Lawn signs: ugly or public displays of political allegiance?

There is a saying that you should never talk about three subjects when you are in polite company: religion, sex and politics. I usually try to abide by this policy, but sometimes I just can't bite my tongue.

Before darling daughter, I was a newspaper reporter. The job was low paying, but overall, I loved it. One thing I loved was covering elections. I've always found politics fascinating, especially municipal politics. On October 25, Ontario residents everywhere will be casting ballots in municipal elections. With summer coming quietly to an end this week, candidates will be hitting the gas pedals on their election campaigns.

Earlier this evening as I was trying to get laundry done, I heard the door bell ring. It was a canvasser, trying to sell me on the traits of the candidate he was campaigning for. I tried to look mildly interested before I politely accepted the campaign brochure he presented me. I know that sentence may sound like an oxymoron as I've stated I love elections, but I just didn't feel like it was right for me to spout off to this dedicated volunteer as to why I wouldn't be voting his candidate. However, if this candidate had rang my doorbell instead, I would be peppering him with various questions, one being his stance on property taxes and if it is a realistic policy.

Since it isn't in good taste to talk politics while in polite company, I won't name the name of candidate in question. I've met the candidate before. He is a very nice man, but he won't be getting my vote. And that's okay because that's what democracy is about.

I forgot about the canvasser until I returned home this evening. While stopped trying to find my house key, I suddenly spotted a lawn sign with the name of the candidate in question blazoned on a lawn sign posted on my neighbour's front lawn. Great, I thought. Yay, an ugly lawn sign for me to look at for the next two months. Perhaps I don't care for the sign because I don't agree with the candidate's platform or the fact that lawn signs are ugly. I don't know. But I need to remind myself that it is in my neighbour's right to publicly display his political allegiance with that lawn sign, despite the fact they seem kind of useless and old fashioned.

And I also need to remind myself that it is election time and lawn signs come with the territory. At least I know my neighbour will be voting. That is definitely a good thing. In order for democracy to work, we --meaning us voters -- need to get out to the polls. So between now and October 25, I urge you to get to know your candidates and post a lawn sign or two, if you must.

Decluttering one little task at a time

Lately, I've been busying myself with small decluttering tasks. After last fall's massive decluttering of the basement, most of my clutter is in check. But you have to keep on top of clutter before it gets too out of hand.

For the last week, I've been taking about 15 minutes out of my day to do some quick decluttering. Despite some kinks, the method has been working swimmingly. First on the list was the junk and personal mail that needs to be shredded. This is always a work in progress. Things were going well until I clogged the shredder. Unfortunately, it no longer works because of a massive paper jam. Either I buy a new shredder or find someone who is qualified to take it apart and clean it. I haven't decided what I'll do so the paper pile grows.

Another thing that desperately needed to be decluttered was the front of the refrigerator. Cluttered with magnets and pieces of paper, I did a quick clean and voila! Now I can see my entire refrigerator. It has been awhile since the front has been paper and magnet free.

The cupboard under the sink got a quick cleaning as well as I was trying to kill time while waiting for dear husband to get home. It has been a task that I was putting off too long. The space under the sink is like no-man's land. You know it is there, but you really don't want to deal with it. Now it has been dealt with.

Feeling like I should do more decluttering, I cleaned up the mud room this afternoon. With Dyson in hand, I sucked up all the sand and vacuumed the rugs. Now I'm not so self conscious when people come over.

I hope to continue with this decluttering trend through the fall as the clutter never seems to end.

Poopie talk

Dear readers,

I'm sure you are very tired of all this poop and potty training talk. I assure you, so am I. However, all things about poop and related to poop has become my life. Today, I ruined a batch of muffins because I forgot to add the sugar to the batter. It wasn't due to lack of sleep. It was because I was distracted by darling daughter's insistent poopie dance. So I thought I'd wrap up the week with some poopie talk.

