Boys in a box

Judge ye not! Until you've been there you don't know -40  is a life-changing experience....And I don't mean the bitter cold biting at any exposed skin, the fear of the wind, or seemingly menial task becoming a daunting dastardly deed. Everything in life changes and -40 I suppose it's because you're "over the hill" temperature wise. My furry son, referred to as Mr. P, has never had to use a litter box.  With the great temperature "dip" that we just received last week, I decided that it was no longer safe for the cat to go outside and conduct his "business"... Mr. P was in full agreement with me! He had taken it upon himself to start using my bathtub as an indoor kitty potty, which is slightly more convenient than relieving himself  in the corner of my kitchen , in my closet, or in my dresser drawers.... So I set off to "Wally World" in pursuit of finding a kitty litter box and some kitty litter. The kids and I read the labels thoroughly not wanting to introduce any airborne dust to our home with a newborn baby and all... Very curiously, Ash asked me what we were going to use this strange sand for. I'm sure he was looking forward to an indoor sandbox as it's been a number of months since we visited the local one here. Upon explaining to my young boy, that the cats needs to scratch in the dirt before they can pee and pooh, and then they scratch the dirt over top of their "business",  he began to belly laugh hysterically. I could see him playing out the scenario in his head as his laughter got louder and louder. After making our selection, and calming the boy down we returned home with our new supplies.  Although the setup was simple convincing the cat to use the box proved to be much more difficult than I had first thought.... Mr. P, a larger than most, black cat, is not easily purrrrsuaded to do much that isn't his idea first!  After "playing catch that cat" and throwing him into the sandbox repeatedly I almost gave up! I was hopelessly searching for Mr. P once again, when I entered my bathroom to find that the damn cat had snuck into the bathtub and left me a "surprise". Cursing the cat as I cleaned up his mess, Ash wandered into my bathroom. My son had been watching me all evening entertained by my shenanigans... Now he stood over me watching as I scrubbed out the bathtub muttering with frustration... "Why don't you show him how to use it by example?" the boy queried. This hit my funny bone and all of a sudden my evenings events seemed hilarious. I finished cleaning up the mess and went into the living room to enjoy some family time.  Later that evening, however, the boy came running excitedly up to me. "Mom, mom," the boy breathlessly said, "I got Mr. P to use the litter box!" I felt the rush of panic shutter through my body... "dear God" I thought..."what the hell does this boy mean?" Apprehensively I walked toward my washroom not knowing what cat-astrophe lay in wait for me.... I rounded the corner and peered through the doorway towards the litter box....

Boys in a box.

Judge ye not! Until you've been there you don't know -40  is a life-changing experience....And I don't mean the bitter cold biting at any exposed skin, the fear of the wind, or seemingly menial task becoming a daunting dastardly deed. Everything in life changes and -40 I suppose it's because you're "over the hill" temperature wise. My furry son, referred to as Mr. P, has never had to use a litter box.  With the great temperature "dip" that we just received last week, I decided that it was no longer safe for the cat to go outside and conduct his "business"... Mr. P was in full agreement with me! He had taken it upon himself to start using my bathtub as an indoor kitty potty, which is slightly more convenient than relieving himself  in the corner of my kitchen , in my closet, or in my dresser drawers.... So I set off to "Wally World" in pursuit of finding a kitty litter box and some kitty litter. The kids and I read the labels thoroughly not wanting to introduce any airborne dust to our home with a newborn baby and all... Very curiously, Ash asked me what we were going to use this strange stand for. I'm sure he was looking forward to an indoor sandbox as it's been a number of months since we visited the local one here. Upon explaining to my young boy, that the cat needs to scratch in the dirt before they can pee and pooh, and then they scratch the dirt over top of their "business",  he began to belly laugh hysterically. I could see him playing out the scenario in his head as his laughter got louder and louder. After making our selection, and calming the boy down we returned home with our new supplies.  Although the setup was simple convincing the cat to use prove to be much more difficult than I had first thought.... Mr. P, a larger than most black cat, is not easily purrrrsuaded to do much that isn't his idea first!  After "playing catch that cat" and throwing him into the sandbox repeatedly I had almost given up! I was hopelessly searching for Mr. P once again, when I entered my bathroom to find that the damn cat had snuck into the bathtub and left me a "surprise". Cursing the cat is I cleaned up his mess, Ash wandered into my bathroom. My son had been watching me all evening entertained by my shenanigans... Now he stood over me watching as I scrubbed out the bathtub muttering with frustration... "Why don't you show him how to use it by example?" the boy queried. This hit my funny bone and all of a sudden my evenings events seemed hilarious. I finished cleaning up the mess and went into the living room to enjoy some family time.  Later that evening, however, the boy came running excitedly up to me. "Mom, mom," the boy excitedly said, "I got Mr. P to use the litter box!" I felt the rush of panic shutter through my body... "dear God" I thought..."what the hell does this buoying mean?" Apprehensively I walked toward my washroom not knowing what cat-astrophe lay in wait for me.... I rounded the corner and peered through the doorway towards the litter box....

Trouser tango...

