Cake disaster

There is a lot to be said for those who decorate cakes for a living. I tried to make a birthday cake for darling daughter and this was the result. I will admit, it isn't pretty, but I should get an A for effort.

I like to bake, but I hate to decorate. My idea of decorating a cake is icing it and tossing some sprinkles on top. This time, I tried to do my best. I wrote Happy Birthday and tried to snazzy up my usual decorating technique by adding some pink rosebuds along the cake's rim. I should mention that I added a tonne of icing on top to fill and hide a crack that formed on top of the cake. However, by the time I went to bed, the cake was in a sorry state as the icing started to slide down towards the platter.

In the morning, the cake was a sorry sight. The crack had grown bigger and most of the icing had pooled at the bottom of the cake. I certainly had a cake disaster on my hands.

Obviously, my cake decorating skills leave much to be desired. Luckily, I have a very creative friend who helped me (I really shouldn't use the word helped as she did all the work) decorate 24 cupcakes for me tonight. Friends are great, especially those who are talented enough to decorate cakes and cupcakes. The next time a loved one's birthday rolls around, I'm leaving cake decorating to the professionals.

Restaurant high chairs leave little to be desired

I know it has been a week of no posts, but after a week of travelling, I am back.

And during my week of travels, I discovered a reoccuring theme while on the road: restaurant high chairs leave little to be desired. We ate in restaurants for most of our journey, which resulted in either us or the waitress dragging a high chair to our table. Most of the high chairs were encountered were dirty, sticky and grimy. The daily ritual involved me subduing the germaphobe in me, gritting my teeth and strapping darling daughter in the high chair. However, before I would drop a morsel of food on darling daughter's tray, I'd quickly wipe the tray down with a baby wipe. While the wipe likely just rearranged the germs on the tray, I like to think I killed some in the process.

There is a reason restaurant high chairs are dirty, stick and grimy. It is because babies and toddlers eat with their sticky and grimy little hands and they drop food everywhere. One night I gave darling daughter Gerber Graduate puffs at the hotel restaurant as part of her supper and the next morning I found some puffs in the high chair seat. As a conscientious mom, I tried to clean darling daughter's messes the best I could. I couldn't help to feel embarrassed looking at the end of result of darling daughter's meals -- a mess of food on the floor. But as dear husband points out, that's what tips are for.

Back to the high chairs. I think restaurants would do their littlest patrons a great service if they would wash down their high chairs on a regular basis. Obviously, it is easy enough to overlook the high chair when you have a dishcloth in hand, but I know all parents would appreciate it if a little more effort was put into keeping restaurant high chairs clean.

A walk down memory lane

The other day while shopping at Zeller's I spotted a very pregnant woman. I'm finding myself very emotional these days as this time last year I was preparing for darling daughter's arrival. I couldn't stop myself from taking a sneak peak at this obvious pregnant woman and neither could others. When you are pregnant people look at you with curiousity and awe. Yes, some times you feel beautiful and other times you feel like a freak show by the way some people look at you. However, I realize now that people are curious as to how big you can get, while others look at you in awe because you are carrying a miracle. When I was very early on in my pregnancy, a nurse told me and dear husband that the stars basically have to align for a woman to get pregnant and retain the pregnancy. If you think about what events have to transpire from conception to birth, it is a damn miracle that there are six billion people roaming the face of the earth. But getting back to the freak show comment, I once had a friend ask me if I had a basketball underneath my shirt. She meant well with her comment, but it still kind of stung. I tried not to stare at this woman too hard because I remember what it is like to be on the receiving end of stares. In the remaining days of my pregnancy, I recall getting odd stares while shopping in Ikea. I thought it was strange. But as I have learned it isn't all that odd as people are curious because you are carrying a miracle. Well, that's what I like to think, anyway.

Family washrooms not so family friendly

I spent some time at the Montreal airport today and I was not impressed with their family washrooms. Pardon my language, but in no uncertain terms they suck.

Well, maybe I should rephrase that and say the one that dear husband and I happened to stumble upon was horribly inadequate. It was small, there was no toilet, and most importantly there not a square of paper towel to be seen anywhere. There was only a very powerful, but loud hand drier, which scared the begezzers out of my child.

While hand driers could be more environmentally friendlier than paper towel, I will give you the following reason why paper towel dispensers should be in family washrooms: the crying factor. When you have a child who is in dire need of a diaper change and decides to pee midway through said diaper change and you have no paper towels to clean up the mess, your attitude suddenly turns pissy. (Pardon the pun). Although you have a wonderful new diaper bag, there are only so many diapers it can hold, so obviously diapers are at a premium when travelling and wasting them on cleaning up pee on a change table, well, is simply wasteful.

