgroups.  Winnipeg has a great number of community centers and churches that run playgroups for tiny monsters that are free or super cheap.  I’m going in search of some playmates for my child, time for her to encounter other little kids, learn to share, copy what they do, and become more of a person and less of a baby.

Yeah. Ok.  In reality, I want to entertain the little thing so the house is in one piece at the end of the day, and tire her out so she’ll nap at 2 and I can watch Dr. Phil in peace.

And guess what else?  She doesn’t give a shit about the other kids. She is overwhelmed and delighted and deliriously happy about all these things to climb on and slide off and drive around.  She toddles over to each new adventure, turning around to make sure I am watching, and my heart melts for her.  I end up thinking ” I am at this moment the most important person in her life, and maybe I can hold on to this for a little longer.”

Because soon enough, she will notice the other children, and instead of parallel play, there will be interactive play, and she won’t care as much that I am as excited to watch as she is to play.  Soon enough there will be dance class or karate, or cello lessons or whatever, and these moments won’t belong to just me anymore.  Soon enough there will be makeup and training bras and boys and oh my God I don’t want her to ever grow up.  Despite the complications of entertaining a toddler and carting one around with you everywhere, I want these days to last forever.

I’ll take the shitty diapers, and the screeching sound effects that come with every action, the spaghetti sauce in her hair, the middle of the night wake ups.  I’ll take it all forever, if she loves me this much forever.

So maybe I should just be thankful.  I get to stay home and be her Mommy for all these days while she is tiny and needy and messy and unsocialized.  Who cares.  She is bonded with me.  I should be thankful that while so many Moms have to send their child to be cared for by someone else, I get to enjoy her craziness and littleness for a little longer.

And you know what?  I’m good with that.  Because maybe I’m not ready to share her just yet.

Or ever.


Sex Sells. I’m Buying.

LaCosaNostra1982from deviantart.com

from deviantart.com

Us Canadians sure love controversy.  In fact, these days, we love it so much that I think we are deliberately creating it to avoid becoming boring or obsolete.  Apparently there is nothing much going on in this country besides a few hundred thousand pissed off Aboriginals and some extremely cold weather.

So, I give you……the Canadian Wheat Board’s latest controversy:



When you stop rolling your eyes and wondering what the fuck the problem is, I want you to think long and hard whether this ad offends you. Especially if you’re a woman.

Does it?  Are you still here?

Apparently some people are offended because it promotes the mentality of “sex sells” and the Canadian Wheat Board shouldn’t support such a thing.

I have a few things to say about this.  First of all, the painting is originally from the U.S., by pinup artist Gil Elvgren in 1969.  It’s that classical pinup style featuring a beautiful woman.  Who cares?  Are women not allowed to pretty anymore?  Are women not allowed to ooze sexuality?  Would you rather look at an ad that features something like this?:

from t-nation.com

from t-nation.com

Yeah.  I didn’t think so.

Secondly, sex does sell.  And I’m ok with that.  Nobody is getting down Budweiser’s throat for all the scantily clad women in its ads.  Rhianna seems to be doing all right, despite the fact that she sounds like a Belinda Carlisle inspired version of a new chipmunk,  because she’s pretty much naked all the time and we like to look at her.  The fact is, that if sex is selling, then people are buying because that’s what they want.  Why can’t the Wheat Board join the party?

Thirdly, as a woman, I have no problem with a woman using her assets to manipulate things in her favour.  You know who does have a problem with that?  Ugly people.  They’re pissed because they have to rely on other things like intelligence and charm and talent to get to the top.  Which is ok with me too.  We all have different skill sets, and your high intelligence doesn’t bother me any more than my big boobs should bother you.

The reality is that none of it matters anyway.  Advertise your sexy ads, attract all the people, and if they want what you have they’ll stick around to buy it.

The other reality is that women have been using their sexuality to manipulate men for just about ever.  And now we want to get pissed off about it?  There are always a few dumb bitches who want to ruin it for the rest of us.  Show some cleavage, wiggle your ass, and bat your lashes ladies.  And keep your mouth shut.  They will be at your mercy.

I’m not saying to be a one trick pony, either.  Because we make babies and get older and things that used to be tight start to go south. Literally.  But while it’s available……..sell your sexy.

