High on endorphins

I've been using my Goodlife membership car a lot lately.

It is almost like old times. During my working days, I had a list of class schedules in the top drawer of my desk and a bunch tacked onto my fridge. Now, I peruse the schedules online, seeing if there is a class I can sneak off to once dear husband walks through the front door.

And I have been class crazy lately. Instead of my old standby of three or four BodyStep classes a week, I've been changing it up a bit. I started BodyAttack a couple of weeks ago. It has been ages since I've flicked, jumped, ran and power lunged. By the end of the class you truly feel like your body has been attacked.

This week I've been trying to ease myself back into BodyPump after a two and a half year hiatus. Since Sunday, I've done two classes. I just came home from one. The way my upper arms feel right now, I doubt if I will be able to lift them above my head tomorrow.

And it been good to step up my exercise routine. And with my friend T motivating me and encouraging me to expand my horizons, exercise seems more fun these days. Plus, I have found my match in T, who just seems to love exercise as much as I do.

Anyway, I'm going to wrap up this post as it is now starting to hurt to type. But it is a good kind of hurt. The type of hurt that you know you have had a good workout.

Toy organization at its best

This may sound superficial of me, but I can't stop starting at my new Trofast unit in all its pine wood and plastic bin glory.

I love you Trofast unit. I really do. You have made my life so much easier since you arrived on Sunday.

As part of my recent decluttering purge, I made a couple of trips to Ikea. I'm not a big fan of Ikea. (I know this is such a sacrilege statement to say as many people adore this store.) Although most of my house is furnished by Ikea, I can't stand walking through the store. I'm an in-and-out type of girl. I don't go to Ikea to browse. I hate crowds. I go with a list and to deal with people just browsing or stopped in the middle of the aisle to gawk at a display makes me absolutely mental. Stopping suddenly in an aisle is akin breaking in fast flowing traffic on the Queensway. Why are you stopping? No, don't stop to chat. I've got no time to hear your conversation as I'm a mission, which involves getting my items and getting the heck out of dodge.

So in the last two weeks I have made three trips to Ikea, which is a record for me. The first trip was to conduct research as photos on a website don't cut it for me. The second was to buy two Trofast units and the third trip was to purchase the bins. (I didn't buy all the bins at once as I wanted to get an idea how many I needed in various sizes.) One unit is for the main level and the second is for darling daughter's soon-to-be playroom.

Before I decided to invest in these organizational units, we were using a very large blue pail given to us by close friends of ours. It worked great for an entire year, until darling daughter started to take all of her toys out of it and pushing it around the living room. One day she even fell into it. That is when I decided that we needed to invest something that is a bit more toddler proof. And as for the blue pail, I'm sure I will find a good use for it in a different capacity other than toy storage.

Now, I'm able to organize all her toys. There is a container for all her stuffed animals and another for her stacking toys. The Little People have their own container and the blocks are stored in another. Yep, life has become much easier with Trofast. And as weird as it sounds, it is almost becoming a joy to pick up darling daughter's toys.

Driving in circles with a GPS unit

Although I’m not a big fan of the sophisticated English voice barking out directions, I have been using our GPS unit a lot these days. Dear husband loves it. I’m a little wary of it. Me and the GPS lady don’t see eye to eye. In fact, sometimes I don’t think she even knows the difference between a right from a left. Last week it didn’t know where the apple orchard was located. The other day it gave me wonky directions out of a subdivision. And the latest incident involved the unit wanting to direct me west instead of east.

I had to go to Orleans, which is located in Ottawa’s east end. The east end is a mystery to me. I don’t know any of the major roads. So I need all the help I can get when I’m trekking out to Ottawa’s eastern edge.

So I punch the address into the GPS. I wait, which isn’t a good sign. A message saying “no matches found” flashes onto the computer screen. Great, I grumble to myself. What good is a GPS unit when it doesn’t know an address? I turn to good old and dependable Mapquest for help. Luckily Mapquest knows how to get to my destination. I’m feeling so spiteful at the moment that I want to stick my tongue at the GPS unit.

I thought I’d be smart and punch in the street name located nearby to my destination. I reasoned that at least that way I could use the GPS to take me to a nearby street and I could use the Mapquest directions to get me the rest of the way. Allegedly, the GPS found that street. After getting into the car and approaching a main artery, the GPS tells me to turn left, which makes absolutely no sense as that takes me away from the exit to the Queensway, where I need to be.

