It's always the little things...

No Turning Back

This picture will cause me problems. I saw it, and I think I actually gasped. I love it. I want it. Is this really a way that Shabby Chic can be happily married to Best Buy?

In terms of our living room, Husband would be fine with a movie screen and lawn chairs. I veer toward the less practical: the pretty. And I love white. Which is ridiculous but you don't choose the colour you fall in love with - it just is. So when I saw this, I thought it just might be the way to go.

Now if Husband balks, I'll be devastated. So, in a way - it may have been better if I'd never seen it because now I will obsess.

NEW: Every Friday is Health Day!

Reading Labels

"Where are you going?" the cat said.
"I don't know." replied Alice.
"Well, either road will get you there."

Did you know that ingredients on food labels are listed in the order of their predominance in the product? Ingredients listed first or second usually make up at least half of the product.

This makes it easier to decide whether or not to eat what's inside it. If you think of it that way, like "there is more sugar than water in this drink" it turns into a kind of nauseating sludge.

Hope that mental picture helps.

Damnation by Chocolate

I just ate some chocolate.

Now that I've cheated, I may be damned to nutritional hell and can only atone for my sin by the grace of ... gosh, I don't know.

I don't feel any gut-churning. Yet. Guilt, yes. But then, I do wonder why I am so hard on myself.

Hmm. Well this was a pointless post.

You're welcome. I just took up five seconds of your life that you will never get back.

Sorry.

Danger!

Most people would be felled by a bullet, a knife wound, or some appalling disease. For me, it would be cheese-covered cookies.

And I have to admit, that sounds pretty good.

I can survive the no alcohol thing. Barely. I even survived no sugar. But no FAT? Can I really go through my life drinking rice milk and eating soy cheese?

Fear of hospitalization is a solid motivator. I'll give you that. But there must be a way. I trolled the library the other day in search of The Way, The Truth and The Light. Instead, I found a few books.

There are two things the doctors said I should avoid unless I want to die, which I don't: fat and alcohol. Much as I love a cold beer on a hot day, it's easier than I thought to forgo the booze. But the fat is tough - and mostly because I am a nutritional dimwit and don't know where it is. Shut Up! There's fat in CHEESE!? But I LOVE CHEESE! Man. This is hard.

So I got this book and it lists the worst offenders as far as fat goes. I could give it to you but it would seriously depress you. Basically, if it comes from a bakery, it will kill you. Get out of Afghanistan, people, the the Weapons of Mass Destruction are in Grandma's kitchen.

One book says that you must eat protein, like cheese, and suggests that sugar will eventually lead to the downfall of civilization. The other book says that you must avoid all fats, especially cheese, or your heart will explode, and sugar's okay.

I may be paraphrasing.

But regardless, I'm now thinking that an IV tree is easier than trying to figure all this out.

To err is...normal

Yes. Today is not actually Wednesday. Oy. I'm a bit fuzzled. Ah well. I'll figure it out eventually.

Every Wednesday is Tip Day

The Table Manners Game

We've been having an interesting time lately at the table. The Big Girl is so anxious to talk that she chews at the same time. Which is kinda gross. The Little Girl does everything the Big Girl does, but also likes to use utensils in new, original ways. (Yes, a fork could be used as a comb, but isn't recommended.)

To combat the daily glare-down at the table, I made a list of all the table manners I wanted my kids to know and wrote one on a different index card. Each night, one child gets to pick one card - then we read what's on it and see if we can manage to do that for the entire meal.

Eg. "We leave our elbows off the table"

Everyone starts with 10 points. For the duration of the meal, if someone is caught with his or her elbows on the table, they lose a point. This makes it more fun than strict. It's improved my own table manners.

Some ideas:

1. No interrupting.
2. Saying please and thank you.
3. Chewing with your mouth closed.
4. Talking AFTER you've swallowed.
5. Eat your soup, don't slurp.
   
6. Leaving elbows off the table.
7. Keeping food out of the water glasses and on your plate.

That's a whole week of table manner fun. Adjust it for your family's needs. Mine actually has to include things like 'don't feed your sister boogers' but I just can't bring myself to printing that nicely on an index card. That comes with a roaring admonishment. And luckily isn't as frequent as the slurping.