And when you turn on the very powerful, but loud hand drier to dry your hands after cleaning up the pee, your wailing child wails even harder because the hand drier has scared the begeezers out of her. *Sigh* Let's just say today was a long day. And if airports, especially the Montreal Airport, wanted to make life easier for parents they would install paper towel dispensers in their family washrooms.

Money well spent, hopefully

Some women love their Kate Spade, Prada or Coach handbags. I, on the other hand, love my Ju-Ju-Be diaper bag.

I bit the bullet today and laid out $130 for a diaper bag. Yep, that is a lot of money on a freaking diaper bag, however, the bags I have don't meet my needs as they aren't roomy enough to handle all of darling daughter's stuff.

So today was the day, I decided, to get serious about the whole diaper bag issue. The whole thing was sparked the other day when I got diaper bag envy. A friend of mine bought a new snazzy diaper bag. It certainly outshone the bag that I am using: a cotton brown satchel bag I bought at Shopper's Drug Mart on sale for $9.99. She wanted something more feminine. I totally understood her reasoning. I figured I could do the same and get something that was both feminine and functional. Plus, it was time to splurge and stop wasting my money on bags that simply don't work.
When I told dear husband that I was going to blow my money on a pricey diaper bag, he suddenly got a hurt look on his face. He bought me a diaper bag for Christmas that I hardly use. But to be truthful, it isn't that functional. It doesn't have a lot of roomy and it is bulky.

While on the hunt for a new diaper bag, I spoke to a sales clerk who completely understood where I was coming from. Her own diaper bag is wearing out and she is eying the Ju-Ju-Be as a replacement. She once had the same diaper bag that dear husband gave me, but promptly took it back to the store. Really, she said, diaper bags not only need to be functional, but they also have to be durable. Amen to that, I thought. My poor brown satchel from Shopper's Drug Mart isn't cutting the mustard.

My bag features smart pockets and crumb drains. I've got insulated bottle pockets and a memory foam changing pad. My bag also promises to kill germs, mold, mildew, fungus and bacteria. It has fabric protector and stains aren't suppose to stick.

Yes, it is a diaper bag, but it is a cool diaper bag. I'd like to see your Kate Spade handbag kill germs.

Blessed sleep

It took three nights, but finally darling daughter slept through the night. Dear husband woke me up this morning to tell me that she had slept through the night. (That's kind of ironic that you would wake up your wife to tell her that your child has slept through the night. . . ) We still haven't seen any teeth yet, but dear husband thinks she is getting another top tooth. She refuses to let us look in her mouth.

I forgot how important sleep is. Since having darling daughter, I have realized that I don't function well on little sleep. Those first seven weeks of her life are still a hazy, painful sleepless blur. I'm still trying to repay my sleep debt that I accumulated when I was pregnant with darling daughter as I suffered from insomnia. Going through three interrupted night sleeps, I am starting to wonder how I could possibly function with another child in the picture. Sure, I never really bought into the adage of "sleep when the baby sleeps," but how can you really do that when you have a toddler to look after? I know people do it, but how do they do it, is the question I'd like to have an answer to.

Anyway, this little experience has given me some food for thought that I will certainly mull over.

Stuck in teething hell, part two

It is almost 2 p.m. and I'm still in my pajamas. Obviously it goes without saying that today is not a good day.

I have reverted back to the newborn stage, if that is at all possible. Last night was utter hell. Darling daughter was up every two hours and was inconsolable for the most part. My memory is a little fuzzy from midnight to 6 a.m. I know she got up three times. I know I got the camilia out. I bought it last night at the grocery store. It is a homeopathic medicine for teething pain. When I was at the grocery store, I read the direction and almost laughed out loud. The following is the dosage instructions: "give one unit-dose upon onset of crisis. If pain persists, repeat does up to two times at 15-minute intervals. Repeat the process if another crisis occurs."

Crisis? I'm not too sure what constitutes a crisis, but at midnight we had a full blown emergency. Let's just say I wasn't laughing any more at when I ripped open the camilia box, opened a capsule and gave it to darling daughter. It did seem to help, but it didn't help at around 4 a.m. (It may not have been 4 a.m. as like I said before, my memory is fuzzy). But by that time, she was so overtired that likely no medicine in the world would improve her overall mood.