I'm still waging a quiet war with darling daughter in over her reluctance to poop on the potty. There is a phrase my mom would often quote to me when I was older: poop or get off the pot. Basically I've used this as my mantra all week. Since last Sunday, we haven't had a successful poop-meet-potty encounter. I have been able to resist the urge in not buying disposable training pants, but it has been hard. No one wants to clean up poop. And toddler poop is quite disgusting.

With the new poop or get off the pot mindset, I've decided to use another arsenal in my toolbox in getting darling daughter to poop: positive peer pressure. I suddenly got the idea after attending a playdate earlier in the week. Darling daughter is enamoured with one particular girl. Loves her. Loves to play with her. So afterwards when darling daughter was singing her praises on the car ride home, I suddenly said, "Did you know that A knows how to poop in the potty?" (A true fact). This piqued darling daughter's interest. I didn't stop there. I continued. "Did you know that C knows how to poop in the potty? Did you know that M knows how to poop in the potty? Did you know that K knows how to poop in the potty?" I mentally went down the list of all the big kids darling daughter has encountered in the last two months and told her that they poop in the potty. Basically my message was, if all the kids are doing it, you can too!

The peer pressure tactic could be working. Several times a day, I take time to engage in some poopie talk with darling daughter. We talk about where it comes from and the fact it is yucky and it needs to go in the potty. We also discuss how big girls wear underwear and big girls use the potty. We talk about how A uses the potty, as well as C, K and M. Daddy uses the potty. Mommy uses the potty. Everyone uses the potty. For good measure, I even told her that Calliou uses the potty, too.

So today when she was doing the insistent potty dance, I brought down the potty into the living room and urged her to use the potty. "No want to. No want to. No want to," was the response I got. I quietly reminded her that A poops in the potty and her mommy gets her a special treat. And if she could do it, she could too. Plus, she'd get a special treat, just like A. It could have been the fact that she couldn't hold it in any longer or that peer pressure is working, but we finally had a successful poop-meets-potty encounter. Thank God! A happy poop-free toddler makes me happy.

Embracing the grey

This is me. This is me and my grey hair.

I'm not even close to 40 and I've already got grey hair. The first grey hairs started to show up soon after my twentieth birthday. I'd like to tell you this photo was taken after darling daughter and I started our potty training journey, but sadly, this self portrait was taken the week before we got rid of the diapers. This is my au naturel hair colour.

I stopped getting my hair coloured since before the new year. There were two reasons behind my decision: cost and time.

It costs money to get your hair coloured. It would cost me a good $100 or more to get rid of the grey. (Once I spent $200 on a horrible highlight job at a high end salon, but I strictly blame that on pregnancy hormones as I was less than a month away from my due date). In my experience, colour doesn't really stick to grey. About two to three weeks after my dye job, the grey roots slowly return. Since it costs $100 or more for a dye job, I couldn't afford to run back to my stylist's salon every three weeks to hide the grey.

Where do I find the time? Regardless of cost, I just don't have the time to get my hair dyed every three weeks. I'm soon in need of a hair cut and I'm trying to find the time to fit in that task in my schedule.

After looking at my options and seeing more grey hairs popping up, I decided to embrace the grey, so to speak, and stop dyeing my hair. I'm not really thrilled that I have a streak of grey running down my part, but every time I visit my nurse practitioner, she tells me people pay good money to add streaks of grey to their hair. I don't get it. Just like I don't get why people want curls.

Until a money tree decides to take root in my back yard, I'll be embracing the grey. If Stacy London can get away with a streak of grey in her hair, I guess I can, too.

What happened to summer?

Looking out the kitchen while doing dishes tonight, I suddenly wondered, what happened to summer?

Good question. The leaves of one of the maple trees are changing colours. It seems like yesterday when I spotted the little boy who lives across the street bring home artwork on his last day of school. In a couple of weeks, him and the rest of the kids who live in the neighbourhood will be returning to school. The days are getting shorter. If I was to run at 8:30 p.m., I'd be running in the dark. The evenings are getting cooler and a tad bit crisper. You can smell fall on the horizon. Yes, the warm weather will likely stick around for another month, but the start of another school year usually marks the end of summertime fun.

