Read this once and then never again. It's too dangerous.

So, apparently Victoria is one of the Seven Portals of Hell.  My friend told me this.  She didn't mean to, she knows that I fall into the 1% of this category:

Except that I call someone first, and tell them to be quiet while I crawl. That way, if something happens, someone knows.

But I came out of the bathroom at the wrong time and overheard. Obviously, the first question you might ask is 'How does one become a portal to hell?'.  Indeed.  Is there a selection committee?  Like the IOC?  Is there lobbying?  And backroom deals and bribery like FIFA?  Were Wills and Beckham horribly disappointed that England didn't win (I actually don't know that.  I don't know the other 6 portals.  I did no research)?.  And why only seven portals?  Do they keep the number low so as to appear exclusive?  I was pretty sure that just about everything would get you into Hell these days.

Anyways, so clearly Victoria was, like, the worst place for someone of my low-calibre bravery to move to.  I am going to stop writing about it now because I feel it could be like Lord Voldemort.  If you say it out loud you might attract too much attention.  Stop thinking about it now.  Stop it.

In other news I am re-watching the Harry Potters.  Because my book-to-do-list is too long to reread them.

Better he pervert her language than me.

It has been ages since my last post.  Specifically, 11 days.  This is because A.  I have numerous posts almost ready to go, but:

and B. I got a Pinterest account and seriously.  It is addicting.  Look it up.  But also because C. Adrian was home this week and I try to cram in as much time with other adults as possible.  The only reason I am writing now is because I am in Prince George, and I am sitting on my brother's bed (they are away and letting me stay) and I am terrified to move in case I wreck something.  The TV is staring at me from across the room.  It's GINORMOUS and has edges that stick out and it's saying "Noooora.  Knock me oooover...".

In other news, Adrian taught Ann the eff word the other day.  I know, I was surprised too- we all thought it would be me.  She was singing 'Mary had a little lamb' and inserting random words where she got bored of the lyrics (as opposed to just stopping, which was everyone else's preference).  She was singing 'Mary had a My Mommy, My Mommy, My Mommy' (it doesn't even make sense Ann, try harder) when Adrian got cut off in traffic and hurled some expletives at the douche canoe beside us (she can't hear me, I can curse).  Sure enough, Ann started singing 'Mary had a F@ck Mommy, F@ck Mommy, F@ck Mommy'.  And then she did numerous other verses with every person's name she could think of.  It was hysterical.  And her enunciation was perfect, with a strong '-ck' sound.  She's very advanced.

I am off tomorrow on an RVing adventure with Ann and my parents.  I am super excited but my parents are worried I will hate it.  This is mainly because I haven't been camping in 10 years, and I hate being dirty, grimy, cold, bug-bitten, covered in bug-repellent or stinking like campfire. 

It should be awesome though and I am very optimistic.  I'll keep you posted.

The Plight of the Unemployed

This morning Ann and I watched (from our warm snugglefest under the covers) as Adrian ran around the house desperately looking for an ironed shirt to wear to work.  I thought "Geez, I guess given that I'm home all the time it would be only fair if I helped with his ironing occasionally".  Eff!  I need a job.

Fortunately, I never remember anything that occurs before nine.  In university, my father would give me to-do-lists as he left for work in the morning.  One of my besties- who stayed over a lot- would frantically repeat the list over and over in her head (litter, dishwasher, milk, litter, dishwasher, milk...) until I was functional, because I would NEVER remember and then I would get in trouble for being useless.  Anyways, then we headed off for a wonderful jaunt around Langford Lake with Ann's cousins and I forgot about housework and how much it sucks to be unemployed.

Monday: the Two Soother Suckfest Edition

Adrian got home last night.  His flight was 3 hours late.  It had already been so long you'd think 3 hours was no biggie, but I thought I might cry.  I think that Ann and I had gone 4 straight days without either of us having any interaction with anyone else, and I was fixin to bust if I didn't get a break ASAP.

He brought nice gifts though, so I soon forgot.  His trip sounded amazing, and on the way home they flew out of Amsterdam, which had its Gay Pride this weekend.  I think he and his boss took in much of the festivities, which is interesting, because his boss is pretty straight-laced to be partying hard in Amsterdam.  But sure enough, Ad texted me at 4am (his time).  4am!  And I'm the bad guy if I read with the light on til 11:30.  His boss emailed me this photo of them celebrating Pride.   Adrian is the Awkward Academic in the back, his boss is the guy on the left:

"Excuse me guys, where can I get a hat like that?  Are they UPF55?"

Just kidding.  His boss would never wear a hat like that.  Anyways, he had to go to work this morning, and as he was leaving I was all "Hey....wait a second..." as it dawned on me that it was still just me and Ann.  Sigh.  4 days til he is on vacation.  And therefore me too! 

I just put her down for a nap.  Some kids get less reliant on soothers as they grow older.  Ann now has TWO soothers for naptime.  So she can switch them out depending on her mood.  And you never know when one might go missing during the course of a nap.

"The pj Frogs might need to borrow one.  What's your point?"

Updated: The word 'Vagina' is in, 'Bajingo' is out.

CBC radio, my resource for all things important, had a parenting expert on yesterday.  This expert said that it is important that children learn the proper names for their business.  Calling it a 'flower' is only going to confuse them.  We don't call it a 'welbow', why call it a 'weenie'?  Though they recommended saving 'clitoris' for a much later conversation.

Stats: Not just for terrorizing students anymore

Did you know that all blogs have statistical analysis built into them?  I have never bothered to look before- stats are reserved for a traumatized part of my memory dating back to university.  The only redeemable part of which is that I got a better grade than my brother.  Mainly because he never came.