Luckily for me, darling daughter seemed to be in a cooperative mood and went down for three hour nap this morning. Taking to heart that old adage of "sleep when the baby sleeps" I climbed back into bed for a snooze. Oh, sleep can be so glorious, especially when you haven't had it in awhile. Thanks to that sleep, I feel somewhat human now and ready for the next round of teething hell. But if you feel the need, do say a little prayer for me.

Stuck in teething hell

So far, I've kind of sailed through the teething thing. Teeth would suddenly pop into darling daughter's with no fuss or muss and life would go on. When I would hear teething horror stories from friends, I'd be in awe. As they would tell me their teething nightmare tales, I would shake my head in sympathy, but I'd always have a strange feeling of smugness due in part that darling daughter never experienced such teething problems.

Well, karma has smacked me on the butt. I'm stuck in teething hell. It has only been 24 hours and I'm already exhausted. Yesterday started off as any ordinary day. Got darling daughter up, fed her, handed her to dear husband and then went to the gym. When I returned home, all hell had broken loose. Darling daughter threw up her entire breakfast on dear husband and made a horrible mess in the process. And she also developed a fever.

We are assuming it is teething as she is in good humour for the most part. Another big sign teething may be the culprit is that she is grinding her teeth. She has been grinding her teeth for the last week and she only does it when she is teething. Plus, she won't let us look in her mouth.

While the daytime is relatively peaceful for the most part, nigh time is a different story. From the time we put her to bed last night to the minute she officially started the day this morning, she was up four times during the night. Ouch! I totally forgot what it was like to deal with night feedings. Luckily, I am still breastfeeding. Although some parenting experts may cringe in horror, the easiest thing for me was to nurse my cranky, inconsolable baby back to sleep. Hey, you got to do what you got to do to survive!

However, dealing with four night feedings has caused me to feel like I have a hangover. My head hurts and it isn't even 10:30 a.m. yet. It is going to be a long day. Hopefully this teething thing doesn't last too long.

That shirt is $30.50?!? No matter, I'll take it!

As I have alluded before, darling daughter will soon turn one. To mark this momentous occasion, I decided she needs a birthday shirt, preferably a “It’s fun to be one” shirt. Last night I hopped into the car and drove down to the Ottawa Trainyards to the Carter’s store. If you have never been, do go. I love that store as it is the only store that has onesies long enough to fit darling daughter properly. I’ve seen the “It’s fun to be one” shirts during previous shopping expeditions at Carter’s, however, they didn’t have any in stock. With my hopes dashed somewhat, I jumped into the car this morning to Bayshore in hopes one of the many children stores at the mall carries birthday shirts.

After asking around at two different stores and getting negative answers, I trudged to the high end clothing stores in the mall. I say trudge as I don’t like to shop there. Don’t get me wrong, it is a lovely store, but way out of my price range. There is too much temptation as everything this store stocks is so darn cute, but pricey. I keep telling myself that darling daughter has simple tastes, and for the most part, consignment stores can accommodate her clothing needs.

Luckily they had birthday shirts. Although they don’t say “It’s fun to be one” they do say “birthday girl.” As I admired the pretty pink shirt with the adorable pink polka dotted cupcake, I glanced at the price tag. I think I stopped breathing for a second when the numbers $30.50 flashed before my eyes. $30.50, I gasp. You’ve got to be kidding me, I thought to myself.

Staring at the T-shirt, I debated. Should I buy it? I thought. Is it worth the money? Of course it isn’t worth the money, my inner voice snapped back at me. But darling daughter only turns one and she’d look cute as a button in this shirt, it added. My mind quickly went into overdrive as I began to think if I can get some mileage out of this shirt. She’ll wear it at a birthday celebration with her paternal aunts and uncles, she’ll wear it on her actual birthday, then at her birthday playdate and then at a birthday party at her great grandmother’s house, I reasoned. Although I may not get my $30.50 worth out of this shirt, I may come close enough to it.

As my mother always said, a fool and their money are soon parted. I soon found myself standing at the cash, handing over $32.03 to the salesclerk. I told myself not to look at any of the cute merchandise displayed on the walls because if I can justify purchasing a $30.50 T-shirt, I can likely whip up some justification in purchasing the $44 pink cupcake jumper I had admired for a brief moment.

I keep on telling myself that she only turns one once. *Sigh* This is becoming my mantra as I spent $35 on supplies for her first birthday party later this afternoon. Oh well, as I said before, and as I will continue to say until her birthday, she will only turn one once. But I don’t think Gail Vaz-Oxlade would consider this a valid excuse.