Summer always seems to be over in the blink of an eye. With great anticipation and fanfare, it arrives and weeks later it is over for another year. I wish summer lasted a little bit longer than it does.

Oh, poop!

Must. Resist. The. Urge.

Must. Resist. The. Urge.

Must. Resist. The. Urge.

I've been repeating these four words for the last three days. Must resist the urge is my new mantra. The four words suddenly popped into my tired, weary head when I found myself staring at disposable training pants at Shoppers Drug Mart on Saturday afternoon. At that point, we had no pooping success in our potty training journey. In fact, I had a crabby two year old who needed to poop but refused to do it in the potty.

I had went to Shoppers for solace. About two hours before, darling daughter had a huge poop explosion at nap time. Right before the poop hit the fan, dear husband disappeared to run an errand. Let's just say it took two baths and a Calliou book to calm darling daughter down. All the while, I was quietly cursing dear husband, who has yet to clean up one poopie accident. I know sh!t happens, but why does it always fall at my feet (literally) to clean up?

Lots has happened since contemplating buying disposable training pants. (Should I get Life brand? Or should I get Pullups? Damn, these things are expensive!) To make a long story short, darling daughter has pooped twice in the potty, but it has been a big production. She has been cranky, asking to go potty, but refusing to do her business. This process has last for hours until the urge is too big for her to contain and she does her business. After Saturday's big poop celebration, I thought we'd be on easy street. She'd see how easy it is to poop in the potty and continue to do so. Nope. Things have remained the same: she does poopie avoidance dance for hours until it gets too much.

I am of two minds here: Screw it and get the Pullups and use them at nap time. Or remain the course and hope that the poopie avoidance dance starts to dissipate. The three day potty training method I used specifically says that Pullups or training pants of any kind are a big no, no. Another issue we've been force to deal with through this whole potty training journey is sleep. I don't mind cleaning up pee or poop. But what I do mind is that my child seems to be cranky and it could be due to interrupted sleep. Nap time and bedtime cleanups are a sleep disruptor.

We've been diaper-less for a week now. It is quite the accomplishment. But we still aren't fully potty trained and the poop department is still a work in progress. Maybe it is time to screw the three-day potty training method and get disposable training pants. Maybe darling daughter isn't psychologically ready for pooping in the potty. I don't know. All I know that we may be teetering on the edge of a power struggle that may be detrimental to potty training. I may give into the urge any time soon.

The mysterious allure of Calliou

Darling daughter loves Calliou. Absolutely loves him. Loves him to the point where she'll stare at the television in a trance, watching his adventures. The trance is only broken when the show is over. You can't capture her attention when Calliou is on. She has the attitude of don't bother me at the moment. Can't you clearly see my show is on? Talk to me later. I'm busy.

Darling daughter got hooked on Calliou during the World Cup. Since CBC was airing games in the morning, her usual morning television fare was interrupted. No Bo on the Go or Busytown Mysteries. For whatever reason, we found Calliou and since that day there has been no turning back.

But every mother I have spoken to haven't been big Calliou fans. In fact, many have said he is whiny. I can see that. There are some episodes I want to tell Calliou to suck it up. But one shouldn't say such things to her daughter's hero as her love runs deep.

She talks about Calliou and his rubber boots. As well as Gilbert the cat. So we caved and got her some Calliou books which we have read a million times (well, more like a hundred, but it sure feels like a million). Calliou? Calliou? Calliou? is a common question at story time.

I must say that Calliou did come in handy during our trip to PEI. On our return home, we were about an hour away from Edmundston and darling daughter clearly had enough of the long car ride. So I quickly came up with some exciting Calliou stories, stories I had watched on television and read to her. I even came up with some Calliou stories that we a bit elaborate. I talked about Calliou for a good half hour, trying to take her mind off the long car ride.

I'm still unsure of the mysterious allure of Calliou. It seems kids love him. For me, the allure is mysterious.