Me: Left? What the heck are you talking about?

GPS: Turn left.

Me: No way. I'm going straight.

I proceed straight through the intersection

GPS: Recalculating. In 250 metres, turn left.

Me: What the hell are you talking about? To get onto the highway I’ve got to turn right. R-I-G-H-T.

By this time I’m yelling at the GPS unit. And in defiance, I turn right onto the on ramp

GPS: In 800 meters, take ramp right.

Me: Ramp right? Are you freaking nuts? I need to go east, not west.

It is at this point I turn off the GPS unit in a huff.

I arrive to my destination, no thanks to the GPS unit. Before heading home, I turn the unit back on to see if it could tell me how to get home. After pressing the home button, lo and behold, the darn thing loaded a map of my present location and was able to direct me home.

So I don’t get it. Why was the GPS unit unable to find my destination’s address, but could direct me home from my destination? Oh technology, sometimes you amaze me. And it is not always in a good way.

Tightwad guilt

Today I went shopping. I haven't went shopping for myself in a very long time. The days where I'd spend hours at a mall, browsing through the stores are long gone. When I think back to my teenage years, I can't believe how foolish I was with my money. I'd easily spend $80 on a pair of jeans and not give it a second thought. Now I blanch when I spend $30 on a new pair of pants. Let's just say the clearance rack is my favourite part of any store.

But today was all about me as well as my credit card. I fell in love with this blouse. Regardless of its $50 price tag (yes, I blanched when I turned over the tag) I bought it anyway. And I'd like to mention that I got a deal because it was on sale. Then I fell in love with a pair of ballerina flats. Despite the pricey price tag, I bought them anyway. In the end, I spent about $180 on myself. But as soon as I got home, I developed buyer's remorse, a classic symptom of tightwad guilt. I'll freely admit that I'm a tightwad.

But when I think rationally about the purchases I made, I realize I deserve to spend money on myself. Yes, I'm not going to wear this blouse around darling daughter and risk her spitting up on it, but I will wear it out on an upcoming out on the town with the girls. And I will look fabulous (I hope) and that is priceless.

Reading or knitting: what is a girl to do?

I like to knit. I like to read. But I can't do both. And this is the conundrum I face at the present moment.

Lately, I've been reading a lot of books. My latest passion is Philippa Gregory's Tudor series. After reading The Other Boleyn Girl, I delved right into The Constant Princess. I've got The Boleyn Inheritance waiting for me when I'm done reading the saga surrounding Queen Katherine's life. Thank God for the Ottawa Public Library. I would go broke trying to satisfy my reading habit. Often, I'll read upstairs after darling daughter has gone to bed, turning page after page for a couple of hours, hoping to read one last chapter before retiring to bed for the night.

But now, I'm feeling the urge to knit. The days are getting shorter and cooler. Also, some half decent shows are appearing on television. And this morning I made the mistake of browsing patterns on Ravelry. I found several patterns that I absolutely love. Plus, I've got caught up on my knitting, so I'd love to make something cute for darling daughter. I love making hats for her. The only problem is she won't keep them on her head. I'm sure she'll keep a sweater on if I make her one.

But I love to read. And I love to knit. But it is impossible to do both. And I'm not too sure what I should do. I've got a stack of books beside by bed, waiting for me to open them. I also have a pile of cotton yarn that I can use to create much needed bibs for darling daughter. And when I think about it, if this is my biggest decision in my life right now then life is pretty good right now.

It is called priority seating for a reason

I don't know why this little tale from dear husband surprises me so much, but it does.

As a one-car family, dear husband takes the bus to work. Having the car at home allows me to get out and do errands, plus it saves us money. Parking in Ottawa's downtown core is expensive as in $13 a day expensive. During last winter's bus strike dear husband was spending much moola in parking fees.

I've taken the bus and I know how difficult it can be to get a seat on a jammed-packed OC Transpo bus, especially on the ride home to the suburbs. Although I don't want to paint dear husband as a knight in shining armour in this tale, I do hope that this post will make some people think twice when they see someone in obvious need for a seat.

As told to me by dear husband, he saw a visibly pregnant woman looking for a seat. As the gentleman he is, he offered the woman his seat and she gladly accepted his offer. But the thing is, dear husband was sitting in the middle of the bus. Meaning, this woman had to walk through a crowded bus, past priority seating, looking for a seat.