Things That Shouldn't Exist But Do

I got a flyer today for Collage Video's Guide to Exercise Videos. If I actually did these, they'd be useful. But just before tossing it in the recycling bin I flipped to page 55 and there was the thing that inspired today's post:

The Facial Workout. For only $24.95 you can sit through 66 minutes of exercises that 'tone and strengthen the muscles underlying your face and neck'. Yes. For real.

How about an alternative? You send ME $24.95 and I'll give you the work out on the phone - a totally customized workout, if you will.

Here's a sample:

Frown.
Now smile.
Frown again.
Stick your chin out.
Smile.

Aaaaand you're done.

You're welcome.

Fun. Period.

Since I'm on a gynecological rampage, I might as well keep talking about all that stuff.

The seriously up side of my little 'procedure' would be: no more periods. Period. Wow. Imagine a world where you can wear white pants ANY DAY YOU WANT. Ah. Now that is a good thing.

What am I going to do with my stash? I may start doing some tampon crafts like the dachshund pictured above. In fact, I'm opening this up for suggestions: what else can you do with a tampon? WWJD... with a tampon? And yeah, I already know about stopping a leak.

As I usually do with medical issues, I troll the internet to convince myself that I am dying. Generating paroxysms of anxiety is kind of a hobby (even though I'm nearly at pro status now). And one thing I found out was how many women say they need to have their monthly Good Time to 'feel like a woman'. Three words: "Oh Honey, No."

In order to feel like a woman you could any number of things: bat your eyelashes and actually have it work. Wear lipstick to take the garbage out. What? I might have, yes. Spend as much time planning your wardrobe as your RRSP. And if you like the whole monthly hemorrhage so much, why not just ask your male colleague what he makes doing the exact same job as you. That'll remind you that you're a woman.

Every Wednesday is Tip Day

Q:
Hey Tip Lady,
My kids are picky eaters. How can I get them to try new things?
Love,
Fed Up Snack Service


Dear FUSS,

Mine too. I tell them to eat it or starve. Invariably, they opt for the second option. So I discovered this nifty trick of putting little bits of things into a muffin tin and letting them pick stuff out of it. Make it a game where they see if they can try everything.

Let me know if it works for you!

NEXT WEEK: Managing table manners. How to stop your kids from smoking at dinner.

Countdown to Hysteroscopy

Isn't a trip to the Ob/Gyn always a blast? It's my favourite thing to do on a Friday morning. Although I have to admit I've come a long way since my early twenties when I thought the yearly Pap smear was the most heinous thing anyone has ever had done to them and I always got drunk after.

Now, well. Not so much.

All it takes is a few pregnancies to have all sense of decorum and dignity shredded. I almost took my pants off at the dentist, only to realize it was the one doctor I didn't have to strip for. He was a little uncomfortable after that.

But nay, I went on Friday because there's possibly a small gerbil living in my uterus and they want to shove a camera in there to check it out. It's called a hysteroscopy, and they're putting me out to do it so I'm not hysterical. Couldn't resist. If there's nothing, they'll just take pictures and I'll be sure to post them all over the internet. Tah dah! If there IS a small gerbil (aka endometrial polyp) they'll yank it on out. And here's the really exciting news: they may do an endometrial ablation. This is apparently burning the inside of the uterus, effectively torching it.

Normally, I wouldn't care. But the thing about this is that I likely won't be able to carry a child after. Which totally makes sense, because who wants to hang out in a radically inhospitable, charred nursery for nine months? And while I cannot imagine having another baby, I want to make that decision myself. I am a little pissed that my body is making it for me.

It's so...final.

I mean, I've not kept any of the Little Girls baby things. Everything she outgrew, I got rid of. I vehemently said, "No More Kids". It feels like the end of an era. Yes, it's the era of sleepless nights and endless diaper changes, and that's good. So why does it bother me? Because my body is sending me the bill, that's why.

It's saying, "Right - two healthy, beautiful children...that'll be...um, your uterus. Thanks."

An Attitude with Fur

Hooray! Husband is back. This means I only have 95% of the dog responsibilities now.

Dog and I are approaching the 'tentative friendship' level of our relationship. I've initiated a three-step program. Here's how:

1. I stuff him in his crate at night.
2. He complains.
3. I ignore him.

It's working pretty well. I no longer wake up to turds in the dining room. Or being pounced upon in the middle of the night. Mind you, the Little Girl has been doing her fair share of that lately. Although the question remains: if he can hold his bladder for eight hours straight, then why does he pee on the rug when he's been outside an hour earlier? See, I think that's attitude. He is an Attitude with Fur. He doesn't pee on his rug in his crate. Oh no, because he knows I'd make him do his own laundry. He pees on my rug.