Baby steps

One of the joys of being a parent is watching your child master a skill. Although your heart swells with joy, you find yourself dealing with bittersweet emotions as it suddenly occurs to you that your child is growing up. This week’s milestone is waving. Darling daughter waves at breakfast, at naptime and at her Cabbage Patch Kids. Yep, she is a little waving machine these days.

It isn’t a huge milestone, but it is so cute to watch as she waves hello and goodbye to dear husband. And although I always thought that I would be one of those parents who wouldn’t obsess over milestones (other than sitting up), I am finding that I am obsessing when darling daughter will start walking. She is cruising along the furniture and I know once she becomes fully mobile I’ll be wishing that she was still at the crawling stage. These days I find myself reminiscing of the days where I could put darling daughter on the floor and she wouldn‘t move an inch as she didn‘t know how to roll over. Diaper changes were a dream in those days as there was no wiggly baby to wrestle with. Those days are long gone. Now I’ve got to strap her down with the safety belt attached to her change pad in hopes it will deter her from rolling over.

I think the reason I’m obsessing is that all little darling daughter’s friends are on the cusp of the walking stage. If they aren’t fully walking, they are taking steps. The look so grown up as they cruise about with no help from their mommas. But the question is, why am I so obsessed in seeing darling daughter grow up so quickly? In a couple of weeks she’ll turn one. It has been an exciting year that has come and gone in a blink of an eye. It has gone so fast that sometimes when I think hard about all the changes that have taken place over the last year, I’ll want to cry.

So what if she isn’t walking? I tell myself. She’ll walk in due time and when she does decide to, she’ll be getting into everything. Right now she is a handful, so maybe it is best I tone down the obsession, for now.

Big media and Michael Jackson

Since becoming a full-time stay at home mom about a month ago, I've tried to write a blog post once a day. I find that writing helps me to keep sane and in touch with the outside world. Some days I'm successful and other days not so much. Today I thought about writing how darling daughter let us (and I say us because I get up when she does as she is my little alarm clock) sleep in until 8:45 a.m. This is the first time she'd slept in that long. I'm not complaining as I do enjoy sleep.

I was thinking about posting another baby food post. More and more, I am relying on commercial baby food these days. Last week I made carrots which was a big disaster as darling daughter wailed, and I mean WAILED, when I turned on the blender. Argh, not only did I have to comfort my hysterical daughter, but clean up the huge mess in my kitchen. Have I ever mentioned that I hate making baby food?

I was also thinking about writing about how much my life has changed in the last year since darling daughter's arrival. This time last year I was hunkering down, getting ready the big day. And I do mean hunkering as I would turn on our house alarm after dear husband left for the day and I wouldn't leave the house unless I had a doctor's appointment. Yep, it was a bit crazy, but sometimes you can get crazy when you are pregnant.

But since today is Michael Jackson's memorial in Los Angeles, I think my post should address the 24 hour news channels feeding frenzy in relation to the King of Pop's death. I'll say this: I was never a huge Michael Jackson fan, however, I did enjoy listening to his music. But since news of his death broke almost two weeks ago, it is hard not to be bombarded with excessive stories relating to Jackson's death and life.

In my humble opinion, I think the 24 hour news channels have lost credibility with the public as they have gone into overdrive covering his death. As soldiers die in Afghanistan, the stock markets fall, people riot in the streets in China and Iranians protest, legitimate journalists are interviewing people who may have had vague connections with Jackson, asking their reaction to the King of Pop's death. In some instances, the only coverage actual news gets is a brief mention on the moving ticker at the bottom of the television screen. Just a few moments ago, CBC reporters were discussing if Jackson's body was actually in the casket at his memorial at the Staples Centre. Citing celebrity gossip website, TMZ.com, one of the reporters told viewers that the website was reporting his body is in the casket. Good lord, has it come down to this that we are discussing if his body is in the casket? Does it even matter? The poor man is dead. Can't we let him rest in peace? Apparently, not. I'm not disputing that Michael Jackson's death is news, but the way it has been covered has been overblown to say the least.

Once the hoopla dies down and the 24 hour news channel return to their regular programming of covering actual news events, we can all sigh a breath of relief until the next big overblown news story comes along. When I was a news reporter, I always thought the news media got a bum rap the way they cover news. However, I can see now that criticism is valid in some instances.