So where do we go from here?

We are nearing the end of day three of the three-day potty training method, and a question just popped into my head: so where do we go from here?


According to the guide, darling daughter is suppose to be potty trained by the time she wakes up tomorrow morning, but I've got my doubts. Going number two is a work in progress. Today she went, but I caught it just as she was doing it in her underwear and I hustled her to the bathroom. I guess we are making some progress from yesterday's big blow out, but we do have a ways to go (ie: having number two meeting contact with potty basin while sitting on said potty).


Once again, she woke up dry. Not some much so at nap time. We had a pee blowout. There have several false alarms today. "Potty. Have to go potty" doesn't always result in actual pottying. I think darling daughter likes the rush of me hustling her upstairs in my arms. (To say the least my legs and knees are sore from all the running I've done the last three days).


I must say that we've come a long way since Monday morning. We have two dry nights and one dry nap time. We have had several instances where she has told me she has to go potty and has actually peed. The diapers are in a grocery bag, waiting to be given to a fellow mommy friend. But I don't think we are fully potty trained. I think it be awhile before we hit that milestone. Until then, I'll be taking an extra set of clothes with me everywhere we go and have towels on hand to mop up messes.

The big blowout

It was bound to happen. You can't hold it in forever.

Today is day two of the three-day potty method that has now become my life. At this point I'm a frazzled mess. My arms are sore from bolting up the stairs to catch accidents as they happen. I'm tired from being up so early in trying to get darling daughter to release her morning pee. (The kid held it in from 8:30 p.m. to 6:30 a.m., and amazingly wouldn't let it go. I had to tell her in order for her to have some juice at breakfast she had to let go of the liquid she had inside her). I'm exhausted from telling darling daughter, "Tell mommy if you have to go pee, okay?" for the thousand time. And I'm tired from being in the house all day with no adult interaction.

While things have been going relatively okay in the pee department (there have been accidents, but it is all a part of the learning process), movement on number two has been slow. I know she has been holding it in. Today at lunchtime there was absolutely no sign of number two. I knew if I slapped a diaper on her butt she'd likely do her business, but I was (and am) still determined to wait it out. You can't hold it in forever.

Despite waking dry from yesterday's nap and this morning, she had a massive blowout today's nap. There was poop, there was tears, there was pee and there was a mess. However, there was movement. Hallelujah! After telling darling daughter it wasn't the end of the world and these things happen, the tears stopped flowing. We both agree that the next time we'd try our best to get it in the potty. (However, this remains to be seen). I hope by her going in her underwear, she'll now realize that (a) it is okay to poop without a diaper (b) pooping in underwear doesn't feel nice and (c) pooping in the potty is much better than pooping in underwear.

Tomorrow is the last day of this three-day potty training method. Although the author of this method claims your child will be potty trained at the end of the three days if you follow her method to a T, I realize that we will likely have a while to go, especially in the poop department.

Potty training, day one

Right now, I'm waiting for darling daughter to finish her lunch. I'm trying to prolong it as long as I can as it is a nice break for me. Today, we have launched into a new era: potty training, specifically a three-day potty training course. I'm not too sure if it is going to work, but I'm going to give it a try. I have no doubt that darling daughter will easily potty train (here's hoping), but the issue is with me. From what I have learned, potty training takes consistency. I'm not big fan of consistency. Hence my slowness in introducing a sippy cup (did that after she was a year old) and using the baby bath tub (just gave that up last week). While dear husband has been enthusiastic about introducing darling daughter to the potty, I've got the attitude of why-can't-you-go-in-your-diaper?

When I learned about the possibility of potty training your child in three days, I thought I had nothing to lose as I know I will fall flat in the consistency department if we decided to take a more laid back approach to toilet training. I've been dreading potty training. Although I'm about three to four hours into the process, I'm exhausted. During the three days, you sequester yourself in your house with your child and be your child's shadow. Earlier this morning, I briefly thought about slapping a diaper back onto darling daughter's bottom and calling it a day. (This approach also requires you to get rid of all your diapers and not rely on pullups or training pants). I've already got a load of laundry for tonight and I'm tired of wiping pee off the floor.