According to OC Transpo's website, priority seating is available near the front of the bus and is for "anyone who has difficulty standing in or walking to the back of the bus. This may include a senior citizen, a pregnant woman, or a passenger with a disability."

To be fair, I wasn't on the bus. The priority seats could have been taken by other pregnant women, senior citizens or passengers with disabilities. Maybe the woman didn't ask for a seat. Maybe she did and her request was ignored. Regardless, passengers sitting in priority seating (if they were able to) and passengers sitting in seats near priority seating should have offered up their seats.

When I was visiting my brother in Singapore several years ago, I spotted an advertising on the bus, advising passengers if they are able to, to give up their seats to passengers who need them. At the time, I scoffed at the advertisement, thinking it is just plain old common sense to give up your seat to someone who obviously needs it more than you do. If they haven't already, perhaps OC Transpo needs to consider installing such advertisement on their buses as common sense seems to be in limited supplies these days.

The big green machine finally rolls into Ottawa

About freaking time!

While some grumps are railing against the introduction of green bins, I'm celebrating the fact that the city of Ottawa is finally rolling out its organics recycling program. While it will be January before we will be able to use the bins, I can't wait to dump all my organic waste in my new shiny, green bin.

Over the next 12 weeks the city will be delivering the large bins as well as smaller kitchen counter bins to residents' doorsteps. The city estimates the program could divert up to 45 per cent from landfills. I know that in my household that about roughly half of my garbage stream consists of organic material, due to the amount of fruit and vegetables darling daughter consumes. If that material goes into the green bin to be compost, obviously less garbage will be heading to the landfill.

So what can be tossed into the bin? Almost everything, excluding plastics. From leftover food scraps, including meat bones, to dryer lint to popsicles sticks. For the complete list, check out this link.

For years, I have had green bin envy. I have friends who live in Pembroke and they religiously use their bin. They have had access to an organics recycling program for years. After a family barbecue, wouldn't it be nice to toss your food scraps into the green bin, rather than trekking plates into the house and scraping the contents into the garbage can, knowing that material is heading to a landfill site? Every time I cut up rind fruit like watermelon I feel guilty when I toss the rinds into the garbage as I know that is material that could be composted. Unfortunately, I'm not in the position to compost as I live in a condo/townhouse development. This program is going to allow me, and thousands of others, to participate in an important program that is diverting waste from landfill sites.

Yep, I'm excited. I'm finally going to get my own green bin. I hope you use yours. I know I'll be using mine.

Meal planning? What the heck is that?

Good God, dear husband is talking about meal planning. Right now, I've got my hands over my ears, going la, la, la, la, la, laaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa, la to myself to drown out his musings on the subject.

I hate meal planning. I absolutely hate it. I ordered a menu planner from dairygoodness.ca and it recently arrived in the mail. I have yet to open up the envelope. Oh, I have great intentions when it comes to meal planning. But as the saying goes, the road to hell is paved in good intentions.

I've tried meal planning in the past, but it only lasts a week. I think it stems from the fact that I hate to cook. I'm like Cher's character, Rachel Flax, in the movie Mermaids. Mrs. Flax didn't like to cook. She liked finger food. I'm a finger food type of girl. I can survive just fine on h'ordeuvres and tiny sandwiches.

However, dear husband can't. He is a meat and potatoes type of guy. He doesn't like tiny sandwiches all that much. And since barbecue season is winding down, we'll have to start considering planning our meals. Argh! And that means we'll have to start thinking ahead of what we want to eat for the entire week and that means making a shopping list. I know it makes economical sense to plan our meals for the entire week, but there is something inside of me that just can't do it. But at least meal planning would solve the problem of us standing in front of the refrigerator, wondering what is for dinner.

A new twist on the phrase "having a bad hair day"

I often have bad hair days. It is common with my thick, curly hair. When I was a kid I wished I had straight-as-a-board hair. Not much has changed in 30 odd years as I still wish I had straight hair. Yes, curls can be sweet when you are five. Not so sweet when as an adult you have invested money in every hair serum and defrizzer on the market.

Today I caught a bit of a segment on Steven & Chris. A hair stylist was showing how you can resurrect old hair appliances such as hot rollers. The stylist twisted sections of hair into semi tight ropes, wrapped them around rollers and the hair was held in place by hair clips. The result is softer, wavier curls. In fact, the stylist said this technique gives a more dishevelled, organic look.