Anyways, this is what some of it looks like:

Fig.1.  Who even OWNS a blackberry anymore?

There are also stats on where the pageviews are coming from.  Not surprisingly- Canada.  I nearly peed my pants however, when I saw that there were 4 pageviews from GERMANY.  Then I remembered that Adrian was there this week.  I can already tell what you're thinking; "wasn't he there 10 days?  And he only checked into your blog 4 times?"  I know.  RUDE.  I did recheck this morning to take a screen shot  (fig.2) and again nearly peed when I saw 2 NETHERLANDS pageviews.  After I processed that Adrian was in Amsterdam, and Amsterdam was in the Netherlands (or so I'm assuming.  I'm not a socials teacher) I felt very appreciative that Adrian is making my blog so international.  It will look good when I start getting shopped by lucrative sponsors.

Fig.2.  The Europeans love me.

I will be even more appreciative when I see what gifts he brings home (hotel soap is not a gift Adrian).

Not surprisingly, I don't understand a lot of it.  There have been more than 91 pageviews, so I don't know what the 85 represents.  Perhaps if I had attended stats more often, instead of sleeping in.  I'll know for the next stats class I take.

Turning your child into a social outcast 101

Kids really do copy whatever you say.  When Ann passes gas I say 'excuse you!'.  So obviously she has learned that when she passes gas she says 'excuse you!'.  And then she looks over at me and smiles.  It's like she's trying to pass off the blame onto me.  I find this hysterical, as often when Ann passes gas I will blame it on Adrian and make other relevant obnoxious comments.

Even if it was accidental, clearly this child is taking after my sense of humour already.  This is where parenting will be difficult for me.  I probably shouldn't encourage this behaviour, so that she demonstrates proper etiquette, but I find it so freaking funny.

On a related note, she has started calling her vagina her 'bum'.  As a science teacher I believe that body parts should be called by their name in most instances.  This is why I make teenagers stand up and recite this phrase whenever I bust them talking in slang in science class (which is always):  "A 'booby' is a bird.  The word I am looking for is 'breasts'".  This also works for 'tits' (also a bird, though I neglect to mention it can be a 'greattit', or- even worse- a 'bushtit' as this results in fits of giggles), wieners (hot dogs), and other (worse) words.  So this is my dilemna: do I correct her and teach her that the proper word is 'vagina'?  A two-year-old doesn't learn the word 'vagina' organically, unless she is watching waaaay too much Discovery channel.  If she busts that word out at daycare, there could be judging.  Because maybe you aren't supposed to make your children aware of their sex organs until they are at least potty-trained.  And then by the time she goes to kindergarten,  she could be that kid making anatomical drawings while the other kids are making rainbows ("why are your labia so many different colours Susie?").  And then she'll be stuck hanging out with that boy that draws penises all the time ("I believe you've overrepresented the bulbourethral glands in that one Sam").

But I'll probably tell her anyway.  Smart is better than popular.  Right?

Tuesday Updated: Life got more exciting.

I was wrong, the scary slide was the second most exciting part of the day.  We also got our tookisses off the couch and went for a run down by the water.  Then we did sit-ups together. 

"I don't start counting til it starts burning"

It seemed like a great idea at the time- and unlike previous times running with the stroller didn't end up putting a rib out- but by the time I got her to bed and looked over at the dinner mess I was so tired I thought I might cry.

At least it will offset the beer I will have tonight.

ps. In case you haven't picked up on it yet, most of my posts are really just excuses to put up photos of Ann with funny captions.

This is why I don't ride roller coasters

Because I am an AMAZING MOM, Ann and I try to check out a different park every day.  Because we are new here, that means new parks a couple of times a week.  Today we tried one out and it had a SCARY SLIDE (my words, not Ann's)

This just looks unsafe.

It was so high, we had to go down together.  The sad part is that looking down the slide:

Shark shoes, you go first.  Tell us how it went.

...I got a little nervous.  Nervous enough that I waited for a group of grade 8 boys to finish walking past the playground before we proceeded because I knew I would probably squeal (I like to take my summers off from teenage boy judgment).  Sure enough, it was so scary that my heart jumped and I made sounds I used to make fun of my mother for.  We went so fast we shot out the bottom about 3 feet.

My mommy is a wienie.

This will probably be the most exciting thing to happen in our day.  Sigh.  Five days down, four more til Adrian gets home.

Photo Catch-Up: The Ann Bday Edition

I think the key to posting regularly is going to be small, manageable chunks (unlike my last post). So here are some of my favourite photos from around Ann's birthday:

This one is very 'True Blood'.  Like she's just had a human birthday snack.

Opening presents makes my toes curl.

"Wait a second- is this ANOTHER book?"

"Seriously people.  How many books do you think I need?"

  

 This isn't actually true.  Ann loves books.  I recommend this book in particular as you search for specific items on each page and it takes FOREVER.  It's like 'Where's Waldo' for toddlers.  Wastes lots of time.

This is important and in a recent attempt to get more sleep I leave items such as this out on the living room table when I go to bed at night.  When she gets up in the morning I send her to toddle off and entertain herself as long as possible.  When she tires of the books I turn on Diego and she eats the cheerios I left out the night before (it's kind of like leaving carrots out for the reindeer).  I cross my fingers that the cat hasn't licked these overnight.  When Samsung makes a powerful enough remote I won't even have to get up for this step.  I know it is time to get up when i hear the 'clink clink' of glass, which means she's bored and has moved on to the decorations on the bookshelf.

It often buys me an extra hour.  It's a lot of work, but 8:30 is worth it.

*These photos brought to you by MF and Bilio.  They know good books.