Here's hoping this works. I'll keep you posted.

So long sippy cups. You've served us well

This week we said goodbye to sippy cups, all except two. However, one will be getting the boot soon and the Sigg is too pricey to chuck. After a quick wave goodbye from darling daughter, they were dumped into the recycling box. I'm all about freecycling, but I think sippy cups are one of those personal items that just can't be freecycled.

It has been less than a year since we stopped breastfeeding and went to sippy cups on a full-time basis. About three weeks ago, darling daughter took a big interest in drinking out of cups. When it comes to some areas of my parenting, I'm not known for my consistency. I'll likely take the lazy way out. I'm not saying giving your kid a sippy cup is lazy because sippy cups do serve a great purpose, but when darling daughter starts to show interest in something new, I'm a bit slow to react because I don't like change. Sippy cups are so easy. You definitely do take your chances giving a toddler an cup with no top. But since we were going on vacation and I wasn't keen on bringing the sippy cup collection with us, I decided not to resist change and go with the flow. So I started giving her cups. She took to them quite easily. Good thing too because for the duration of our vacation, she was drinking out of cups and water bottles (but she needed assistance with those). When we did eat at restaurants, she was drinking out of cups with straws, which was amazing because I didn't know she knew how to use straws.

When we returned home from Prince Edward Island, I decided that it was time to say goodbye to sippy cups. Yes, there are messes, but they can be easily cleaned up. Also, there is more space and less clutter in my Tupperware drawer, which makes for a happy momma.

The skinny on skinny jeans, toddler style

I will preface this post by readily admitting that I'm not into fashion. I'm probably a prime candidate for the television show What Not to Wear. I've got clothes in my closet that date back to 2004 or later. I rather watch paint dry that go jean shopping. Jean shopping almost rates up there with bathing suit shopping. (However, I did have a great experience this year replacing my 10 year old bathing suit this year, but that is neither here nor there so back to my point). So I may be called a prude or a fuddy duddy when it comes to my take on this subject: skinny jeans for toddlers.

Browsing through The Daily Beast this morning, I came across this article in the Wall Street Journal about toddlers cramming themselves as well as their diapers into skinny jeans. Not only did I roll my eyes when I read the article, but I became intensely annoyed. In this social networking and reality television watching world where instant gratification trumps common courtesy (and sometimes decency), I don't know why we as a society continue to allow outside forces erode our children's childhoods. I sometimes wonder if childhood lasts beyond kindergarten.

Sounds harsh? Maybe. But since becoming a parent, one thing I've become keenly aware of is the commercialization of childhood. For whatever reason unknown to me, society is in a real hurry for our kids to grow up. Don't play on the slides or in the sandbox, kids! Run past go and collect your $200 so you can spend it in the mall!

One day standing in the check out at the grocery store, I spotted a six year old who was dressed to the nines in a very trendy and fashionable outfit, an ensemble better than any of the clothes in my own closet. I was amazed and in awe that this child was so fashionable, while I have a difficult time putting together a simple jeans and a T-shirt combination. What I see at the mall keeps me up at night: tweens dressed in outfits, in my opinion, are inappropriate. I can hear my mom's voice shout in my head: those short shorts are way too short! And I'm not even going to comment on the tightness of that shirt! And watching clips of the show, Toddler and Tiaras, makes my physically cringe.

Those keen and clever corporations know parents will be more willing to spend their hard earned money on their children rather than on themselves. Parents can vicariously live through their child by putting in them in clothes that they are hesitant to buy themselves. Heck, if their fashionista toddler looks so great in the trend of the day, parents will be more willing to experiment with the trend themselves, putting more money into the pockets of the corporations. But skinny jeans?!? Despite the company sources quoted in the article who say they they have taken care to ensure there is an element of comfort and give in the jeans, they do look strange and uncomfortable on a toddler. (If you were wondering you can also get high heels in kids sizes for those jeans, too). Plus, the name skinny jeans bothers me, especially in a day and age where girls and women of all ages feel they need to conform to unrealistic body and beauty expectations.