Dishevelled and organic? I thought. That describes my hair to a T!

Like twisting hair in semi tight rope, I could certainly spin the phrase "having a bad hair day" into something more palatable to my mind. Since dishevelled hair essentially means organic hair and organic means good and healthy, then having a bad hair day is a good thing, not necessarily a bad thing. Yes, so my hair can look like a frizzy mop and I could proudly say to anyone who questioned my hair style that my hair is organic. And I couldn't get any flack because organic is good. Yes, I can see this working. Maybe not to the point where I wouldn't have to invest any more money into hair creams and defrizzer serum, but enough to ease my mind when I'm having a bad hair day.

A is for Apple (and agony relief)

I might have accidently discovered the best teether of all time: apples.

Today we went apple picking for the very first time with friends. I was a little nervous about this outing as darling daughter had little sleep last night. (Very restless. She got to bed around 10 p.m., started to stir at 4:30 a.m. and got up at 5:30 a.m. Argh!). But we all had so much fun at the apple orchard, especially when darling daughter discovered the amazing properties of apples.

Eating that apple must have comforted her mouth and gums because she ate almost the entire thing. I had to throw out the remains of her apple and replace it with a new apple.

Now as a disclaimer, I would suggest anyone considering giving their teething toddler an apple to carefully supervise them so they don't choke.

So I am very grateful to the two apples that were sacrificed today in giving darling daughter comfort. Not only did they occupy a teething toddler, they also gave comfort to two sleep deprived parents for a couple of hours.

Teething thwarts plans

Today, my purging plans were put on hold.

I had big plans in tackling the basement today. It currently in a state of flux. Although most of the clutter has been eliminated, a couple of rooms need to be reorganized. However, the two bottom molars that have been making darling daughter so crabby over the last two days got the better of her. I didn't think it was really fair to anyone to send her to daycare when she is drooling and snotting up a storm. And on top of everything else, she is overtired. She looked wiped at 7 a.m. this morning. The poor kid. Her mouth looks so painful.

So I was cried at all day. It was not fun.

I don't like teething. In fact, I quite dislike it. Tonight is going to be a long night. I'm still vowing to win the clutter war. It is just going to take me a little longer than I thought it would.

The purge begins

Today I finally got the elbow grease out. But even before I could tackle the clutter downstairs, I had to clean up vomit in the car seat.

To successfully tackle the tasks I need to get done, I arranged daycare for darling daughter with a friend who runs a daycare from her home. This time there were no engine service lights or flat tires to deal with. As soon as I drove up to my friend's house, darling daughter thought it was an opportune time to vomit. Oh, the poor kid. She was so upset and I had no blanket to clean her up with so I had to wrap her in my fleece jacket so I wouldn't get any vomit on me. After cleaning up darling daughter and apologizing profusely to my friend, I left to tackle my task. But first, the car seat needed attention.

This isn't the first time I have had to clean up vomit from a car seat and it probably won't be the last. The first time I was faced with this situation the three of us were driving on an Interstate in New York State to visit a friend. But that time I was in the backseat and I had a blanket handy to catch the vomit.

No such luck this time. When I got home I mixed some water and vinegar solution and started scrubbing. Disgusting. Later in the day when I drove a load of stuff to Goodwill, my car almost smelled like a pickle. Oh well, at least it smelled better than regurgitated toddler cereal and milk.

Today I was ruthless. I got down to brass tacks. I collected items and started backing the car for a trip to Goodwill. I also did a couple loads of laundry and reorganized the closet. Due to lack of closet space in my house, dear husband and I are now sharing one side and darling daughter has the other half. The kid is a damn clothes horse. I continued to reorganize the storage closet downstairs. I can see the light at the end of the tunnel, but much work still has yet to be done. Here's hoping I can get everything done in the next two days.

Seven more Tuesdays . . .

Today I had the strangest experience. For the first time ever, darling daughter and I were the oldest mom-baby duo in a room of about 12. And to be honest, I didn't like the feeling.

A couple of weeks ago, we signed up for a eight-week Kindermusik class offered through the City of Ottawa. Due to darling daughter's age, there was not much choice. It was either Kindermusik or swimming lessons. I didn't want to sign up for swimming lessons as I really have to talk myself into going to the pool. It isn't much fun trying to wrestle your one year old into her swimming suit while she is crying hysterically because she hates lying on the Rubbermaid change station.

