thoughts on life, parenting, news, and crazy shit

Month: October, 2014

10 Reasons Why Co-Sleeping Is Bullshit

It's King size bed.  Do you see any room for grown ups?

It’s King size bed. Do you see any room for grown ups?

As I trudge myself back from the pits of of the stomach flu, I’ve confirmed a most important feeling about parenting:

Co-sleeping is for the birds.

Before you get all hot on the titties, hear me out.  I’ve put together a list of evidence ans clear points that will argue my case most effectively:

1.  We have a king size bed.  Every night, I end up almost falling out while Thing 1 and Thing 2 press their little bodies against me tighter and tighter until I hang on to the edge by my toes.  One end is reserved for 50 million stuffed animals and Husband is banished to the spare bed downstairs.  Toddlers take up way more than there fair share of the space.

2. Kicked in the head.  So many times.

3. When someone pees through their diaper, you run the risk of having to wash the sheets.

4.  When two of the three of us have the stomach flu, vomit ends up all over the bed.  Even with a bucket.

5.  The littlest of the tiny people roll in the vomit and end up with vomit chunks in their hair.

6. In my fevered state, I may or may not notice said chunks of vomit until husband pints them out at breakfast the next morning.

7. Do you know how many loads of laundry it takes to wash all the bedding and 50 million stuffed animals of a king sized bed?  6.  That’s all day laundry Bitches.  All day.

8.  Trying to sneak out of bed to use the bathroom or drink coffee requires the stealth of a ninja.  Stealth I usually don’t have.

9.  Nothing like waking up with a peed diaper ass in your face.

10. Co sleeping is bullshit. Because, stomach flu.


The truth is, I always said I’d never ever co-sleep.  Just like I swore that I would circumcise my Buddy.  I guess never say never, because it always comes back to haunt you.

Both of my toddlers slumber peacefully in bed with me every night, and the truth is, when they don’t have the stomach flu, it’s kinds nice to wake up to little smiles and cuddles from their onesie pajama’d selves.

But this week, it was bullshit.

Days Off Aren’t Really A Thing After Babies, Are They?


Does anybody with children remember what it’s like to have a day off?  A REAL day off?  Those days where you might not get out of your pajamas.  You spend the day practicing how to eat for the day that you finally just say “fuck it” and become a life long fatty.  I remember waiting for noon to happen and them to kick off the football so we could pour the first gin.

That’s what it’s like for all you Bitches out there sans babies.

Don’t get me wrong, yesterday was a pretty good day with the tiny humans.  We had a couple of bumps along the way, but it was pretty fun.  Not completely relaxing, but whatever.  That’s what wine is for after they go to bed, right?

It was a pretty regular day, starting with a trip to the park, a fall off a swing.  Rounded out the early afternoon with some mac n cheese,  cartoons and a nap for Buddy.  We made pizza dough and got all the stuff ready for dinner.

I was on my fifth load of laundry and feeling pretty satisfied with all the things I had accomplished on my day “off”.  That’s when I got cocky.  You’ve got to know your limitations, Bitches, or disaster will strike.

I decided that the dog’s nails needed to be cut.  All three of them.  Here’s a tiny piece of advice:  If you need to engage in dog grooming activities while two toddlers are running wild in the same room, give your head a shake.  Either lock the children up or just don’t try.  Wielding sharp objects while wrestling a furry version of a greased pig with two toddlers literally climbing on your back is not advised. It causes accidents that result in copious amounts of blood all over the dog bed that I just fucking washed.  It seriously looked like an Ebola field hospital in my living room.  I was covered in blood, the dog had a tampon taped to it’s toe.  I used up half a bottle of quick stop.

Know your limits, Bitches.  Know your limits to what you can safely accomplish in a day.

Bathtime was the usual entertainment, thanks to Bestie’s insistence that the Destroyer learn how to wash her cookie.  We had just bought a new duck shaped loofa, which she promptly shoved between her legs so that she could make her vagina quack.  And the irony is that it kept coming out “cock”.  Why?  Because I am a terrible parent and laughed my fucking ass off.

Sometimes, whatever.  just whatever.

Bedtime was bullshit, with an hour to get them sleeping from start to finish. A yelling match in between, lots of tears, threats of spankings, more tears, and the uncorking of a very bubbly bottle of wine at the conclusion.

