Case In Point

Rather than remaining the quiet observer she usually is, Bee is becoming much, much more outgoing. In fact, she’ll usually respond to just about anyone that talks to her, though what she might say can be slightly less predictable.

We have finished brunch on Sunday and are getting ready to leave the very busy restaurant, when we realize that the wallet is in the car. Chris goes to get it. Meanwhile, our hostess comes around and engages Bee:

Hostess: Did you like your lunch?

Bee (pointing at me): Her name’s Mummy.

Hostess: Did you eat all of your lunch?

Bee: Daddy went to pee!

Mummy: (Gah!) Daddy went to the car to get the wallet!

Bee (sagely): Yeah.

Hostess forces a laugh and backs away.

We leave a good tip.



I’m All Verklempt.

Ok, fine. I wasn’t there. I didn’t meet anyone cool, didn’t get drunk, didn’t make a video, am not in on any one of, like, a million private jokes that must now exist, and did not get to see anyone’s boobs but my own. (as spectacular as they may be.)


Can I just say how absolutely proud I am of my fellow Canadian sistahs, and in particular the MBT crew? REPRESENT my honeys! Tales of your deliciousness, debauchery, dedication to the cause and downright delightfullness are all over the blogosphere. It seems like everybody partied with, drank with, ended up in a bathtub with, had occasion to violate, or just said something really nice about the Canadian gals.

I couldn’t be there, but I couldn’t be prouder of the crew that rep’d the maple leaf. Way to go, lovelies.

Can’t wait to really hear all about it.

gratuitous Bee pic, because I need something to brag about too.



Who Needs BlogHer...

When you have TFC?!

Screw you, Aston Villa!

though clearly a hooligan, kgirl was merely acting as her friend's coaster.



Oh, People

So, funny thing just happened:

I’m waiting to get my bagel from the little sandwich place in our food court, and a gentleman comes and orders a bagel as well. We are the only people at the stand, waiting for food. It’s early, like 7:30am. I am 6 months pregnant. Clearly pregnant. I am leaning so that I am facing this man, though we don’t acknowledge each other.

A moment later, a woman, presumably a coworker, walks over to this man from wherever she had been in the food court – looks like McDonalds. They start chatting. Did I mention that we are approximately 3 feet from each other? I am not really listening to their conversation, but like I said, we are spittin’ distance of each other (were I a spittin’ gal), so I couldn’t help but overhear –

“…well my neighbour just had a miscarriage at 35 weeks. Apparently, it happens all the time. Yup, 35 weeks…”

For a moment I feel like I’m in a tv show, because, unprompted, how could someone possibly say such a thing with a 6-month pregnant woman standing RIGHT BESIDE HIM?

I am seriously aghast. Aghast. There is no other word. How do I react? I kind of want to cry; I kind of want to pull some serious bitch on him. Instead, I sense the blood rushing out of my face, and I feel, well, like a 6-month pregnant woman who has just, unsolicited, been reminded that the worst thing I could possibly think of with regards to being pregnant, happens. All the time. The woman behind the counter hands me my bagel and as I turn, I make eye contact with the man.

“Great story,” I practically whisper, and continue back to my office.

One chocolate milk and a half hour later, the blood seems to be returning to my head. Wonder how long it will be before he can get the foot out of his mouth?



10 Reasons Why It’s Ok That I’m Not Going to BlogHer

10. My Gals are getting there road-trip style, together in one van, and they smell.

9. I don’t want to share my awesome Canadian chocolate with you.

8. I would give myself gestational diabetes by stopping here every night for a snack.

7. My last trip to Chicago involved cops, the scary ghetto, a cage, a huge waste of company time and so much fun that I’m afraid no trip back would ever measure up.

6. We now have Sephora, H&M and terrorism paranoia in Canada. Pfft. I don’t need you, America.

5. This gives someone else the chance to accomplish the most embarrasing faux pas of the weekend.

4. Redneck Mommy would have the biggest girl-crush on me, and you’d all be jealous.

3. Tickets for the Wiggles will be going on sale during that time, and I’ll be a way better mom than you when I get tickets for my kid, and you don’t.

2. Some of you puritans might look down on a 6-month pregnant woman getting hammered.

1. Reading bloggers is ok, but listening to them talk in real life? God, so boring.



Stoopid Mummy

So, tonight I made a delectible dinner of quinoa with a veggie/bean salad on top. Yummers. Bee ate all of the quinoa, and then enthusiastically picked out the corn, avacado, tomatoes and cucumbers, leaving the rest.