Kindermusik? I thought to myself when I was browsing through the city's rec guide. That sounds good. Darling daughter would love music. She'll dance and we'll have tonnes fun. Sounds like a good program to get involved with.

Oh, sometimes the vision in my head doesn't live up to reality. I knew I was in trouble when we were waiting in the hallway to enter class. All the other mothers had babies that were much younger than darling daughter. She had a half a year on some of these kids and in one case she was entire year older. A year doesn't sound like much of an age difference, but in babyhood three months between children can make a big difference. While some of these babies were content to sit or lie on their blankets, my child wanted to walk and explore the toys beside the instructor. I felt like I couldn't let her explore her surroundings because I was afraid she'd trip over a baby or poke them in the eye. It was a stressful class as the scarves the instructor gave us only entertained darling daughter to a certain point before she started to squirm. And forget the session involving the baby massage. Darling daughter only laid on her back for a couple of minutes before rolling over and started playing with her Robeez shoe I gave her as a bribe to get her to lay down.

After dealing with a squirming baby, I was relieved when the instructor announced she was ending the class. But when I checked the time, we were only in class for 30 minutes. The class typically lasts for 45 minutes. Good Lord! I don't think I can do an additional 15 minutes. By the time I got my screaming child into her car seat I was exhausted. I know I need to give myself to warm up to the class, but I have my doubts if I can do it. Let's hope the next seven weeks go fast.

It's hard to be ruthless

Clutter is my dirty little secret. And as you can see, I have a lot of it.

Yesterday was the official start of the NFL season. Seventeen fun-filled Sundays (*insert eye roll here*) for dear husband. I on the other hand, took the opportunity to get a head start on my clutter busting. There will be some major clutter busting happening week at my house. Later this week, darling daughter will go to daycare as I get down to brass tacks. Everything must go. No more excuses. The insanity has to end.

Since I moved into this house three years ago the clutter has primarily ended up in one area of the house: the basement. There is a large room that has become a dumping ground for clutter. And over the years I have tried to declutter this room and I have had some success, but as soon as I clean it up, the clutter slowly creeps back in.

It is such a nasty cycle. So no more! Starting Wednesday, the official clutter bustering will begin. CDs will be sorted. Books will be disposed off. (Either by selling them or giving them to the library's AfterWords program). Junk will be hauled to the curb. Yes. It is going to be messy, but it has to be done.

And if yesterday was any indication, I do have a big on my hands. As dear husband was watching his football games, I was sorting through my massive collection of Christmas decorations. I have boxes and boxes of Christmas decorations, many of which I don't use. It took me three hours, but I sorted through my stash. I've got 10 boxes of Christmas cards, all of which I bought on sale. (Although those after-holiday season sales seem like such a bargain at the time, they aren't. Not if you are buying stuff, just for the sake of hauling it home and stuffing it in the back of a closet, never to be seen again.) I've got four bags of Christmas bows and two boxes of gift wrap. (I've got a Christmas wrapping paper addiction. It is a work in progress). I opened up a large cardboard box and I wanted to cry because it was half filled with glass ornaments.

But it is hard to be ruthless. I can always make excuses for my stuff. I can always find room for it in the closet or in a large plastic bin or on a shelf. But the clutter seems to be overtaking my basement and it is really bothering me. So no more. It is time to end the insanity. It is going to take some motivation, elbow grease and sweat on my part to see that it happens. Wish me luck.

Doing my part for the economy. Right?!?

I went a little crazy at Old Navy today.

Thanks to Listen to Lena! I learned Old Navy was having a baby and toddler sale. To be honest, I get most of darling daughter's clothes at consignment shops, but I didn't think it would hurt if I took a peek around. One hundred and twenty four dollars later, I walked out of the store with two pairs of pants, two shirts, two pairs of tights, two hoodies, a hat and mitten set, a sweet little dress and a Halloween costume. I couldn't resist the Halloween costume. She is going to look absolutely darling dressed up as a butterfly.

Yeah, I went a little crazy. Now I'm starting to have buyers remorse. Does she really need pants? (Yes she does). Does she really need two hoodies? (Not likely, but they will be warm for the winter and early spring). Does she really need a butterfly costume? (No, but she'll look so darn cute in it.) Now I am torn. Should I take some of this stuff back, or hanging it up in the closet? Argh, sometimes I hate the practical spendthrift in me.

Toy R' Us is having a sale too. I think for my own sanity, as well as my pocket book, it would be best if I stayed away. It is too tempting.