So you see, Bitches, days off are not really a thing anymore.  But I wonder if I kept the alcohol ingestion timeline from the old days if it would be more relaxing?

What do you do on your days off, with or without tiny humans?

Losing Our Virginity


Does anybody remember what it’s like to be a virgin?  Innocent.  A little awkward.  Thinking that you know what it’s like from what you see in the movies or read.  Pretty smug in your safety from all the side effects that go along with it.  Proud to be able to fight off the ones threatening your innocence before it’s taken from you.

Yesterday, we as Canadians lost our virginity.

We thought we were so safe up here in the Great White North.  Safe from the violence that engulfs the rest of the world.

I mean, we’re so busy keeping warm and tending to our dog sleds that we don’t have time to shoot each other.  We only just started selling guns along side our whaling harpoons last week anyway, but I suppose it was just a mater of time.

In reality, we are no strangers to violence.  Do you have any idea how many young Aboriginal girls go missing and get killed every year in Manitoba?  Did you hear about Phoenix Sinclair, the little girl who was beat to death by her own mother a few years back?

Or how about that serial killer in British Columbia who fed the remains to the pigs years ago?

So you see, we are not strangers to violence.  We’re just as good at being cruel and violent as the rest of you.

The difference is that Canada finally made international news because someone shot up Parliament yesterday.  Because it’s linked to terrorism and extremist beliefs.  And CNN decided that some shit was happening in Canada that fit with it’s current news arc.

And believe me, I think this event that devirginized us is tragic.  We have felt the pain that so many Americans and people around the world have felt when people attack us merely because we believe things that are different from them.  I feel so sad for the men and women who went to a normal work day and never saw their family again.

I’ll tell you what.  I don’t give a fuck about hearing the sensationalized stories CNN has to offer about ISIS and what Barack Obama thinks.  I care about this mans’s mother.  I care about his dog, who is obviously his best friend.  I care about his friends and his life.

To me, that is news worthy.

We can’t take the crazy out of people, Bitches.   We can’t protect ourselves every moment every day, can we?  Terrorists are effective because they make people afraid.  They rule by creating terror and fear.  And the news stations feed that.  It’s like violence porn.

Well fuck that.  I will be ruled by love and courage and pride in my fellow Canadians.  And leave the fighting to the army.

Glad to see that Parliament is sitting today.  It’s like thumbing our noses at those fuckers.

And condolences to the families of those that died.  Love and prayers to you all.

Cookie’s Commandments Of Not Killing People



Dead babies in a storage locker.  Some Quebec asshole runs down some Mounties with his car because he wants to be  Jihadist.   Nurses killing patients because they or their families are annoying.  Chopping off people’s heads for not being an Islamic extremist.

It goes on and on, Bitches.

And the truth is, I feel  like I can’t handle the level of cray-cray-crazy that some of you assholes are dishing out lately.

Not you specifically, but you know what I mean.

How does a human get to that point?  It can’t all be mental illness.  Because if being an asshole is a mental illness someone should call the WHO.  Because Ebola has got nothing on this disease and it seems to be contagious.

You know what the real irony is?  People today are so fucking selfish and entitled and greedy, and yet so worried about everyone else.  And I don’t mean concerned for their well being.  I mean concerned that someone else has more than them.  Worried that what Joe next door is doing behind closed doors is somehow going to affect them.  Busy pointing fingers at everyone else’s bullshit and sins and whatever that they completely forgot to worry about their own assholery.

Have people always been like this?  Did we always murder each other and hide dead babies in lockers?

Probably, but news reporting is just that much better I guess.

Time for a new set of rules, I think.

Cookie’s Commandments of Not Killing People:

1. Don’t kill babies.

2.  Don’t run over people with your car unless they are trying to kill a baby.

3. Don’t hide bodies where other people will find them. Not killing people will help this significantly.

4. If your religion encourages killing, become a non-practicing believer.

5. If you accidentally kill someone, say you’re sorry.

6. If you feel like you are at risk for killing someone, don’t keep knives, guns, baseball bats or bombs near by.

7.  Don’t believe everything your fellow Jihadist says.

8. If you feel the urge to kill things, call for help, or play a shooter video game.

9.  Try to keep your asshole level at or near normal.  Keep the crazy at bay.

10.  Don’t fucking kill people.





My Own Personal Version Of Hell


We all have our own vision of Hell.  I mean, we picture some red asshole with horns and a pitchfork and a whole lot of fire.  Or a whole bunch of little imps whipping people and making them do a whole bunch of hard manual labour for ever and ever.