If you are a bra burning crazy person, you may start your attack now.  I’m not worried, I have an army of boys on my side.


Idle No More, Dignity No More

Oh Boy.  Yesterday was a National Day of Protest by the Idle No More movement.  To those of you who don’t know what that is, it is a movement by Canadian First Nations people to protest inadequate living conditions and lack of education of the country’s reservations, and more specifically about omnibus BIll C-45.   I hope I represented that correctly.

Here in Manitoba, there were over 800 people gathered on the steps of the Parliment.  Some of them had walked over 300 km to be here.  When I read that on msn.ca this morning, I inwardly gave them a lot of credit and admired them for their dedication and determination.

But here is where I think I’m going to get a lot of flack.

Where is that strength and determination when it comes to being part of their own solution?  You should read this National Post article:


I have a very dear friend who loves to come over and drink wine and fight debate the whole First Nations topic with me passionately.  She has enlightened me with a lot of information, and helped me to understand the sense of defeat that most people feel on reservations.  Decades of cyclic poverty, lack of education, abuse, addiction and hopelessness.

But it’s the hopelessness that bothers me the most.  Because whenever I suggest one solution or the next, there always seems to be a reason why it can’t be achieved.  (Keep in mind neither of us is in any sort of political position to implement anything).  And the reason I get pissed off is because what it sounds like to me is that the First Nations people want to bitch about all the things they’re entitled to, and didn’t get, rather than actually solve anything.

Then I read the above article.  You really should to.

The thing that stood out to me is that the leaders of these communities are trying to regain the dignity that was stripped from them when the Europeans settlers first came here and made all these agreements with them.  It’s not really about getting more money from the government, or meeting the specifications in centuries old treaties.  Because I think it is very clear that despite how much money is allocated to these reservations, the conditions never really seem to improve.

Why not?  They don’t have the skills to build better buildings. They don’t have the education to become productive partners with any companies that use their land for its resources. As the author of the article above says, “welfare is welfare”.  And I don’t think anybody who relies solely on handouts from others ever has any source of dignity deep down.

So what is the Idle No More movement really about?  The same thing every protest by First Nations people has ever really been about, in my opinion.  Respect.  Dignity.  Humanity.

There are 69 First Nations communities in this country that are self sufficient.  The band members don’t live in poverty.  They have broken the cycles of addiction and hopelessness.  How?  They have leaders who stand up for them, and teach them how to respect themselves enough to use the help offered and change their own lives.  This is how these communities have saved themselves.  By regaining their dignity.

We as Canadians are better at going into third world countries and helping them build strong communities than we are at home.  We don’t just write cheques in Africa and expect people to figure it out on their own.  We send aid and teach people the skills necessary to take care of themselves.  And the people there suck up their pride, accept the help, and regain their self respect.

So, hopefully the Idle No More movement will be a turning point here. I hope it will be the beginning of a new partnership between government and First Nations people.

The time for handouts is over.  The time for solutions is now.  And that doesn’t mean a bitch fest about everything that is owed or what you didn’t get, or how much you still deserve.  Everyone has to be part of their own salvation.

Everyone has to suck up their pride so they can regain their dignity.  Then, and only then, will things get better.

Doing Your Woman Ducky Style

I had absolutely nothing for you this morning.  Omg.  My first encounter with writer’s block.  What the hell?  I always have something to say.  Always.

But, once again, msn.com saved my life when I came across this little gem:


Jackpot.  If you don’t have time to read the whole article, or would rather hear my colorful summary, here it is:

Men, if you spend a lot of time going down on your woman, and life to bang her really hard and deep, she may be cheating and you subconsciously know it.   Women, if you have a witty, bubbly personality and like to take walks, you are probably a whore on the prowl.

Who comes up with this shit?  It’s like they want me to make fun of them.  I mean, is this article actually suggesting that the only time a man should sexually satisfy his woman is if he thinks she might leave him?  I have an idea.  Why doesn’t he get down there and get to work from the beginning, so he doesn’t have to panic later on.

And, according to this article, the deep penetration is to dislodge anyone else’s sperm.  Sounds a little like forced copulation in ducks to me.  Which you can read about here,  http://askanaturalist.com/why-are-these-mallard-males-beating-up-this-female/   if you need a visual.