My reward at the end of a day is usually a peanut butter and honey sandwich and a nice glass of milk... or handfuls chocolates, a pocket full of cookies, or anything else I find from around the house. I do not refrain from eating ancient Halloween candy, expired Easter chocolate, or the weird stuff I find in the back of the cupboard that I don't remember buying...(I'm not sure if perhaps it was left here by a previous owner.) My maniacal munching does not help with the horrid pants dance...Not that I had expected to fit into any of my prior pre pregnancy pants... Even my maternity pants are a little ill fitting at present time, and when faced with the daily obstacle of getting dressed, I find my choices very limited. And getting dressed is sometimes exhausting! Oh yes...."The Pants Dance"..., At first I step into my closet to examine the contents and decide where I want to start this terrible, tedious,twisted, tango of attempting to make myself presentable to the outside world. (There must be some stitch of clothing other than my plus size pregnancy pajamas....) Now I am at the stage where maternity clothes just don't fit and regular clothes, well... just don't fit.  A few discoveries I've made with the cesareans section; bikini cut panties not cool, low rise jeans also not cool, most clothes in general not so cool because after a cesarean section you have this extra "flap"  or demi roll to deal with.... This may be a little TMI, but with this flap comes some confusion, do you pull it over your pants, do you tuck it in your pants, or do you use restrictive binding underwear to try and squish it into oblivion.... The daily dressing dilemma takes up a lot of time as my size seems to change constantly! I understand this could be due to my nighttime snacking... Rewarding myself for a days hard work with titillating, tasty, treats. For instance, I get the laundry done that's worth a chocolate. I get the dishes done that's worth a cookie. I make dinner that's worth a handful of Cheezie's.... I am food motivated what can I say...? Now the pants dance... After selecting the pants I wish to wear, I slide my feet into the leg holes, apprehensively pull the pants up to my knees, then I begin hopping, jumping, twisting and wriggling in an attempt to get the pants up over my thighs, past my hips, and ultimately onto my waist.  Apparently this is quite a spectacle, because I seem to draw a crowd every time. My two wonderful children stare in awe as they watch me uncomfortably undulate while tediously tugging up on my pants... I figure this is almost a workout, and perhaps I burn calories while doing it... After all I can wipe a bead of sweat off my brow before I prepare for the grand finale... Halting my spasm like contortions, I flop on my bed suck in my belly, and attempt to fasten my pants.... My success is usually determined by how dexterous I am that given day... Buttons are not a welcome finish at the end of the pants dance and snaps are usually a horrible disappointment!! (Kapow!!) I realize it takes time to bring your body back after baby... But one of these days I know I will be calling an ambulance while laying on my floor in horrible pain after a disastrous pants dance misstep! So next week, I'll be concentrating my efforts back to the workouts on the Wii, and hopefully my pants dance will be a little less vigorous and dangerous!!

Cinnamon and spice...

From the TMI files... Feeling rather domestic this weekend, I decided to pull out my best Martha Stewart effort and make one heckuva homemade breakfast. I started with poached eggs with hollandaise sauce, honey bacon, and cinnamon crapes.  Opening my new bag of fresh organic cinnamon I had one of my world-famous spontaneous hand spasm and flipped far too much cinnamon into my batter. Faced with the dilemma of making a fresh batch of batter, or using the cinnamon thickened batch I had in front of me... Whether it was my frugality or my hunger induced laziness, I decided to use what I have already made! Who knew....perhaps I was about to discover some new taste sensation with this extremely potent concoction.  Well the crepes were cooking in the pan, the house filled with the exquisite aroma of cinnamon arousing our voracious appetites. Once cooked, buttered, and slathered in real maple syrup, I discovered that they also tasted very deliciously cinnamon like!   In the days that followed however I observed that everything in our bodies smelled like the tasty spice! I sweated cinnamon, I peed cinnamon, and my breast milk smelled like cinnamon!!! Now we can all agree there are worse things in the world that breast milk, sweat, and urine can smell like.... Hell if they smell like breast milk, sweat and urine it's not "nice".... The real shock came however, upon changing a poopy diaper...  Low and behold, it smelled like…cinnamon! between my shocking bewilderment I had an epiphany.... "What I put my body, comes out of hers!" So for any mother who breast-feeds and doesn't believe that what they eat or consume goes into their breast milk, my little "Oopsey daisy pancake" experiment has proven it. I've always been cautious about what I eat while I'm breast-feeding a baby but now I'm cutting myself down to one cup of coffee a day, reluctantly I'm taking my vitamin pills, and I'll think long and hard before ever taking any flu or cold remedies.... As a sidenote, I will probably make the cinnamon crepes again, they are darn good, and their side effects are quite pleasant as well!  I'm not saying that my poop don't stink.... But....

An askew view....