A journey ends

One of the useful gifts I received after darling daughter was born was Taking Care of Baby: The Ultimate Organizer for Busy Parents. I used that book almost religiously for a good month, marking down the number of poops and pees darling daughter had. It was very useful in keeping track of our breastfeeding sessions. I’d jot down detailed notes of what side darling daughter fed on, how long and what time the feeding started.

Flipping through that book now, I can certainly see the progression of our breastfeeding journey. It was rocky in the beginning as darling daughter hated my left breast. Plus, she wasn’t overly keen on the entire thing. And neither was I. How could something that be natural feel unnatural? It didn’t seem right that I was fighting with a newborn in order for her to latch onto my breast. Plus, my nipples hurt. Although we supplemented with formula, I continued to persevere with breastfeeding. Gradually, the supplemented feedings started to gradually disappeared and were replaced by breastfeeding. Soon, we were exclusively breastfeeding.

Our breastfeeding journey is now over. Our journey last for more than 13 months. In a previous post, I talked about my intention to wean darling daughter from the breast. However, I didn’t think it would happen so quickly. Just to recap, last week I decided to reduce her feedings from two to one session per day. The morning feeding, which I was hesitant to give up, when first. Except for some mild protest, darling daughter didn’t mind too much. I thought I would continue on path of one feeding a day for at least the next couple of weeks before concluding the weaning process.

Then I got sick. I took some medication that isn’t recommended for nursing mothers. So instead of worrying, I decided not to breastfeed that day. And she didn’t seem to miss it at all. No protest at bedtime. She just rolled over, found her thumb and went to sleep.

Neither of us knew it at the time, but the feeding I gave her on Friday before going to a BodyStep class was our last ever feeding. Maybe was better that way. I could have breastfed on Sunday, but I decided to leave things as the status quo and see where it would lead us.

It has now been six days and I miss breastfeeding immensely. It was the only time of day where I’d get to cuddle with my squirmy, independent child. It has been a blow to my ego that darling daughter has transitioned to the sippy cup so well. This morning I wondered if I have done the right thing. I know if my heart I have as we were both ready for it to end.

Breastfeeding is such an emotional roller coaster. Some women aren’t able to do it, while others are. I am one who could. During the struggles to get darling daughter latched on properly, dealing with sore nipples and the sleep deprived nights, I wondered if breastfeeding was worth it. It certainly is. It was a gift I gave to darling daughter. And it was a gift that darling daughter gave to me.

I want to share a poem my friend Shelley Mulvihill wrote when she was considering weaning her child, who was 10 months at the time. Their breastfeeding journey is still continuing. I tear up every time I read this poem.

Ode to breastfeeding

I was so worried I wouldn’t be able to do it
How would it feel?
Would it be painful?
Would it be worth it?

I couldn’t share the night time feeds with your dad
I’d be the only one responsible for your nourishment
Would I have enough for you?

In the minutes following your birth
You latched right on
You were meant to breastfeed
I was meant to feed you

I had my moments
Worrying if you were gaining weight
Counting your wet diapers
You were always right on the mark

It has been 10 months now
The thing I wasn’t sure I could do
Has to end soon
And I don’t want it to

Breastfeeding started as my gift to you
But it turns out
It was your gift to me

To the little girl in the park

I will preface this post by saying I am not good with dealing with bigger children. When I mean bigger children, I mean kids who are older than darling daughter. Before she was born, my exposure to children was very limited, so when I have to deal with older children, I usually become stumped as what to say to them.

As you know, darling daughter absolutely loves swings. So I try to take her to the park at least once a day, especially since our park-going days are numbered as the fall weather approaches. Recently, we met a very engaging little girl at the park. I almost feel like I should correct myself because the last time I called a little girl a little girl, I was corrected by said little girl, who unequivocally stated that she was a big girl, not a little girl.

Well, this engaging little girl who we met at the park was very talkative. She talked a mile a minute and had a very active imagination. She wanted to make darling daughter into a rainbow. Then she changed her mind and wondered if she wouldn't mind playing the role of Scooby Doo. I said, probably not as she was a bit to young to play the part of a dog. But someone needed to play the part, the little girl insisted as she was going to play Daphney and I could play Velma, who was the smartest one of the bunch.