Cart tipping

I went to Wal-Mart tonight with some friends. It was a nice adventure. My friends are getting married this summer and we were shopping for supplies. After loading our treasures into the car, my friend tipped the cart onto its side. Why, I asked, would you tip the cart on its side? Well, he replied, if you aren't inclined to return your cart to a designated collection point, you should have the decency to tip the cart onto its side so it doesn't crash into parked vehicles. After thinking about it it is an interesting concept that makes a lot of sense, if you ask me.

Sometimes dreams don't translate well into reality

After today, I am thanking my lucky stars that we bought airplane tickets to Newfoundland. Dear husband and I had contemplated making the drive to Newfoundland. It would be a scenic trip, we reasoned. Darling daughter would absolutely love it, we thought. In my mind, I had visions of me reading copious amount of books while dear husband drove and darling daughter happily looked out the window, cloud gazing. But just like all my visions related to parenthood, my daydreams don't quite match up with reality. Case in point is my standard parenthood image involving dear husband and I lounging on our bed, while we gaze lovingly at darling daughter as she plays quietly between us. Yes, it is a lovely image in my head. But the reality is that darling daughter squirms a lot and loves to climbs and hang off the head board. We have no time to lounge as we are too busy making sure she doesn't fall and hurt herself.

Lately, darling daughter has had a real hate on for her car seat. Last week she cried all the way home during a 25 minute car ride. Today, she cried for an hour to my grandmother's house. She cried all the way home. However, that was our fault as we decided to make a stop into Wal-Mart and if we had just kept on going, she would have slept for the entire drive. Sadly, we forgot one of the golden rules of parenthood: don't wake a sleeping baby. But the allure of wide aisles and good bargains was too much to pass up. However, we did pay for it on the car ride home as she basically cried for about 45 minutes straight. Nothing I did could console her. The classic trick of letting her play and chew on her Robeez lasted for about 15 minutes before she tossed them aside in a fit of rage. I even made a make shift sock puppet out of her sock, but that got no laughs. Argh! If she can't last an hour into a car ride without crying, how could she ever survive a three day road trip?

Thankfully, we have used the common sense that God gave us and buy airline tickets. Dear husband told me today that he would like to make the drive out to Newfoundland. I understand, I said, but we will have to wait until she is older. How old? he asked. Probably when she is out of the house, I replied. Despite the crying, I don't think I can stand hearing "are we there, yet?" for three solid days.

Darling daughter and Baby Einstein don't mix

Perplexed is the only word that can accurately describe my current mood.

I've got cranky baby on my hands. Perhaps she is teething. Perhaps she is overtired. Or perhaps she woke up on the wrong side of the crib this morning. Who knows? But in situations like this, I turn to Baby Einstein for help. Baby Einstein has a line of DVDs and the only DVD I own from the line is Baby Mozart. I have played this DVD several times for darling daughter, especially when she is cranky and fussy. Its soothing music, real life images and captivating puppet shows usually calm her down and give me a well needed break. Heck, when she has been in a particularly foul mood, I have played the DVD twice in a row. Until now, the DVD has been a good investment.

In many ways, Baby Einstein has been a godsend. But now darling daughter has decided the soothing music, real-life images and puppet shows are now terrifying images. I played the DVD twice this week and both times darling daughter has whimpered, shivered and bawled when the puppets appear on the television screen. Unless I'm holding her, darling daughter won't watch it without crying, which is unusual as she is an independent baby and she doesn't like to be held by anyone.

So now I am perplexed. What do I turn to when I need a break? Apparently has decided Baby Einstein is now to terrifying to watch. However, the DVD box is a different story. Darling daughter loves it. There are several hundred bite marks on the cover's plastic sleeve. She'll play with it for hours if I let her. *Sigh* It would be just like my child to become a conundrum.

Canada Day

A facebook friend who lives abroad posted this YouTube video yesterday. Check it out at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mWQf13B8epw. For those readers who aren't Canadian, yesterday Canada celebrated its 142nd birthday. Canada is a pretty young nation. Yesterday, dear husband and darling daughter went to a barbecue before hitting local Canada Day celebrations. In the sea of red and white, it wasn't hard to feel proud being an Canadian. And it was nice to celebrate the day as a family. In pervious years, I have had to work.

However, celebrating a statutory holiday in the middle of the week has screwed up my sense of time. Yesterday it either like Saturday or Sunday, not Wednesday. And it felt weird when dear husband woke up this morning to go to work. Thankfully tomorrow is Friday, I think.