And let’s not forget that if you are witty and charming and like to keep fit, that is synonymous with whore.  I guess all wives should become mute, fat and submissive once married.  Cause that’s every man’s dream.  Oh. Wait.  It probably is.

Anyway, here’s the thing.  I don’t understand cheating.   What the hell is the point in being in a committed relationship if that’s not what you what?   If you want to sow oats and slut yourself around with whoever gives you a tingle, go for it.  Women have already been through their sexual liberation, haven’t they?  It’s ok for you to admit that you want or have different needs.  And it’s socially acceptable for you to go out and get laid whenever you feel like it.  A willing partner is just an internet click away these days.  You don’t even have to try.

But, despite all this, I think women cheat for different reasons than a man would. At least initially. I think a man may be more likely to give in to what is purely physically temptation, because sometimes “little willy”  is more in charge than “big willy”.  I think when a woman cheats she is straying because she feels a lack of intimacy and connection with her partner, and than gets sucked in if she feels connected to someone she knows.

So men:  If you want to keep your woman and make her happy, you should do all the sexual satisfying this article suggests.  But the thing is, before you can even get into her pants, you have to make sure that you are connected in all the other ways.  You have to keep the partnership going.  Then you can thrill with all your mad skills and seal the deal.

Women:  Give him lots of blowjobs.  The end.

Non-Douchebag Rearing Parenting

from mamiverse.com

from mamiverse.com

Ahhh Friday.  I thought I’d leave you all on Friday with a nice controversial thought to ponder. Let’s get everyone all hot on the tits before the weekend.  Let’s talk about Attachment Parenting.

I don’t get it.  I mean, some of it I get.  The whole purpose behind it is to nurture a meaningful and lifetime bond between a parent and the child. You are supposed to achieve this by following eight principles.  Here we go (all information from http://www.attachmentparenting.org):

1. Emotionally Preparing for Pregnancy and Birth.

Umm.  Yeah.  Whatever.  I don’t give a shit how many classes you take, or what you think you have planned, or what you think you want to happen.  Nothing, and I mean nothing, will emotionally prepare you for a person coming out of your vanaynay.  Once late labor begins, everything you think you know doesn’t even exist.  My advice is to get over it, get a doula to yell at, and keep the bar stocked with rum for Daddy during, and some gin for you after.  Nothing will ever prepare you for the immediate joy and sense of completion you get once you hold your child for the first time either.  So just go with it.

2. Feed with Love and Respect.  IE:  Feed on demand.

I’m sorry. This will make your life a living hell.  As a woman you will feel like wearing a bell and calling someone over to brand you.  The baby is happy, and you want to die.  My advice, whether you breast or bottle feed, is get that little fucker on a schedule and stick to it.  Better sleep for everyone.  This ain’t no dairy farm, folks.

3. Respond with Sensitivity.

I think the intention here is to be in tune and sensitive to your baby’s needs.  But in practice it ends up being stick your tit in its mouth every time it cries.  The philosophy is that the parent is needed to regulate a child’s emotions, that it is impossible for a child to self-soothe.  I call bullshit. If you have checked to make sure all needs are met ( including a snuggle), let them cry it out for a bit. Unless my child and my baby-whisperer cousin’s children are all some sort of emotionally advanced aliens, and the only children to survive and thrive from such a thing.  Possible, I guess. I am half Irish, after all.

4. Nurturing Touch

This one I like.  I like the skin on skin, the baby likes the skin on skin.  Sometimes we take baths together and she loves it.  And the Snuggli did wonders when she was teeny.  I think with this next one I will invest in a baby wrap and wear him/her for reals.  It’s practical too…..when I need both hands to deal with the Destroyer while carting # 2 around.  1 point for API.

5.  Co-Sleeping.

Oh dear.  This could be a whole other post.  Destroyer never, ever even slept in our room, let alone our bed.  Oh my God.  With three dogs in the house, she would have been trampled for sure.  One of my friends asked me where the baby slept when she was brand new.  I was like,  “in her crib, where else?”  It hadn’t even occurred to me to bring her in our bed.  I could roll over on her.  I could smother her.  Oh my God.  It’s more than my neurotic self could handle.