But Bitches, the devil lives in Canada and wears a Superstore smock.  Hell is the checkout and the holding rooms are the produce aisle and the seafood section.  The imps are in fact my children, tearing out each others hair in the cart and rolling tomatoes around like bowling balls on the floor while I try to find a way out.

Whatever sins I commit every week, I fucking do my penance by taking two toddlers grocery shopping.

Oh, I used to be so nonchalant about it.  I’d take them to the store, toddle around, make up recipes in my head as I perused the aisles.  That was back when they were mostly strapped into carseats. It was also when they didn’t talk.  And when there was only one of them.

And when I fucking shopped at Safeway.

People say that having children changes you, and they sure were right.   My friends used to always comment about how I shopped at Safeway, it was so expensive, blah blah blah.

They were right, but I didn’t care.  I figured we could afford it, and I like someone to bag my groceries and put them in my car if I say so.  I don’t mind paying for service.

Now I have two little perpetually hungry little monsters who need to be fed incessantly.  They are 1 and 3.  Can you imagine how much food it will take to satisfy them when they are 10?

So, because all of a sudden I am frugal and stupid, I’ve decided to shop at Superstore.  It’s like some cheap mom gene got activated that will soon cause me to wear scrunchies and high waisted pants.

The last time I took both of them was worse than yesterday.  It was a Saturday, I only had an hour, and someone pissed their pants in the checkout.

Yesterday wasn’t as annoying, but the lobster and crab aquariums were empty.  I wasn’t prepared for the assholery heartache this would cause in my Twee Destroyer.  She likes to go shopping for one reason:  To see the fucking almost and soon to be dead and eaten shellfish in the seafood department.  She is either a sadistic little fuck or completely innocent of the death and carnage about to be bestowed on her little friends.

So, whatever.

I literally spend between half to two thirds the amount I used to on groceries, but I miss the stress free environment at my old store.  I miss the nice cashiers who don’t hate you or their job enough to not be able to fake loving it for a few hours a day.  I miss standing there calmly on my Iphone while someone rings up and bags and packs my cart.  Is it worth it?  Do I just spend whatever I save in groceries in wine anyway?

I miss grocery shopping alone.

I miss being able to do some errands without living in constant fear of someone shitting their pants.

I miss the old days when we were kids when parents could just lock their kids in the car for an hour.  Our parents generation had it made.

Seriously.  My personal Hell.  I’m not kidding.

Clearly, We Used My Egg

So yesterday was Bestie’s birthday.  Another reason we are so tight…..our birthdays fall in the same week.  Horoscope nonsense and all.

Husband was working so we decided to round up another pal and treat ourselves to brunch.  And treat ourselves we did:

Eating is our thang, Bitches.

Eating is our thang, Bitches.

I can’t express to you what it’s like to eat a 60 dollar breakfast.  Other than bliss.  True gluttony. And pure satisfaction.  It also is rather hard on the wallet, which is why we usually opt for the 10.99$ Smitty’s special, but yesterday was important. We needed to eat.

The brunch itself is in a fancy downtown hotel, and Grandma happens to live in the adjacent apartment building, so I dropped off the little people to her, because there was no way I was dealing with peed pants and bullshit when I had serious eating to do.

After we were done being fat, we toddled over to Grandma’s to pick up the kids.  Now understand, Bitches, that this is a senior’s building.  And I have to tell you something about Bestie.

She’s kinda brown.

So the debate of the day became whether or not people were watching us with the kids, and wondering:

Is she the nanny or the wife?

And I think the answer lies in who your audience is.  Watching Bestie with my children should lead anyone to think that she could possibly be a parent to my kids.  Because sometimes she is much nicer to them than I am.  Sometimes she catches things that I don’t.

However, in the nice downtown senior’s complex, it probably never occurred to the residents there that two women could make babies together.  And due to the inherent, unintentional racism that happens in the older generations, they probably assumed she was the nanny.

Scenario 2:

We went to a petting zoo.  It involved a lot of waiting in line for pony rides and petting farm animals.  And it was super fun until Buddy fell over and injured his face on a goat’s horn.  Then it was times to go.

