I’m Not Usher, But These Are My Confessions – Liquor in the Morning and Glory Moments of Parenting

Sometimes I Just Leave My Toddler Lying In The Middle of The Floor

Can we all just acknowledge that snowsuits are like one piece bathing suits for babies- impossible to get on, painful to remove and God help you if nature calls? Anyway so Mini-Tex has this routine of falling asleep in his stroller and then I half lift, half drop the stroller on its way up the stairs into the house, park him in the entranceway, without throwing on the brake because that would wake him up, so I hope that there isn’t an earthquake while he naps, otherwise the stroller might roll across the hall and down the stairs. Also, Mini-Tex sleeps in his snowsuit because removing it is next to impossible and I always feel like I’m about to break one of his tiny arms in the process, but I prevent him from overheating by turning down the heat. I then curl up five blankets and make believe that I’m in Siberia, I would do a Russian accent to help sell the idea but I’m atrocious at accents.

For the most part, my son and I had both accepted this new sleeping arrangement. Then it snowed. Like apocalyptic Siberian Russia snow. There was so much snow that the stroller was an impossibility. But staying home was not, because I’m addicted to the grocery store’s contest so we needed to buy pickles and detergent. That’s when I broke out the sled. Mini-Tex thought it was pretty great, and like clockwork he fell asleep as we turned the corner down our street. As I lifted him out, he kind of woke up. He was still tired in that “I’m just so warm in this one-piece-oversized-down-filled-bathing-suit-strait-jacket-thing kind of way” so I laid him on the floor. And he just stayed there. Didn’t say anything, so I walked away, and his eyes kind of closed but not all the way. So I left Mini-Tex awake on the floor, then I picked up my two year old, French, trashy magazine and read for a couple of minutes before checking to determine that he was out. And I left him there, sleeping in the middle of the floor. One of my finest hours as a parent.

I Call It “Baby Fetch”

Listen, sometimes, you just need a minute. Occasionally it’s to make coffee and you hand your child a package of fire engine stickers which ends with tiny fire engine sized carpets after your child sticks the entire sheet to the rug and in attempting to remove the stickers you create fire engine shaped bald patches in the rug and a handful of fuzzy, miniature carpets. Other times, well, you’re out of stickers, so you get creative. Baby Fetch was invented while I was trying to write a letter, Mini Tex wanted to play soccer. Instead I threw his beach ball as far as I could and he ran after it. In between throws I’d pen a handful of words. I regret nothing because Mini-Tex is going to show that Golden Doodle who’s boss at the park this summer.

At This Point In The Winter, I’m Debating Wrapping Him In A Couple Of Duvets And Calling It A Day- Obviously I’d Make His Head Stick Out, So I Don’t See The Problem With This

We’ve agreed that snowsuits are winter’s answer to one piece bathing suits? Uncomfortable, only used a couple months of the year and wearing them during your teens will get you laughed at etc. My biggest beef with snowsuits is that I don’t know where my baby ends and the snowsuit begins. Problematic from the point of view of “Are you cold?” randomly fondles the snowsuit, “Oh you’re just fine”. When really your baby’s hand is an ice cube but you can’t find it in the endless folds of fabric.

The worst example of this was the ten minutes that Mini-Tex spent with two legs shoved into one pant leg of his snow suit. I couldn’t for the life of me figure out why the snowsuit wasn’t fitting properly and then when I finally realized the problem, I was so fed up with the entire business that I needed a break. So I left Mini-Tex lying in the middle of the floor with his little legs pinned together while I regrouped in the bedroom upstairs and debated a ten AM vodka shot because we’ve established that I’m an awe inspiring parent. One would think that I’d realize that an entire pant leg was just fabric but nope, because snowsuits take your children and make them significantly larger. It’s like taking a small European child and making them North American in five minutes or less.

I would say if you must judge me, bring me hard liquor first, or offer to dress my son for playing the snow.

Walter, Get the Hell Out

I’m not eating my way through winter this year but that does not mean I love it. Around the middle of January, just after the massive snowfall but before the consistently freezing temperatures that forced the province inside indefinitely, I walked outside to my car before work. It was chilly, but not cold enough to snow, just cold enough to coat my truck in a sheet of half ice, half water that needed to be scraped off.

It was in that bleak, grey moment that I renamed the month. The name January conjures up images of pretty, youthful ladies and fairy tale landscapes. While January is actually a cantankerous grouch, hell bent on everyone’s misery, working tirelessly to suck the enjoyment out of life. From the dim cloudy mornings to the early dark nights and every sleet filled and ice cold moment in between, January is disagreeable.

This woman bears zero resemblance to a Canadian winter. (Photo Credit : fansshare.com)

This woman bears zero resemblance to a Canadian winter. (Photo Credit : fansshare.com)

Far from being a charming, young woman, January or Walter as I have now named it, is a crabby, old man. I chose the name Walter because I couldn’t imagine anyone under the age of twenty being called that.

January is the elderly man who shakes their cane angrily at any youths passing by, whose favourite hobby is telling people how incompetent they are, the one who pees on the floor beside the toilet and dares you to call them on it. That’s Walter and that sums up the experience of January. It’s a month that you wish would leave.

“Walter I hate you!” I shouted waving my snowbrush at the sky. My neighbours would have thought I was a crazy person had they been up but lucky for me frat boys sleep in until at least eleven am.

“Go home!” I bellowed “You’re not welcome here anymore!”

But Walter, like any unwelcome guest hunkered down, feeding on my generosity.


The Student Ghetto Chronicles; Making Good Choices With Flame Throwers

One of the benefits of living in the Student Ghetto, aside from having random showers with midnight thespians, is the endless parade of debauchery that goes on in the Frat house next door.