Further more.  That’s our bed.  I have friends who now cannot get their toddler out of their room at night.  I can’t even.  No wonder people thought it was weird for us to be pregnant again so soon.  They probably haven’t even had sex since their first child was born.  That’s a lot of long showers, boys, while you take care of your business.

6.Consistent and Loving Care

Yeah.  Basically this means that Moms never leave their child’s side.  And if they do, make everything around them flexible so they don’t freak out from the separation.  Fuck that. There is this other person involved called Daddy.  And he is not a second class parent.  He is an equal partner.  It takes a goddamn village to raise a child, for reals.  And I think it’s important for a child to feel comfortable with someone other than me.  My daughter gets consistent and loving care.  With the village that is raising her.

7. Positive Discipline.

“Positive discipline helps a child develop a conscience guided by his own internal discipline and compassion for others.”

So what if my kid is a little turd of a fucker who doesn’t have compassion for others yet?  I thought #3 said a child was incapable of even regulating their own emotions enough to self soothe, but you want me to trust them to self-fucking-discipline? I am at an absolute loss.  I have a great idea.  Let’s not teach a child any independence, any self-regulation, or ever leave their side.  Then let’s throw them in the world and expect them to make the right choices because they somehow are born with the ability to find it in their hearts to do the right thing.

I’m sorry.  Giant fail, Dr. Sears.

8. Strive for Balance.

Yes.  Don’t be afraid to say “no”. Check.  Be creative and fun. Yes.

I think no matter what parenting method you choose, this is the key.  Parenting is never easy.  We all make the choices that seem right for us.  But if you balance discipline with knowledge and routine and most of all love, your child probably won’t be an asshole. I think I’m going to start my own parenting method.  It’ll be called “Non-Douchebag Rearing Parenting.”

Expect it out this summer.  I’ll get on it.

Happy Friday, Bitches. x

The Destroyer Needs a Vet, But My Doctor is a Hobbit


Yesterday was time for the Destroyer’s 18 month checkup at the doctor.  I love going to the doctor with her.  It’s a chance for me to show off the wonderful little sprite I birthed and have doctor tell me what a wonderful job I’m doing.  Time to show off my exemplary parenting skills with my sweet, well behaved toddler.

Yeah.  Ok.

Let’s pretend for a minute that it hasn’t been minus-jesus-effing-christ-it’s-so-cold out for over a week. Let’s pretend the lack of outside play and other outings hasn’t made the child half insane with excess energy.  Let’s also pretend that I didn’t give her another fucking donut for breakfast after the one the day before turned out to be a HUGE mistake.  We were in a rush to get there in time, and I panicked at breakfast, ok?

So we got there, and to my surprise, my doctor wasn’t that far behind today.  Not too long a wait, much to the Destroyers dismay.  I actually don’t know how my doctor ever gets behind anyway.  She is the fastest human being I have ever met.  She is about half my size, Chinese, and hasn’t aged a day in the 20 years I’ve known her.  I’m pretty sure she’s from Hobbiton, although I’ve never seen her feet, and I’m not sure that Hobbits are allowed to be Chinese.  Anyway, she’s feisty, matter of fact, and totally fucking awesome.

There’s a long hallway just outside the waiting room with no danger of escape.  So the Destroyer gleefully ran screaming up and down the hall, pulling one toy or another with her while all the other children sat on their chairs, played with one toy, and wondered what the fuck was wrong with my kid.  I’m pretty sure the rest of the parents thought I was there for  Ritalin prescription.

Then it’s our turn.  God help me.  She did NOT want to lie on that fucking counter.  Not today, not later, not tomorrow, not ever.  She resisted by curling her little hands around what part of my hair had fallen out of my ponytail and lifting all 22 pounds of her delightful self up to a standing position.  Thank God I had gone for the “messy” look that morning.

So then, as she’s still screaming and totally naked, the nurse is sorta ordering me to get into the exam room because the Doc is ready for us.  Umm.  Did you notice that it’s still naked and did I mention it’s not potty trained?  Can I put her fucking diaper on at least?

The answer is no, declared by my child as she stood on the counter and screamed blue fucking murder.  So I tried to put the diaper on while she stood up, put her down on the floor and let her waddle into the exam room.

While I scrambled to pack up her crap and she miserably trotted down the hall with a giant diaper wedgie and and some crocodile tears.