In this scenario, I’m pretty sure everyone thought we were a couple.  Bestie was hoping for that as the Destroyer tantrumed on the way out and made it look like she was kidnapping this blond haired blue eyed child that clearly in no way came from one of her eggs.  So we’re pretty sure that everyone there assumed we were lesbians who found some Viking sperm to mix with my Irish blood to produce an insanely beautiful, but insane little see-through fair skinned human.

Clearly we used my egg.

I super love fucking with people.  We should have held hands or something.

But maybe (hopefully)  this just isn’t a big deal anymore.  Hopefully people saw us and wondered nothing.  Hopefully, if they assumed we were a couple all they saw were happy kids (minus the “goating” accident) and a nice family.

Because it’s 2014 people.  Nannies are usually Filipino now.

I’m gonna really hear about it for that last joke, aren’t I?

Anyway happy birthday, Bestie.  I’m gonna go shake off my hangover now.


I Just Got Fucked Over By A Jug Of Milk


I’m gonna make this short and sweet today, Bitches.  Because I’m short on time and patience today.

You know what totally gets on my tits?

Price gouging.  That’s right.  Stores that fuck you over just because they can.

Last night on my way home I had to stop for milk.  You know how it is with babies.  You can’t run out.  It’s one of the biggest household crisis known to mothers.  Especially when you have a clingy 15 month old who won’t give up his bottle.  But that’s a whole other post.

So anyway, I stop at Shoppers because it’s on the way and the first one is all out of 3% milk.  I know, I guess he won’t die if I by 2%, but he likes what he likes and that’s what the doctor said to give until 2 years old, right?  I am the picture of motherhood and my dedication knows no boundaries.  So, due to my super momhood, I go to the next fucking Shoppers to get it.

And they are all out of 4 L jugs.

Seriously?  Did I somehow get teleported into some remote northern community where supplies only get replenished once a month.

But they had 2L jugs.  And this is where I got pissy, on top of the fact that this is the second stop I’ve made and I’m already late getting home and holy fuck why is this so hard right now?

A 4L of 3% milk costs 5.69$ at Shoppers.  Expensive to begin with, but wait for this……a 2L cost $4.39$

I call bullshit.  That’s ridiculous.

And not only that, but their other 4L of milk are on sale, for 4.99$, excluding the homo milk that all mommies have to buy for their babies.

Because the world is full of assholes.  They know you’re going to cave and buy it anyway, because when baby’s hungry, baby’s hungry.  I’m actually surprised that tampons don’t cost about 500$ a box.

But then we’d probably just say fuck it, and bleed all over the place.  And men are afraid of periods.  Because they’re assholes too.

Fuck I hate the world today.

Taboo Tattoos? Does An Employer Have the Right To Regulate My Body?


So, Bitches.  How many of you out there have tattoos? Piercings?  Shaved your head or dyed it a crazy color?

It’s funny.  20 years ago, I think this bodily ornamentation was seen as a bit taboo.  It was isolated to stereotypical groups of people: bikers, thugs, freaks, hippies, punks.

Now, it seems to not only be socially acceptable, but increasingly the new normal.

There is some sort of petition going to Ottawa right now to implore the Federal Government to make it illegal for an employer to discriminate against an employee because of a tattoo or piercing.

I’m not actually sure of the specifics, but I would hope that it will include preventing companies from creating policies that restrict an employee from acquiring or showing tattoos or piercings while working.  I hope it prevents employers from making ridiculous rules about attire or uniforms and even restricting what you can do once you are no longer on company time.

For example, forcing an employee to either remove a piercing while they are working, or even stupider, making them put a band aid over top of a visible one. Or deciding that anything more than 2 earrings per ear will offend the customers.

I call bullshit.  As a paying customer, I don’t get offended by some one else’s choices.  If they serve me well, they could look like the lizardman with a split tongue and the whole fucking nine yards, and I wouldn’t give two shits.  If anything, it would make the experience more memorable, and I would be more likely to return.

As a paying customer, if I had a server with a giant bandaid on their face, I would wonder:

1.  Does this chick let her boyfriend beat the shit out of her?

2. Is this the return of “Nelly”?

3. What kind of fucking establishment has so little respect for their employees that they would force them to do something that looks so idiotic?

It may not be the type of establishment I would want to support with my business.