Men aged 18 to 25 are most likely to die in an accident. This is because the decision making part of their brain hasn’t fully formed so they frequently think things like “I can jump off of that” or “This will barely hurt”. It makes for good stories, however on occasion their hijinks become too much to witness and I have to step in; “Jeremy! Put down the flamethrower. Where did you even get that?” or “Scott, I have no doubt in your capacity to jump off of your roof, I merely doubt your ability to walk afterwards- Get. Down.”

This rarely works. But I have to try.

The temperature is set to dip below negative forty degrees Celsius tonight. It’s a record low for my city.

I tried to find a photo of a thermometer registering -40 degree Celsius but apparently photographers have more sense than to work in those conditions. So I put up a picture of Elvis instead.

I tried to find a photo of a thermometer registering -40 degree Celsius but apparently photographers have more sense than to work in those conditions. So I put up a picture of Elvis instead. His young, sultry eyes keep me warm. (Photo Credit : blog.myheritage.com)

Even though the sun is still out, already the cold is becoming unbearable. My butter dish was empty so to make turnip palatable I was forced to visit the local convenience store. On the short walk to and from the store I witnessed a Frat boy standing outside without gloves smoking a cigarette. The more concerning part was he wasn’t wearing a coat either. For the five minute jaunt outside I had donned a pair of snowpants and three additional layers.

“An unfortunate day for that habit” I yelled to him over the freezing minus thirty degree winds.

He nodded and then one of his fingers froze and broke off. I might be exaggerating but he looked extremely cold.

Then turning the corner to my house I saw a frat boy waiting for the right second to dash across four lanes of traffic. In addition to record breaking low temperatures, the city also received approximately a foot of snow in the past twenty four hours. The roads have been plowed. Ish. As long as your definition of plowed includes a lot of snow being on the main thoroughfares and cars bashing into one another from a lack of traction.

Thank goodness the plow already went through or this would be impassable. (Photo Credit: weatherstock.com)

Thank goodness the plow already went through or this would be impassable. (Photo Credit: weatherstock.com)

“Hey!” my staccato greeting made the young man turn. “The cars have zero stopping ability in this. Cross at the lights.”

I hurried quickly towards my house so I wouldn’t watch him be flattened by an errant vehicle.


This post is a part of the Student Ghetto series. If you would like to learn more about how to create furniture out of empty two-four boxes and drink effectively before 11 AM please visit the following links

Bongs, Dirty Laundry and Elmo,

Artificial Body Holes and Bravery

This was Supposed to be about my Weekend but now it’s a Weather Report. Or an Instruction Manual for Peeping Toms, I’m Not Sure

Death By Frozen Tundra

We’ve had cold weather warnings all week here in Canadatown. However this has not stopped me from walking to my beloved haunts like the library and campus. It has meant that I look like a larger, fabric laden version of myself; suiting up in no less than five layers up top and a minimum of two on the bottom.

Do they still count as kankles if I made them by tucking my pants into my socks?

Do they still count as kankles if I made them by tucking my pants into my socks?

Having walked in negative twenty degree temperatures for an hour several times recently, I concluded that today was the perfect day to drag someone who once called himself my friend (possibly no longer) into the wretched, frozen wilderness with me. So off we headed to the local park.

I insisted that we go to the beach. Because it’s January, and who doesn’t love the beach in January?

What we found was this.

I'm standing where the water line was in the summer. In the distance are the ice hills. I enjoy my rotundness.

I’m standing where the water line was in the summer. In the distance are the ice hills. I enjoy my rotundness.

In the summer months the water line began about fifteen feet from the dunes. As a result of this unusually cold winter, the waves have been freezing as they crash against the shore, forming a moonscape made of porous ice mixed with sand. It was stunning. It was rugged. It was so slippery I was reduced to bumbogganing at points. This sounds uncomfortable but I had a far easier time of it than Gordy what with my ample bottom being cushioned by three pairs of pants.photo 2

Initially I was hesitant to climb over the craggy surface, fearing that at any moment the ice would crack and the two of us would plunge into the lake. Luckily Gordy was all “To heck with safety!” and made a beeline for the sandy ice hills.

I followed after him, making sure to listen for sounds of the ice breaking and stepping exactly in his footsteps.

*Names have been changed to protect the identities of vulnerable possibly mentally incapacitated persons. Because those in possession of all of their faculties would not have spent the day wandering about in foot high drifts and exploring ice mountains. Either that or I have a nice friend who didn’t want me doing this alone.

I’m Not Pregnant, I’m Just Fat

Not even days after posting Belly Button Watch 2013, someone asked me if I was pregnant. To which I had to answer, “No It’s Fatuary, I’m just heavier”.

What is Fatuary you might ask? Well once upon a time this month was known as February. But in recent years it’s come to my attention that this month has a lot of darkness, very little sunlight, an excess amount of cold and a plethora of snow.

All of this grey, bleak weather makes me want to sit on the couch. And eat bags of potato chips. Now the thing is, this is not my natural state. I’m a walker. I walk to the library, to the bus, to the grocery store, to the hair stylist. Anywhere possible I walk. But in Fatuary I sit. I sit until my seat spreads , until my skirts get tight and my belly looks round.  

And since no other month has this type of effect on me, I christened it Fatuary, a celebrated time for Canadians, where the only exercise we get is from shoveling the endless amounts of snow from our driveways and running quickly to and from the convenience store for more licorice and donuts.

So yes I am pregnant. With a food baby, I made him out of deep fried dough and licorice candies. I’m going to call him Jeremiah. I figure I’ll let him grow until April at which point I’ll want to be rid of him. Thus I’ll extract myself from my couch and start to run and walk and do all of the activities I love again and gradually Jeremiah will disappear, only to return next Fatuary.