I eat like a horse these days, so I polished mine off and went in for seconds. Bee saw me reaching for a serving of the salad out of the bowl, looked at the food she had dumped all over her tray and exclaimed, ‘Mummy, I want stoopid!’

Huh? ‘What was that, love?’ I ask.

She looked at me like I was hard of hearing. ‘I want stoopid! I want stoopid!’

'You want stoopid?'

I mentally rehash my dinner prep, wondering what vegetable exactly, she had overheard me cursing. The beans needed an extra rinse, and a half of a red pepper fell on the floor, but, nope; I’m pretty sure I got through it without swearing (out loud).

Was it the stoopid corn she wanted? Stoopid cucumbers?

I tried to figure out what the hey she was referring to as I continued to reach for the serving spoon. Bee flipped.



‘Oooohhhh. You want to SCOOP IT.’

Vigourous nodding from helpful toddler.

Stoopid Mummy, indeed.


hey, have you voted?


Hot Fun in the Summer

Beck's recent post on toddler summer fun ideas was amazing, and it not only gave me plenty of inspiration for new things to try with Bee, but it moved me to write down a few of the ways in which we keep busy these days. This is less of an I’m-biting-your-post kind of thing, and more of an I-want-to-remember-the-cute-things-you-do kind of a thing. But still, mad props to Beck for sharing the love.

What an original way to start my list, huh? Nonetheless, this classic timewaster activity keeps Bee engaged for ages. We do a lot of the usual – Mummy blows bubbles, Bee gets soapy goo all over herself trying to blow bubbles (you should hear the celebrations when she actually manages to emancipate a whole sphere from its little plastic cage), but we like to mix it up a bit too. Try blowing bubbles at the cat and watching her go apeshit trying to paw at the things before they burst, or take the bubbles onto the lawn and gently blow them onto the grass. Just look at lovely little cloud you have! We also like to come up with creative ways to burst bubbles, like clapping them, poking them, or reminding me that my pretend boyfriend has a wife and three kids.

Bowl of Fun
We have a water table with boats and princesses and a cool little current-building wheel, but I can hardly believe how much fun Bee has with a big bowl of water and a few cups, scoops and assorted tupperware containers whose lids absconded with various socks ages ago. We’re talking serious entertainment here. The funny part is, as we pour, dump, transfer, drop, splash, drizzle and soak ourselves, I find myself enjoying the play almost as much as she does. The only thing that would make it better would be if some cabana boy was serving us frozen daquiries and fanning us with a giant banana leaf. At least, that’s what Bee said last time we were playing.

The greatest sport ever invented. You each take a big spoon. You take a ball. Go nuts.
(*note: we may have to retire Spoonball once Bee becomes sophisticated enough to evolve this from a rolling game.)

Cutlery Sort
Ah, what’s more fun than a cute, bright blue backyard plastic cutlery set in it’s own little caddy? How about taking out all the forks, spoons and knives and lining them up on the couch, placing them in my hands, putting them back in their caddy, taking them out again, facing them all the same way, turning them around, occasionally chucking them at the cat, and lining them up again?
Good times. Good times. Crayons or tampons may substitute.

Brushing Mummy’s Hair
Ok, this one is a little selfish, but hey, so is having kids. There is nothing I love more than to have someone play with my hair. I enjoy every second. It’s relaxing and it makes me purr. So naturally, I put a brush in my daughter’s hand at a very early age and encouraged her to do her thang on my head. Don’t worry, she has fun too. We pretend that various items are scissors, and she clip-clip-clips my hair; we get a whole collection of different brushes and items that could be brushes to keep things fresh; I even let her colour my hair with crayons if it keeps her hands on my head a little longer. And I always have a store of raisins close by with which to bribe her if I feel the fun may be waning. I’m also teaching her how to play waitress so she’ll get my coffee.

I know this sounds normal, but it’s a little different. Bee loves to sing, loves it when we sing along with her, and demands that we do. But beyond her instructions of who will be singing and what we will be singing, she has expanded her duties as dictator maestro to tone, tempo and emotion. And by emotion, I don’t mean that in a let’s-connect-with-our-audience kind of way, or that she is breaking into a Coldplay medley. I mean that she wants Wheels on the Bus, Sad. A typical song now sounds like this:

Mummy: The eensy weensy spider climbed up the water spout
Bee: FAST!
Mummy: downcametherainandwashedthespiderout!
Bee: SLOW!
Mummy: uuuuuppp… caaaaaammmme… the suuuuuunnn…
Bee: SAD!
Mummy: and (sob, sob) dried up all (sniff, snort) the rain (boo hoo hoo) and the (sob, sob)
Bee: FAST!
Mummy: eensyweensyspiderclimbedupthespoutagain! (phew!)

