Hypothermia and Pumping Small Children Full Of Sugar- All Of My Best Parenting Decisions

Why are you reading this? Haven’t you heard of the Huffington Post? I swear that is more interesting than my family stories. Even Gwenyth’s Paltrow’s site that suggests women shove jade eggs up their hoo-has is a better read than this. Oh well, your funeral. For the record the coroner will state “Cause of death- boredom”. Here are some stories of our Christmas adventures.

Also for all those who are appalled by me writing about Christmas, first off, I already instructed you to STOP READING. Secondly, replace the word “Christmas” with “Easter” and you’ll be fine. Well not fine, bored to the point that you’re comatose, but breathing.

For our family, Christmas started the weekend that we left for Winnipeg. It was a big town weekend- free movies, free skating, free cookie decorating and crafts, all of this occurred the day of our town’s Santa Claus parade and the tree lighting.

Tex was of course working. Because he always is. But thankfully he wasn’t bothered about missing all the fun whereas I would have been devastated. So Mini-Tex and I headed out to the free movie. The theatre was showing “Smallfoot”.

Mini-Tex LOVES television. He also never gets to watch television. Weekday mornings he gets half an episode of Paw Patrol while my husband showers. It’s to the point that if he hears the shower turn on, no matter what time of the day, he rushes the bathroom like it’s the stage of a One Direction concert and he’s a teenage girl. Then he bangs on the cupboards with his mighty toddler fists and shouts “Paw Patrol PLEASE!” at the top of his lungs. So for Mini-Tex, watching an entire movie was a big deal.

“Smallfoot” was super cute. As always when we go to the theatre, I got him a kid’s combo which includes popcorn, candy and pop. Because I take pride in providing experiences that lack both nutrition and educational content. My favourite part of the movie was glancing over and watching my almost three year old dancing in his seat. He spent the next couple of weeks acting out various parts of the movie. Super adorable.

The Santa Claus parade was very, very cold. But not as cold as last year when icebergs formed in the culverts around town and people transformed into ice sculptures. Like an idiot, I ignored my husband’s suggestion that we drive to the parade because who drives a kilometers and a half? Even when I was five and thought my feet would fall off from being forced marched such a distance; my mother would still insist that we walk.

Consequently Mini-Tex was crying about his feet being chilly by the time we got home from the Santa Claus parade. To make up for it, I let him eat all the candy he got from the parade as dinner because I’m a stellar parent like that. Once he was finished, I then packed him in the car to see the “ig-aa-loooo”. (The igloo house is four kilometers across town and my son’s feet were already chilly, hence the bike was out.)

There is a house with twenty inflatable decorations and an equal number of other lit up, non-inflatable decorations. It’s incredible. They also constructed an ig-aa-looooo out of PVC piping and a white tarp. Gorgeous. And so fun. It’s my and Mini-Tex’s favourite house. For serious, I may take him there every single night that we are in town before Christmas.

A week before the parade, at the end of November, Tex and I realized that we were in a bit of a pickle. When the Halloween decorations went up around town, all our little boy wanted to do was hug them. Every time that he’d ask to make friends with the blow up decorations, we’d say “Not today buddy, you can hug them on Halloween.” Then the Halloween decorations were taken down and the Christmas ones went up. So we’re in the car, and Mini-Tex asks if we can stop to hug the Christmas decorations. I say “No” of course. Then from the back I hear him reassure himself “Not today buddy, you can hug them on Christmas.”

Well fudge.

Barring us going around the city caroling, an activity which our almost three year old would not have the patience for, we would not have a reason to go house to house on Christmas. What was I going to do?

There was only one answer- the cookie lady. When you drive into town there’s a giant billboard with a picture her smiling face on it and three hundred individually decorated cookies form a border.

Not actually, but there should be a billboard with the cookie lady’s face on it. For serious, this woman is a national treasure. I’d write to the Prime Minister about her but based on how our leader’s tenure is going, he’d just ask the cookie lady to put the Mary-Jane in her baking.

For a paltry, tiny sum, Lorna* the cookie lady will make stunning, delicious works of art. People have repeatedly told me that they feel guilty eating something so beautiful when I give the cookie lady’s wares as gifts. Their guilt is of course nothing compared to what I feel when I pay her. And I always include a tip.

So I’ve decided I am going to order some cookies from our resident cookie lady and one night, Mini-Tex and I will head out in the bike and distribute baked goods as a way of thanking people for decorating their homes, then while their doors are open and they’re marveling over the beautiful cookies, we will ask whether our toddler can hug their lawn ornaments. Judge me. Tex and I frequently talk about how I’m the good cop and have a backbone made of fluffed wool. Goodness help me when our son is a teenager.

Wish me luck with our winter blow up decoration adventure. Also send warm socks. We will need them to tromp all over town in the snow and assault our neighbours’ lawn ornaments with hugs and love.

*Obviously I didn’t use the cookie lady’s real name. First off, I don’t want the leader of our country calling her up, and secondly, then I’d have to place my orders months in advance because her phone would be ringing off the hook.

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Friendship and Shameful Confessions

Shiny-sport-shorts-3

As you can see, short shorts are versatile. They can go from the beach, to the bank, to your grandmother’s 80th birthday party.There’s no need to change when the world is one inch of fabric away from seeing your butt cheeks.(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Once upon a time when I still thought that short shorts were appropriate attire for every occasion, I knew a girl called Beck. She and I had a lot in common; we both were working in a foreign country, we both loved to read and I recently discovered that we both enjoy writing.

Beck writes on a blog called “The Friendly Film Fan”. You should go check her out, if only because she survived a trip to the Everglades with me and Roscoe and nary an alligator attempted to eat her. Unlike Roscoe, who nearly embodied the nursery rhyme “Alligator Pie” (By Dennis Lee).

Becks recently wrote a review on the movie “The Host”, for those of you who are above the age of thirteen or who possess good taste in literature, “The Host” is a movie based on the book written by Stephanie Meyers of Twilight fame.

Now you may judge me all you like, but I loved Twilight. I read the whole series. I actually stayed up all night reading “Breaking Dawn”. Roscoe walked in on me at six in the morning bleary eyed with wild hair still deep in the pages. “What did you do?” he cried knowing that there would be hell to pay for me staying not one, not two but nine whole hours past my bedtime. “UHnnnehEEEurrrrn” I replied at which point I gave up and went to bed, only to return to the book six hours later, only slightly rested.

Polski: Drosophila melanogaster

My degree is in Genetics. This is a Drosophila melanogaster, it is not worth losing sleep over.  Unlike sexy vampires and werewolves, you should probably wait up beside your window just incase they exist and appear to whisk you away. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

In university I made the Dean’s list every year. I never pulled an all nighter, not once, I never even came close. It’s more than a little bit amusing to me that my first all nighter was in the name of teenage vampire love, not something so pious as education.

For the record, Beck now goes by Becca, and we both went back to our respective countries. Also I no longer wear short shorts everywhere following an awkward job interview. Rule of thumb for the fashion challenged- the bottom half of your outfit should be larger than the interviewer’s necktie. In my defense I was wearing a very long shirt that day.