I understand that businesses want to convey a certain look of professionalism.  I understand that they have the right to issue uniforms and grooming standards in order to run their business as they see fit.

But what if they all of a sudden decide that their uniform standards include blonde hair and blue eyes?  What if they decide that customers don’t want to be served by fat people? What if they decide that they don’t actually like to hire Jewish people?

Those things are protected by discrimination laws already in place of course, but my thought is this:

It’s an asshole move.  And not only is it an asshole move, but it’s an opportunity for employers to use the excuse of a “no piercing or visible tattoo” policy to in fact discriminate against a certain group of people.  Because they are so common place now,  an employer who is racist against black people could fire someone for violating the uniform standard while really just using it as an excuse to get rid of someone based on something else.

At the end of the day, I think it’s a slippery slope.  The current legislation says in not so many words:  “Their house, their rules.”  That applies to being able to dictate whether or not an employee is even allowed to change their clothes after a shift before leaving the establishment.

I understand rules are in place for a reason, and an employer has to be reasonably able to run their business as they see fit, but I’m not whether my decision to ornament or not ornament my body is going to impact their business.

For the record,   I currently have zero tattoos and zero piercings.

Over to you, Bitches.

Fat Attack


Here’s the thing about diets, Bitches:

They fucking suck sometimes.  Especially around the holidays.

We aren’t doing anything crazy or strict, but in the last month or so, we’ve decided to take better care of our hearts.  No gimmicks, no bullshit.  Just trying our best to eat a lot more fruit and vegetables, a lot less processed crap, and set a good example of nutrition for our kids.

So, I’ve been making everything from scratch.  Lots of vegetarian dishes, and crockpotting to my heart’s content.

The results?   Excellent, actually.  We have more energy.  I’ve lost about 15 pounds.  That part was sort of a bonus at first, but then you see the numbers move, and oh, boy!  Let’s starve a bit and see how low I can go, right?


Then Thanksgiving happened.  The problem with being the host is that it’s not over when everyone leaves.  The leftovers beckon you like a hooker.  Taunting you to have a little taste.  Just one more bite.

I know, it’s just a couple of days.  Get back on the wagon.

But Bitches, I don’t wanna.

I wanna take a whole week off, instead of just Sunday.  I wanna eat the leftovers and annihilate the rest of my birthday cake.

Honestly, I would rather eat the rest of the cheese and pate then ever take a shit again.

What is wrong with me?

I certainly don’t want to have a heart attack at 45.  I don’t want to be so obese that I can’t race the Destroyer to Gago’s and have her beat me because I’m too fat and out of shape to run.

I want to try all my new healthy vegetarian, high fibre, low cholesterol recipes and wow Husband for taking such good care of him.

And then I want to sit in the dark with a bottle of cheap champagne and a bag of Doritos.

So, how do you do it?  How do you get back on the wagon after it tips over for a few days?  How do you avoid having to wear fat pants forever?  How do you stay motivated and healthy?

Answers, please.  Recipes welcome.  Motivation needed.

Happy Birthday To ME, And Happy Thanksgiving To All My Bitches.


It’s my birthday, Bitches.

I’m not going to tell you how old I am, because age is just a number, right?


As far as birthdays go, I’m kinda whatever today.  I’ve had this shitty cold all weekend.  I had a shitty sleep, and I’m feeling like the urge to drink tequila by myself on a Monday morning would be inappropriate seeing as I still have to cook dinner for 15 and mind at least one of my children.

BUT, it’s a beautiful fall day outside, and it also happens to be Canadian Thanksgiving, so what am I thankful for?

1. That my cold is just a cold and not Ebola.  Yes, I’m obsessing.

2. For my babies.  They made me a human, gave me feelings and empathy and all that shit.

3. For my husband, because who wants to go through it alone?

4. For my family, because they HAVE to like me, or at least pretend to.

5. For a roof over my head and a plate full of food.

6. For Baby Einstein.  Julie Clark, you save me some days.

7. For the talents I’ve been given, and the balls to use them, instead of punching someone else’s clock.

8. For Canada.  For freedom. For safety. For health.

9. For friends.  Who love me in spite of myself.

10.  For you Bitches.  For this forum.  For the ability to express myself and never worry about the ramifications of my opinions.

Happy Thanksgiving, Bitches.  Go stuff yourself full of joy and food, and we’ll get back to ranting tomorrow.

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