I tried to be engaging as I could, but quite honestly I don't know how to react in these types of situations. I was taken aback when she asked me if I thought she was lazy because she wanted someone to give her a push on the swing. I tried to subdue my laughter. She said, be honest, you can tell me if I'm lazy, she bluntly told me. I hummed and hawed and I eventually told her that I couldn't really comment as I had only just met her. But she took no heed and demanded me to give her an answer before I left the park. Reader's Digest is right, kids do say the darndest things.

I didn't end up giving her an answer. In fact, I left the park quietly. In hindsight, I wish I was a little bit more friendly towards her as she was a delightful little girl with plenty of energy and imagination.

Labour Day memories

Labour Day weekend, which marks the unofficial end of summer, has come and went. So much has changed in the last year. This time last year I had just returned home after an emergency road trip to my family's home outside of the city. At this point last year, darling daughter was a mere four or five weeks old and refused to sleep. It got so bad, that she didn't sleep from 10 p.m. to 6 a.m. So desperate for sleep, dear husband and I packed her into her car seat and drove around the suburbs of west Ottawa, hoping the car ride would lull her to sleep. It worked, until we got through the front door. Her little eyes popped opened and I do believe that is when I burst into tears.

We did manage to get her to sleep. Which meant we could sleep, too. I got about five hours of sleep in when my mother phoned to see how it was going. That is when I burst into tears for a second time, blabbering the baby wouldn't sleep, we were sleep deprived and I didn't know what to do. She persuaded me to come home for a couple of days to allow me to sleep while she looked after the baby. Those two nights were I got a half decent sleep were probably the best sleep of my life. I will always be grateful to my mother in letting me get some well needed sleep during the early days of parenthood.

Now, darling daughter is sleeping through the night. She's been sleeping through the night for months now. I am grateful for that, too. It is just amazing how things can change in a year. It makes me think about what other changes I'll be reflecting on when Labour Day rolls around next year.

Forty weeks reduced to less than a minute

According to a Globe and Mail article, instead of posting their pregnancy photos on social networking sites or distributing them via email, more expectant couples are turning to YouTube to document their time lapse pregnancy journeys for everyone to see.

The article states that some bloggers are disturbed by this trend. The headline of one blog discussing this subject boldly stated that time lapsed pregnancies scare them barren. Ouch! That's kind of harsh.

I don't know why people are so scared by these mini-documentaries that document the miracle of life. Despite the fact there are roughly six billion people walking on the face of the earth, conceiving, carrying and birthing a baby isn't as easy as 1, 2 and 3. Early on into my pregnancy with darling daughter, I thought I was having a miscarriage. Sitting on a gurney in an emergency room, a nurse explained to us that basically the stars have to align for a woman to conceive and successfully carry the baby to term. So when you think about it, we are all miracles.

I give anyone who makes these documentaries a lot of credit. They seem like a lot of work and dedication. This documentary is my favourite. I like how the nursery changes, the mother-to-be's ever-changing maternity wardrobe and how her partner randomly appears in and out of the documentary.

Battling the boredom factor

I had to go back into the archives and find this post in order to refresh my memory about the emotions I was feeling when I made the decision to become a stay at home mom.

It has been more than two months since I wrote that post. I can honestly say that I have lived up to my pledge of not obsessing or apologizing for my decision to stay at home. Last weekend when we were at wedding at I was asked at least three different times if I had returned to work. Instead of getting riled up in thinking I needed to explain myself and my decision, I simply said I was staying at home. Period. If I gave an explanation about my decision, it was brief.

Staying at home is one of the hardest decisions I have ever made in my life. I will admit that I have had second thoughts. Some days I think it would be great if I got a job and took darling daughter to daycare. I would drop her off and at the end of the day when I'd pick her up she'd fall into my arms with a huge smile on her face. She'd have the same excitement she displays when dear husband walks through the front door at the end of the day. My days would be filled with exciting work and adult conversation. Also, I wouldn't have to look at half gummed Cheerios on the floor. I know these are romanticized ideas. I realize I have a lot of freedom by staying at home. The freedom of dictating my days the way I want them to unfold. The freedom of seeing my daughter grow, blossom and learn. And even the freedom of indulging in an afternoon nap when I need one.

But staying at home is harder than it looks. There is the boredom factor to contend with. Every day I plan an activity with darling daughter. Even if it is going out for a walk or running errands, I try to get out of the house. I have to in order to maintain some kind of connection with the world. Earlier this week we went on a walk and played in the park with some friends and on Thursday we had a small playdate with a friend. Today, we went shopping at Ikea.