Saying that your floors are good enough to eat off of is not necessarily a good thing as my daughter Amelia observed after  eavesdropping on a phone conversation I recently had where I had said" my floors are nice enough to eat off of..." Immediately I heard giggles bubbling from my seven-year-old daughter. Choosing to pay attention to my phone call rather than to what was tickling my daughter's funnybone I continued my conversation. Her giggles soon bubbled over into full on laughter to the point where I put down the phone and asked, "Girl what are you laughing at?" A slight apprehensive look crossed her face, "Well mom like the saying goes ' if you're going to eavesdrop you better eavesdrop good'," she began, "I was just listening to you talk on the phone and I thought to myself.... if your floors are good enough to eat off of, perhaps it's time you cleaned your floors if there's that much food spilled on them!" Needless to say I could not return to my phone conversation for sometime having to stifle my laughter... How true though... And even if you're going to eavesdrop and you make sure you eavesdrop good the understanding of the message might be lost in translation! Now I better stop fooling around on the Internet and get to cleaning my floors before dinnertime!!!

The "helping" boy.

Last night as I clicked the dishwasher closed, I smiled at my minuscule accomplishments for the day. I've been trying very hard to dig my way out from underneath the holidays with little success. I really cannot complain however, all the laundry in the house is clean! Although, it hasn't been folded or put away and forget about ironing and mending! I look across my house and it almost resembles an episode of hoarders... but I know that under the piles of clean laundry there are clean floors and counters. Between puttering around after two mobile children, three dogs, and one rather fat demanding cat, I usually sit on the couch for a miniscule moment and proceed to nurse, change, or cuddle the non-mobile  third child... Many times I shake my fist at the air and ask, "Why can't I get some help?" As of late my right hand man is Ash my three year old boy who to my detriment eagerly "helps". I find myself undoing what he has done rather than accomplishing the tasks I set out for myself! Mostly a waste of a day!! His "helping" hinders housework hopes... At least at the end of my day I can relax with my feet up, listening to the soothing sounds of both the wash machine and the dishwasher grinding away the last of my tasks....there is something about the sound of housework being done by someone or something else that is so satisfying! Last night the lull of my lazy lounging was quickly stripped away from me as at first I smelled a pungent stench seeping through my kitchen. I then noticed smoke billowing from my dishwasher. I jumped up with a start, ran over to the dishwasher, whipped open the door, and there through black and gray smoke I examined the contents for the culprit.... What I found melted to the bottom heating element of my dishwasher was a mess of mushy mangled spatula... I felt tears sting my eyes. Tears partly from the smoke, partly from emotion and sheer exhaustion.  I thought back to loading the dishwasher. How could this have slipped my attention? Had I absentmindedly placed the spatula in a precarious position? No, I always check these things before I turn the dishwasher on. I thought a little harder. I had a helper! Ash had insisted on putting the soap in the dishwasher and closing the door. Had my little three-year-old boy helper helped a little too much? At this point, as though my children sensed my thoughts, both staggered into the living room coughing and waving their hands in front of their faces. Being awoken by the foul smelling smoke both children were full of questions.... Amilea was hoping we would have to stay in a hotel for tonight. I explained the catastrophe contained in the dishwasher, as I opened up doors and windows to let some fresh air in. I noticed Ash's eyes growing large and round as a confession bubbled and brewed ready to spill from his lips "But I put the spatula on the bottom where it would be safe!"he stammered. I looked at the boy, puzzled, "you PUT the spatula on the heating element? "I asked him. "Yes mom it kept falling off the top shelf so I put it on the bottom under that ring so it wouldn't slide around! It is now safe!! " Amilea snorted, "I am going to bed, the spatula is not safe, it's DEAD!" And in a seven-year-old fashion, she rolled her eyes and turned on her heel stomping off to bed! It was left to me and the boy to clean up.... All in all everything worked out. The air was literally cleared as the boy and I scraped the remaining spatula goo from the heating element of the dishwasher. We then shared some midnight cookies and hot chocolate as our late night reward for a job well done. Ash excitedly said, "I love helping you mommy! I will do it more often!!" Dear God do I need more help?

Oh brother!

I have received a swift beating this morning! My three-year-old son jumped from bed and ran into the living room to serve me a beating to remember! I was on the couch with the baby battling the boogers using the evil snot sucker when the boy entered the room a flurry of fists and feet! he was heading straight for me with a grimace on his face. Attacking me he yelled, "Hands off my baby sister you!" Amidst  my confusion I held my hand out to thwart off his advances. Brow furrowed, the boy continued his barrage of flailing body parts. "Leave her alone. You are making me MAD!" he growled at me. I jumped to my feet to escape my miniature assalent. "What is your issue Ash?" Immediately he broke down in tears. "I was sleeping, and then I heard our baby crying. I was scared that someone was hurting our baby." His crimson cheeks were streaked with tears, "I jumped out of bed and looked for my sword but I couldn't find it. So I decided to be a ninja and get the bad guy who was hurting our baby!" After some snuggles and talking it out the boy calm down. He explained that he didn't even notice it was me with the baby that he his eyes were still too sleepy to see me when he started his "mission" to save his sister. I guess it runs in the family. I too can't see straight first thing in the morning and nothing makes sense without your morning coffee! Peace has returned to our household after the deluge of defense from the diligent big brother!!! (and two cups of coffee!!)