Why is she so mad, the doc wanted to know.  Seriously?  She’s naked in public and you’re gonna stab her with sharp things.  Other than that, I don’t fucking know.  Did she want the sucker now then, instead of after the needles?  Yes, motherfucker.  Put something in her mouth to make the noise stop.  And can I have one too please?

So we made it through the exam as best as possible, with the baby screaming at me the entire time.  Was she talking?  The doc wanted to know.  Do animal sounds count?  I retorted.

Amazingly, they do.  So my child is perfectly normal, despite my tries to explain all the exceptional things she does. Apparently it’s normal for children of musicians to express themselves musically first, instead of verbally.  I think she was shitting me.  Trying to make me feel better that my diaper-halfway-up-the-crack-of-her-ass child is saying Woof and Ahoooo like a pack of dogs instead of words.

I think this kid needs a little less time with animals and more time with other children.  Otherwise I might just get her a loincloth and a rope and a banana, and let her have at it.

Wishing I Could Pray


I had this strange thought when I woke up in the early hours this morning about prayers and wishes.

I have had a really hard time sleeping during this pregnancy.  The kind of nights when you try so hard to fall asleep but can’t.  And I wished that it could be reversed, that I could trade not being able to fall asleep for waking up early.  And you know what?  It kinda worked out that way.  Thank God, because the delirium was almost making me drool a little bit during the day.

And this week I have been praying like Joan of Arc for a friends child, who is just so super sweet and so super sick.  Things finally look like they could be turning around.

I’ve prayed for a lot of things in my life.  For healing, for comfort, for guidance, for grace.

I’ve wished for a lot of things in my life.  To win. To be skinny.  To be rich. To live somewhere where the temperatures never include minus-freeze-your-nuts-off-in-an-instant.

Anyway, for some reason, when I first woke up this morning, I had this thought about wishes and prayers.  What’s the difference?  Is there a difference?  As usual, my non-committal answer is yes and no.

A prayer is a wish with substance.  When we think something is important enough, or valid enough, we’ll pray for it.  We’ll make it an official request.  We feel like its worthy of being heard and answered, and believe that someone is listening.

A wish is more frivolous. We wish for selfish reasons.  Things we want, but may not need.  The nice to haves.  But maybe, just maybe, we know deep down that winning that race or having that boy like you are not as important as other things.  Or maybe we wish because we don’t believe anyone is listening.

But essentially, you’re doing the same thing.

So this odd thought I had as my wish was granted this morning somehow gave me some sort of spiritual awakening.  Prayers are for people who know they are never completely alone.  People who know that someone is listening.

Wishes are for those who think they are alone in this world.  We wish because we have lost part of or all of our faith or never had any reason to have it in the first place.  But you know what?  Someone is listening, and just because you don’t know this doesn’t change it.

I think sometimes that the word pray makes people feel awkward.  I’m terribly guilty of this.  Sometimes the religious extremists out there put a bad taste in our mouths.  We associate people who talk about prayer freely as Bible thumping scary people.  Cults.  As usual, it’s a few crazy fucks who ruin things for the rest of us normal folk.

So wish, pray, hope, dream.  Whatever you want to call it.  But regardless of the “class” of your request, or pain, or need, take comfort in having someone to talk to.

Have faith, even as you toss your penny in the well.  Someone heard you.


Here Gun, There Gun, Everywhere a Gun Gun


The media has recently been ablaze talking about gun control.  Stricter gun laws, less accessibility.  Guns don’t kill people, people kill people.

Right to bear arms.

Oh my fucking gawd.

How about the right to send your child to school and not pick them up at the city morgue.? How about the right to leave your teenager at home while you work and not come home to find them dead from an accidental gunshot wound?  How about the right to live a peaceful life where people solve their problems with humanity instead of violence?

So here it is.  Maybe it is the difference between American and Canadian culture, but I just don’t get people’s fascination with firearms.  The only valid reason anyone should own a gun is for hunting.  And when not in use, that gun should be in a safe that no child, thief, or crazy person has access to.  And the process of approval for owning a firearm should be extensive.  As in, no crazy people.

I’m really sorry if that’s fucking inconvenient for all the gun enthusiasts out there.  I’m sure that all the victims of gun crimes find it really inconvenient to be paralyzed or missing half their face, or to have just buried their child.  Don’t let those people trample on your rights or anything.  The right to feel like your balls just grew bigger because your gun holds more rounds than the other guys.