Skinny jeans, along with the latest must have products of the day bring up some interesting questions. Why are we willing to sell out our children's childhoods? Why can't we allow kids to be kids? What is wrong with prolonging childhood as long as we can? Why are we willing to allow kids to be branded by corporations at such a young age? Why do we want kids to look like mini-adults? What's wrong with playing in the sandbox or on the playground sans skinny jeans? I ask you, would you cram your butt into a pair of skinny jeans? If the answer is no, why would you do it to kids?

Photo Wednesday

This week's photo is of darling daughter mucking around in the mud on the ocean floor at the Bay of Fundy. By the time we left, both dear husband and darling daughter were covered in mud. (From darling daughter exploration and from dear husband carrying her when she realized her sandals and feet were covered in mud. There was a bit of a freak out on darling daughter's part). As a true dirt-a-phobic, I did my best to keep clean. We soon realized that it may not have been the best idea to bring a toddler to explore the floor of the Bay of Fundy, however, we did have fun, despite the dirt and the long wait to clean off our shoes at the water station.

The land of sand, ice cream and lobster suppers

The memory of a two-year-old is sharp. They don't forget and they expect promises to be kept.

Before rolling into Prince Edward Island, we visited the Hopewell Rocks on the Bay of Fundy. We had told darling daughter we were going to the beach, which isn't exactly a lie when the tide is low and you can walk on the ocean floor. But the sand is gritty and there is squishy mud, which didn't exactly thrill darling daughter who was under the impression she'd have access not only to good quality sand, but some surf. After a muddy encounter at the Bay of Fundy, we promised her that the first stop we'd make in PEI was at a beach.

Immediately after crossing Confederation Bridge, we stopped at the information centre and got directions to the beach. The directions to Chelton Beach Provincial Park weren't exactly clear, but we were determined to get there. After much backtracking, we finding found this gem of a beach, which has a lovely vista view of the bridge. To say the least, darling daughter had a fantastic time playing along the surf and in the red sand. (And so did I and dear husband).

Prince Edward Island is home to the best beaches in the world. When we were visiting, we took full advantage of the National Park pass that came with our cottage. So here is the lowdown on the beaches we visited.

Chelton Beach Provincial Park. It is a supervised beach located near Borden-Carleton. We found it confusing to get to, so if you can find it on your GPS you should be good to go. My only suggestion to make this beach better is for the province of PEI to erect directional signage to the site. Some of the highlights of our visit was playing in the red sand and admiring the view of Confederation Bridge.

Brackley Beach seems to be a popular beach, but I was a bit disappointed by the garbage on the beach. It also seems to be a rocky beach, riddled with small rocks and broken clam shells, so it is a good idea to bring sandals for yourself as well as water shoes for your little one.

Greenwich Beach is a hidden gem. Not only is it a beautiful beach, it has several amenities catering to young families, including an indoor picnic area and several large change areas, which is perfect when trying to coax your toddler out of their wet swim clothes. The day we went was picture perfect: blue skies, a warm breeze and little crowds. It was well worth the drive.

f you can get through the tourist trap that seems to be Cavendish (sorry Cavendish), Cavendish Beach is a beautiful spot for a day playing on the surf. Unfortunately, it was a blustery day when we visited, but it didn't deter darling daughter and dear husband from getting into their swim wear and build sand castles. If you get a chance, a walk through the Dunelands trail is well worth it.

Although we spent a lot of time on the beach, our taste buds managed to take in some PEI cuisine. Cows ice cream was on the top of my list. I was first introduced to Cows during my visits to Banff. There is no other ice cream like Cows on the market. Unfortunately, if you aren't close to one of the handful of stores the company operates, it is hard to indulge in this divine creamy treat as it isn't sold in stores. However, you can buy the company's whimsical common cow shirts on-line. The three of us paid homage to Cows Creamery, the world headquarters of Cows where we toured the factory and had some ice cream. Yum!