But despite planning fun activities to bust the boredom factor, boredom does creep into my days. And when that happens, sometimes I start having thoughts of returning to the work force. When I was working, I'd have instant gratification when I met a deadline, finally tracked down a hard-to-locate source, or saw my byline in print. Although it is hard to explain, I don't get that same instant gratification when I am at home. However, I do realize that the time I invest in by staying at home will pay off in huge dividends. My investment is already paying off the way darling daughter holds her sippy cup, plays with toys, walks around the living room and smiles at me.

So battling the boredom factor continues. I know it will get easier as darling daughter grows older. In the meantime, I just have to come up with creative and clever ideas when fighting the battle.

Getting back into the step of things

Right now I am proud of myself.

After a month of excuses, I finally dragged my sorry butt to a BodyStep class. I returned to step in March after a long hiatus. (For those who don't know what I am talking about, here is a post that gives some details about my BodyStep addiction). Up until the beginning of August, I have been dutifully attending every BodyStep class that I can fit into my schedule. But after last month's heatwave, my addiction wane. The lure of the step disappeared. Until tonight when I forced myself to go. And it wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. Despite the jammed parking lot and the crowds at the cardio machines, there wasn't many people in the class, which suits me just fine. There is nothing worse than trying to maintain some sort of personal safety circle in a full class. Also, I managed to get some prime real estate near the stage, which is my favourite spot.

I had a good time. I am glad I went. I am confused as to why I stopped. I should have forced myself to go weeks ago. Although darling daughter and I go on a lot of walks in our neighbourhood, nothing beats a good, hard cardio workout.

I want my boobs back

We have had a good 13 month run, but it is time for our breastfeeding journey to end.

It may sound selfish, but I want my boobs back.

With the introduction of sippy cups about a month ago, our breastfeeding sessions have been reduced down to two a day: once in the morning and once at night. And so far, it has been going well. I am concerned about how much liquids darling daughter is actually getting, but she seems to have plenty of wet diapers. Plus, I try to add water whenever I can in her diet. Watermelon is a favourite. And I offer her sippy cups throughout the day.

Except for the morning feeding, she doesn't ask for momma's milk. She seems to be content in using her sippy cup.

So I am at the cusp of transitioning from the breast to the sippy cup. It is a bittersweet time for both me and darling daughter. Although it is nice to be wanted, it is time for breastfeeding relationship to end. I am proud of our journey. At the beginning, I didn't think I'd last 13 days, let alone 13 months. We struggled. There were tears. Darling daughter hated my left boob at first. She'd cry when she saw it. Then after awhile it became her favourite. Although it took some time, I soon discovered how convenient how breastfeeding is. No bottles. No fuss. No muss. I've breastfed on planes, in airports, at malls, in the backseat of the car and in parks. There was a time that I didn't want to introduce solid foods because I didn't want to interrupt our breastfeeding relationship because it was that important to me.

I must admit, I am a bit nervous because the boob is so convenient, especially as a comforting tool, but I am ready. And darling daughter is ready, too. Plus, I want my boobs back.

Real babies don't eat quiche or vegetables for that matter

Quiche anyone?

If you want some mini-quiche, just let me know. I've got tonnes of it in my deep freezer. I made a batch of it for darling daughter. Although she seemed to like it five days ago, she has since given it a big thumbs down. So now I am face with a large plastic container filled with mini-quiche.

I got the idea of making quiche from a friend of mine. I thought it would solve two dietary problems I currently face: protein and vegetables. It would be a protein option and I could hide vegetables in it. And I thought I had a winning strategy five days ago when I introduced it to darling daughter's taste buds. She ate it all up. And she ate it again the next day.

But when I gave her some quiche last night, she spit it out. It was a no go. The love affair with eggs and vegetables has ended. This was after she knocked off her high chair tray, which was filled with vegetables at the time, onto the floor. So here I am faced with continuing the battle of the vegetables. The score so far is darling daughter, 2; me, zip.

I am trying to come up with ways in how to hide vegetables from darling daughter. I've gotten a couple of tips from friends. But in the meantime, it is back to purees. Heaven forbid darling daughter will feed herself tiny cut up carrots, but she'll readily open her mouth for the stuff out of the jar. Go figure.

I'm going to try peas tonight. Here's hoping she'll mistake them for green blueberries.