Husband took him out once he got home and Dog promptly peed on the grass. Good dog. But then Husband pokes his smug head around the corner and says, "See? That's why he pees on the rug - you don't let him out enough,".

I think that the single greatest accomplishment of my life is the fact that I did not throw something at his head. I calmly explained that letting the dog out has been the entire focus of my life for the past six months. I chant it like a mantra. Must let the dog out. Must let the dog out. Must let the dog out. I no longer have a social life because I always have to rush home to LET THE DOG OUT!

My three-step program will have to be initiated with Husband. Now, where can I find a crate big enough?

It's the little things...

All I can say is: I am deeply grateful that dog has no opposable thumbs.

I can only imagine and that's not a place I want to go.

Every Wednesday is Tip Day

We've had a bought of sore throats in our house this past week. I used to work with someone who believed that a sore throat was the result of not speaking your mind. Of course, she also believed in leprechauns. Much as I'd love to live in a magical world, I veer toward the pragmatic. As such, when my throat hurts, I do this:

For me:

• Zinc lozenges. Try to get them in pure form, i.e. sugar-free.

For kids:

• little bit of apple cider vinegar mixed with a little bit of honey, taken by the spoonful several times a day.

or

• glob of honey mixed with boiling water and a squeeze of lemon juice.

For hardcore zealots:

• splash of apple cider vinegar in water. Down the hatch.

Or you could just start mouthing off. Maybe that works too.

What do YOU call it?

Last week, the Big Girl had a fever. She stayed home from school for two days and was waited on and given the elixir of the gods known to kids as Children's Tylenol. Why they make this taste like melted grape popsicles, I'll never fully understand.

Because the Little Girl wanted some.

The best I can do is explain that if you're not sick, you don't get medicine. I know some parents fool their kids with syrup and other stuff pretending it's medicine, but I'm more of the "suck it up" school of parenting.

Tonight both girls are in the bath, and the Little Girl starts telling me, "I have a beaver,".

Woah. Okay, they KNOW that in preschool? Man, do I ever need to catch up on things. Much as I wished Husband was around to hear our two-year-old continually announce that she has a beaver, I stared on in solo bafflement.

Then the Big Girl said, "It's 'fever', not beaver,".

And all semblance of composure was lost.

Why, Dog. Why?

Why are you barking at people who are completely within their civilian, tax-paying rights to walk on the fucking sidewalk? That is okay! We don't mind. And the wind? You can be as indignant as you want, but it's gonna blow.

You can shut the hell up, now.

Why do you have to have a seizure when we see another dog? You don't know that dog - it's not your long-lost cousin, and you will go on to have a fulfilling life if you miss out on sniffing its bum. It's okay.

You can start thinking about boundaries, you know.

Why did you eat my plant? The one I lovingly tended until it reached its adult height of Taller Than Me...why?

If it isn't in your bowl - DON'T EAT IT!

Why, when you have a truckload of chew toys, do you go for my $200 boots? Because they smell like sock?

If you like my boot so much, I'd be happy to cram it up your ass for you.

Society for the Prevention of Charlie's Assasination

Dog and I are in a difficult phase of our relationship. Difficult in the sense that he's only alive because it is illegal to kill him.

And turn him into a pillowcase.

Husband is worried because he feels that, at eight months, Dog is in his teenage rebellion, and fears for our own children when in a similar growth period. While I have assured him that I have no intention of turning my children into pillowcases, he still frets. They'll get up to things, but I'm confident that none of them will involve leading me on a chase through turd-infested gardens at 6am.

Every Wednesday is Tip Day

Q: I've read through all of your old blogs and see you have a real fascination for different methods of hair removal. For those of us who are curious, what is your recommendation for the best hair removal method? Don't get too excited - I'm not thinking bikini, more arms and legs.