There is just absolutely no good reason for any law abiding, well intentioned person to own or operate any sort of automatic, semi-automatic or concealable weapon.  Don’t tell me it’s for protection.  Because you likely couldn’t hit the broad side of a goddamn barn with a handgun unless you’re some sort of gun Rain Man.  Oh yeah, and you’ll probably just end up being a victim of your own weapon.  Good thing you had protection.

Every single day when I read the news, there is some sort of murder, or murder-suicide, or mass shooting being reported.  When will people learn?  According to Albert Einstein, the definition of insanity is repeating the same behavior over and over and expecting a different result.  So something has to change., or I declare all Americans insane.

Seriously though.  Guns are a part of culture in the US.  And convincing someone to change their culture is a very very difficult thing to do.  Even with the disastrous consequences that seem to be more and more common, how do you convince someone to give up their “rights”?

I don’t know.  Where do you even start?  I mean, a change in laws will be useful in the long run maybe, but what do you do about all the weapons already in the general population?  How do you make these inaccessible to the wrong people?  How do we truly protect ourselves?

I just don’t know.

But I think this:  The right to bear arms is a pretty old “right”.  As in, declared a few hundred years ago? In 1791?  So maybe we should solve all problems with gun fights, like we used to do.  Forget courts and lawyers and trials.  Forget innocent before proven guilty.  Because if we are going to declare our rights by some archaic declaration, maybe we should live by archaic law.  Leave people to solve their own shit.

Fuck civilization.  We got rights.



This weekend has had its ups and downs.

Up, because we have spent some great times with family and friends.  Eating has become my new hobby, so having company over is another excuse to gorge myself in an obscene way.

Down, because I am horribly insomniac right now.  Not being able to sleep when you’re pregnant is one of the cruelest forms of punishment.  I must have pissed God off recently, because fighting to stay awake during the day and not sleeping at night has become my new routine.  My thing.  I’m starting to know the after midnight lineup on all my favorite channels by heart. I also sit there and think about all the people I hate because they are sleeping and I am not.  They probably drank hot rum with a cinnamon stick before bed to ease their mind, and I did not.  Ugh.  How many months of this?

Down, because the weather is just about minus 1000 degrees Celsius right now.  Do you know what it feels like to go outside and feel like your eyeballs have frozen solid?  The instant you step outside?  I’m afraid to rub my eye because I’m pretty sure the eyeball will shatter into a million pieces upon contact.

Up, because Tom Brady and the Cheater Brigade got beat by the Ravens yesterday, and will not be making an appearance at the Superbowl. I hate that guy.

Up, because the Destroyer has been in a great mood and learned this delightful new game called  “up/down”.  I say “up” she stands up.  I say “down” she crouches down.  An genius way to distract a toddler on the verge of meltdown in a restaurant.

Down, because the Destroyer destroyed her face last night.  She fell against the edge of the coffee table and cut open her chin.  With a nice bruise to match and two charming puncture holes in her tongue from her little fangs.  Are babies supposed to have teeth that pointy?  OMG.  She is part animal of some sort.  For reals.

And that, kids, is our weekend in a nutshell.  Up and down.


Women: Appreciate Your Men


I have a secret to share today.  Don’t get too excited, this isn’t going to be a sexual instruction blog.  We’ll save that for another day when I feel like putting my teacher hat on.

I am a little bit of a still-in-the-closet-hypocrite sometimes.  And unfortunately for Husband, most of my hypocrisy gets directed his way.  Cause, you know, he’s kinda there.

For example, I always bitch at him when he bitches at the kid or the dogs.  God forbid he yell at them.  I mean, what kind of parent gets frustrated, yells and perhaps even gives the offending creature a smack on the ass when the retarded animal is stepping on my toe and piercing it with its claw?  ( Not that that happened to me or anything)

Well, I do, actually.  And gracious as he is, he never says anything bitchy to me when I’m freaking out, unless we already having a little row ourselves.  But if it were him, I would crawl up his ass before he even knew what was happening. Cause I’m super reasonable that way.