I’m pretty sure Bee will either grow up to be a musical genius or a drill seargant.

Other favourite playtime activities include, Sticker It Up, Tea Party with Real Milk and, No Mama! Not Like That.

Ah, summer.



Ahhhhhh - Freak Out!

Have I told you how wonderfully good-natured my child is?

Have I described the way she and I can mellowly play with play-doh, or colour, or laugh at the silly cat or line up the plastic cutlery, or jump on the bed for half-an-hours on end?

Have I mentioned that we take her everywhere, and as long as we are armed with a few distractions (or there’s a little holder full of sugar packets or jams within reach), we can stay until we’ve finished our meal/conversation/coffee?

Have I pointed out that she shares (ok, she doesn’t quite share, but she’ll take turns quite nicely when it suits her), says sorry if she’s wronged someone, and always says, ‘Oh, thank you!’

Have I mentioned the freakin crazy-ass 2-year-old toddler meltdowns that have been added, in alarming frequency, to her repertoire?

They are sparked by little – I often have trouble identifying the straw that breaks the toddler’s patience – but from what I can tell, IT’S ALL MY FAULT.

After all, I am the one that put the cheerios in the blue bowl, when clearly Bee wanted them in the purple bowl. And I am the one that tried to colour the monkey page in her colouring book, when obviously Bee was planning on colouring that page next. And I am the one that stupidly thought that when Bee asked for ‘Wake Up, Jeff,’ that she meant the song CALLED ‘Wake Up, Jeff,’ and not that other song on that other album that mentions Jeff.

I’m not talking about the witching hour upsets – I get those. I’ve just gotten home, we are transitioning from caregiver to mum, she’s hungry and sometimes it can all be too much for a sensitive girl. We can usually stave off a meltdown there with a distraction or quick run to the park or a Sasha gingerbread biscuit (Bee is ever placated by a heart-shaped cookie).

But her freak-outs are starting to freak me out. I don’t lose my patience, I just feel bad that she’s feeling bad. Because even if I could do without the hand-flailing, screaming and crying, I hate that there is something that is truly upsetting her and I don’t necessarily know what it is, and she doesn’t necessarily have a sophisticated enough grasp on communicating her emotions - besides frustration – to tell me what’s going on. I understand that she’s frustrated; it’s crystal clear. But what she’s frustrated about often remains a mystery, and it breaks my heart that I am not able to make it better.

I think I handle things well; I try to be a calming presence during these outbursts, and I don’t ever ‘punish’ her for it – it’s not her fault that she can’t express her needs. So I take the tactic of asking questions, hoping to hit the magic word that can break the spell. Of course, it doesn’t usually matter what I’m asking; her default answer in freak-out mode is, naturally, ‘NO.’ but still, I try. And sometimes I get lucky.

And sometimes I just sit as close to her as she’ll let me – respecting the sad little wails of, ‘Move away, Mummy’ that I might hear – and every now and then, I’ll hold my arms out and eventually, she jumps in. And things calm down, and despite feeling helpless only moments before, my spirit is restored by the simple, gentle fact that there’s not much that a good cuddle can’t cure.

And then we’re great again, and Bee is happy again, and my faith in my mad parenting skills is restored again, and our day continues.

Until I cut up the strawberries that I should have known Bee wanted to eat whole.

luckily, her bark is much worse than her bite.

Think Globally, Eat Locally - A Book Review in Three Parts

Part 3: The Plan

So, you say you want a revolution but don’t think you can give up bananas or coffee? No worries, man, there is a lot you can do to help slow down the global industrial machine, even if you don’t think you can go caffeine cold-turkey. Every bit truly helps, especially when it’s so easy to do, even for a busy family.



Wow. How do you SAHMs do it?

Blog, that is.

I am blissfully off work this week, and while me and Bee have found time for a doctor appointment (for her), a midwife appointment (for me), grocery shopping, playdates, colouring, stickers, painting, splashing, 2 farmers' markets, a drop-in, reading, healthy meals, diego videos while laying on the couch in lieu of naps, fun, fun and more fun, I haven't had any time to blog.

Seriously, I often have a difficult time remembering why I think it's a good idea/necessary for me to be at work, but I gotta say, there's one clear advantage - plenty o'blogging time.

So if posts are sparse here at tkaa for a few more days, I promise - I'll make up for it when I'm back at work next week, and I finally have some time to write.

Gotta go. Should we head to the drop-in or the park? The park is outside, but the drop-in has snacks.