Too late. I'm already excited! A question! A real bonafide didn't-make-it-up-myself question! This is an interesting subject because, after my hospital stay, I just gave up for about a month. It didn't bother me until I was getting dressed one morning and Husband remarked on my simian armpits. I went on a neo-feminist diatribe about him having hairy armpits and it not bothering me in the slightest to which his reply was: "Yeah. But you're a chick." Can't argue with that. Might as well embrace my femininity and de-hair myself. To be fair, my friend and I used to make fun of the German tourists who sported what we called "Das hairen armpitten".

In order of preference, here's what I've tried.

5. Epilady - You might as well sit yourself down with a pair of tweezers and book off the week.

4. Nair - I first tried this in high school and stunk up the bathroom so badly my brother asked if I was doing a science project. This stuff is bottled How to Ruin Your Day. I later discovered a much better use for it by substituting my roommate's shampoo with it. No. I lie. I never did that. I dreamed about it though.

3. Wax - painful. Not as effective as I thought it would be. It was all nice and smooth but it didn't last very long. Unlike Mel Gibson would have us believe, it does not give you the ability to read women's thoughts.

2. Laser - I have two friends who've had this done. One on her legs, and the other on her bikini. K's legs look like they've been airbrushed to perfection. M - well, I wouldn't know, but I'll take her word for it that the landscaping is immaculate. When money allows, this is what I want to do - get a few sessions, defollicalize myself and begin wearing shorts. I lie. Nothing will get me to wear shorts. Worst invention ever - trousers with an inferiority complex. Bah! Won't do it. But if I had lasered legs, I might just wear an inappropriately short dress. God knows what I'd do if I did the bikini too! I may just take over the world.

1. Razor - fast, cheap and effective. Husband objects to my using his razor for this. However, if you use hair conditioner - you don't need any kind of shaving cream. And after you dry off, spritz a little isopropyl alcohol on your legs then right away (because it will sting a bit) apply generous amounts of baby oil. You could probably use motor oil for that matter, but the baby stuff smells nicer. This will make your legs uber-smooth and I think it lasts a bit longer than if you'd not done it.

Distract Me Please

Okay, wait. This is supposed to start getting easier now that I've done the five days of detox.

Everyone and everything I see is a giant brownie. That's not good. Not the least of which because I don't want to be found gnawing on someone's ear or licking the desk.

Husband just left in a flurry of panic - business trip to Chile for two weeks. We've just yanked the rug out from under ourselves by suddenly thinking about putting our house on the market. This makes me really want some sugar. My friend just asked me if I was high. Therein lies the problem: I'm not. If I were, this would all be spectacularly funny and not kvetch-worthy.

Detox - Day 5

I'm done! I did it!

Hooray!

Now that I've successfully hurdled the cravings, I'm on to stabilizing my blood sugar - eating only at mealtimes. It's definitely not a single step process.

Do I feel better? YES!

But just so you know, while trolling for a celebratory picture, most of them were cakes. And one...wow...how does "celebration" lead to gay porn? Is it because of the Village People song?

I went with the fireworks instead...

Detox - Day 4

Only one more day to go and I should be out of the woods. But the White Demon will always be lurking. Perhaps I should make it my mission to eradicate sugar from the face of the earth. I will have no friends...

9:00 - Having learned from yesterday that a bowl of cereal isn't going to cut it, I go all out and have an egg. Throwing caution to the wind, I have it on toast WITH some beans. I cheat a little and have some melon cubes too.

10:45 - Really really hate Dog today. Really.

11:50 - Tea time with dear friends. Friends who understand. She even took me aside and asked if I'd be okay if she served everyone brownies. It was good - I need to be able to see it, smell it, wipe up its crumbs without succumbing. SUCCESS!

1:40 - We go see a house for sale. We fall in love with it. We race home to do some number crunching, then teeth gnashing. It successfully takes my mind off detox. My anxiety is sky high.

4:36 - Dinner guests arriving in twenty five minutes. Crisis clean up must ensue. Anxiety now at orbiting levels.

8:55 - Dinner complete. Guests full and happy. While I was tucking in the children, I came back to the living room to see Husband hiding something behind his back. Everyone looked at me a bit anxiously. Then I knew. He had chocolates. Lindt chocolates for everyone. Everyone but me, that is. I like that he was trying to be discreet, but ...ah, whatever.

That "whatever" felt good. Maybe I'm just that little bit closer to the step beyond the ability to not eat it. My goal is: complete lack of desire.

I think, I hope, that the worst is over.

One. More. Day. Then I'll write about other things. Maybe.