Eating seafood was also on our list. Since we made most of our meals while we were on vacation, we didn't feel once ounce of guilt when dear husband and I shelled out more than $80 on supper one night. We headed to New Glasgow Lobster Suppers for dinner. This family restaurant has been serving lobster and seafood dinners to the masses since 1958. Located near Cavendish, it is open from 4 to 8:30 p.m. You have to pay upfront and while it may be a bit pricey, it was well worth the money in my opinion. Except for your dinner, it is all-you-can-eat mussels, salad, chowder, buns and dessert. I'll be dreaming about those fluffy homemade buns for the rest of my life. Best yet, kids three and under eat free!

So there is my dish on PEI. It is a perfect affordable family getaway and we hope to return soon.

A lesson well learned

I believe there is a moment in every parent's life when they think they are the worst parent in the world. I experienced my worst-parent-in-the-world moment on July 31 at around 9:30 p.m. Atlantic Standard Time while driving on the TransCanada Highway through New Brunswick, destination unknown.

Dear husband and I, along with darling daughter in tow, were on our way for a fun Maritimes vacation. We had booked a cottage in Prince Edward Island, but our reservation wasn't for a few days. We had decided to take our time and explore New Brunswick. When we rolled into Edmundston late afternoon, a city in New Brunswick near the Quebec border, we thought could automatically get a hotel room. We did contemplate reserving a room, however, we didn't know how long darling daughter would stand the car ride or if we'd have to stop somewhere in Quebec. She did better than expected and we decided to stop in Edmundston for the night.

But there was no room at the Inn, or at four inns for the matter of fact. By this time it was 8 p.m. and flickers of panic started to well up in my stomach. We had no choice other than continue on through New Brunswick. After trying a fifth hotel with no luck, I was in full fledged panic mode. There was tears (from both me and darling daughter). Dear husband was trying to maintain is status as peacekeeper. Darling daughter kept on saying, "done, done, done" over and over again. By this time, night had settled in on New Brunswick and dear husband started working his Blackberry, trying to find a hotel in Fredericton as we were coming to the startling conclusion that every hotel, motel and inn room between Edmundston and Fredericton was filled.

Clutching the steering wheel, hoping that dear husband would come up lucky, I continued driving. Then things got worse. Dear daughter started yelling "poopie, poopie, poopie." over and over again. Unfortunately, there was no where to safely stop. There didn't seem to be an exit for miles and there was no way I was going to pull over on the side of the dark highway. So I kept on trucking through, apologizing to dear daughter.

I knew my daughter was poopie. I knew she had reached her limit in terms of traveling time, but there was nothing I could do. I was in a province I had little knowledge about and on a highway I had never driven on. The watch for moose signs weren't doing anything to ease the panic I was feeling. Panic's best friend, guilt, started to settle into my gut. Why didn't we reserve a hotel room? What were we thinking, especially travelling with a two year old? I may be the shittiest mom in the world, I thought as I listened to my daughter cry on and off from her car seat. Finally, dear husband caught a lucky break and found us a room at the Airport Inn in Fredericton. It was the last room available. (A quick shout out to the the Airport Inn: well worth the stay. Clean and cheap as in $70 cheap). After another hour of driving, we pulled into the night and immediately darling daughter got her diaper changed. I'm not too sure what was going on in New Brunswick that night, but after we reserved our hotel room, the hotel room received three separate inquiries if he had any vacancies.

When we woke up the next morning, we immediately reserved a room in Moncton. We weren't taking any more chances. We had learned our lesson.

I'm not too sure if this is a story that we will laugh at come years from now. When dear husband and I talk about it, I still feel like the worst parent in the world. I'm sure there will be more worst-parent-in-the-world experiences to come, but I never want to relive driving on a dark highway with a crying toddler to destination unknown.