The other day Husband went out with a couple of the guys to blow off some steam.  I happily sent him on his way, because every one needs to get out and have a couple of beers now and then.  It makes us more pleasant human beings, especially when the alternative is having conversations with a toddler that consist of trying to get her to repeat one syllable words back to you.

So the next day, I think maybe the beers from the night before may have still been affecting him a little, because he seemed a little tired, and uninterested in getting up.  So in my allocated  “irrationally irritated due to pregnancy” time during the day, I felt a little resentful as he lounged in front of the tv while I puttered around with laundry, the dishwasher, the Destroyer, etc.

I left him with a grumpy toddler and a house full of half completed shores with barely enough time for me to get to the classes I teach.

And then I came home.  And you know what?  Without me having to tell him, or show him, or direct him in any way, he had completed every half-assed chore I had started.  The house was tidy.  The pile of crap on top of the piano was all organized and un- cluttered.  And somehow, he had managed to make the house not smell like a barn, even with all three dogs still inside.

Seriously.  This was BJ earning behaviour, let me tell you.  I am gonna have to make time to make good on that.

And the unavoidable social commentary started in my head.  There really can’t be an “I” in team.  Not only would it be spelled all fucked up, but really, life just works better when we work as a team.  And yesterday humbly reminded me that sometimes, when I’m too busy being on my high horse of Team Awesome, I forget to give the other member credit for all the shit he does.

So going into the weekend, kids, remember that we call each other partners for a reason.  Remember to appreciate the little every day things that your partner does for you, and cut them some slack.

And when they so something particularly awesome, show them your, ummm, appreciation.




The Millennial Pastor

An iPhone Pastor for a Typewriter Church

For The Love Of Ligh

APK Photography Blog


Written by Natalie Oldham

Midnight Calico Farm

One Family's Journey into Farm Life

unreally written

A mushy mom, a little madness, and a lot of musing.


Child Rearing with a Professional Twist

Feminist Philosophers

News feminist philosophers can use

Out an' About

Loving life and Embracing a New Earth

Cooking Without Limits

Food Photography & Recipes

MOMtessori Life

Living the Montessori life as a mom with two young children

Pirate Patty Reviews

Books, Books, and More Books!!

Archon's Den

The Rants & Rambles of A Grumpy Old Dude

Mind Of An In-Depth Woman

My thoughts about love, music, spirituality, relationships, life and random topics in between

The Bede Update

He may be small but he is mighty

Ends and Beginnings

"The World is round and the place which may seem like the end may also be the beginning."-Ivy Baker Priest

Musings of An Insomniac

Late night thoughts of a perpetual dreamer..

Surviving Grief

How to embrace grief and heal


This WordPress.com site is the cat’s pajamas


A blog about family, food, and other good stuff.

Mums diary blog


Breaking Sarah - Bruised, Not Broken

One woman's raw journey through incest, teen pregnancy, trauma, death, and family estrangement.


Letting it all hang out


A stay at home mothers guide to self discovery

Peace Hacks

in search of a better us

Luminous Blue

a mother's and daughter's journey with transformation, cancer, death and love

The Secret Life of Emily Maine

a place to shout my secrets

Dramatic Momologue

The juggle is real.

Ben's Bitter Blog

"We make bitter better."

David McVety

A Spiritual Shepherd's Thoughts on Faith and Family

Beating Myself Into a Dress

First a wedding dress, then a maternity dress, now I'm just trying to fit into ANY dress.

The Fat Chick Memoirs

Dealing with my Weight-Loss One Funny Story at a Time

The Science of Mom

The Heart and Science of Parenting

The Fat Bottom Bard

Waxing Poetic and Penning Tall Tales

Jeneral Musings

A personal potpourri of thoughts

Supporting Birth Diversity

Celebrating the Tapestry of Motherhood


frightfully wondrous things happen here.

An Early Start

Meet Jax a funny, kind, and smart preschooler who was a micro-preemie born at 23 weeks. Now that Jax is older, the scariness of the NICU has faded, but we're still learning how to manage the lasting effects of prematurity including chronic medical issues, ADHD, and Autism Spectrum Disorder. This is our story of love, hope, and survival.

Writings From Dr. Oolie's Pond

Poetry, Prose, and Random Thoughts

You're Wrong and That's Okay

Helping those who should really learn to help themselves...

%d bloggers like this: