Last summer I had a chance to go glamping and even though I brought three kids (my 2 and my niece) it was both relaxing and fun. They couldn’t get over how fancy our ‘tent’ was. Read about my experience on Look Local magazine. The article was so popular it had over 900 kits in the 2 days after it was posted. Can’t wait to find another place to get my glamp on.
Ah, the regift. What reminded me was shopping at Winner’s today. I picked up a kinda cool looking zombie (MH knockoff) that was on clearance but the package was opened (albeit carefully). I turned it over and there was still a piece of Christmas wrapping paper on the back!
Sister in-laws regift. Pretty sure it was something someone at her office had given her (maybe the boss?) and she was having none of it so decided to pawn it off to me. A wooden birdhouse outdoor decor thing (that I chucked) and a tin of Werther’s Originals (which I eventually consumed). OR maybe she was getting me back for the very first gift I ever gave her – after knowing her for about a week, mind you: a what I thought was delicious selection of chocolate covered chips from a fancy chocolate store in Mapleview Mall. At least I put some thought into it and thought it was unique.
Oh! Remember those black and white photographic prints Ikea used to sell in the 80s? We got one of those from her too once she decided to move out of town. And that was around Christmas too now that I think of it! We chucked that too, thanks anyway. Update: I finally found one similar that someone was trying to sell on a FB group:
I like recycling, upcycling and donating stuff, but ask someone if they want something first before you try to pass it off as something you carefully selected and decided to call a gift.
As an (occasional) advocate for IBS sufferers, I think people/companies should rethink their bathroom policies.
It’s funny when a store says to you “We don’t have a bathroom” when you ask to use it because your 3yr old has to go and you know for a fact that they do because you’ve used it before.
I wasn’t in the mood for a debate. I could have asked, “Does the store not allow its employees to go pee either if there’s no bathroom?” Where do you go when you have to go – to the store next door? Maybe Starbucks? The gas station down the street?”
BUT if that’s their policy, whatever. Sure, my wee one could have gone at Children’s Place like the rest of us because they understand things happen. They understand shopping with kids. That reminds me, Future Shop seems to understand all of its customers too, which “has a bathroom”, where Grace left a hammer.
I guess stores that cater to people who wear Bluenotes (ahem) think their customers can hold their bladders longer ….
Going back to IBS issues, what do we need to do in order to break through that iron curtain of a we-pretend-we-don’t-have-a-bathroom-because-it’s-policy thing? A special bracelet? A pass card? A doctor’s note?
I had an epiphany at the dentist.
Soph was playing while waiting for her appointment (which resulted in the finding of her 2nd cavity in a row. Hmm.) and I was thumbing through gossip mags. My realization came from People magazine – the issue that had all the Oscars coverage.
Boobs’ sister has a double. Named Johnny Weir. They look scarily alike but she’s in no way as talented, well made up or fashionable as he is.
Here’s a picture of Johnny Weir:
Actually the more I look at the picture of Johnny that reminds me of Stinkhole (the sister) I also realize they both look like Peewee Herman.
Once again though, both Peewee and Johnny wear makeup and are more well-groomed.
Oh, I forgot. You’re probably wondering what she looks like right? Here:
Ok, so I modified the picture a bit but I’m sure you get the idea.
Check out my review of a new Oakville company that delivers everything you need in one handy box to make good meals at home!
Last weekend I took my two kids on the 2nd annual Farm Crawl within Hamilton’s Greenbelt. Once we drove past Waterdown along Highway 5, it was a nice chance to not see a single big box chain or fast food joint during our entire 60km route. That doesn’t happen too often for me. We drove to Dundas, Copetown and Troy.
There were 4 distinctly different farms to visit and enjoy the farm animals, the fruits of each farm’s labour (aka ruby red raspberries) and see working bee hives and lavender in full fragrant bloom.
We started at about 11am and didn’t finish at our final farm until after 3:30pm. Both kids were entirely occupied by the sights and experiences at each farm, and I will definitely go again next year. I really hope that other towns/counties and rural regions think about offering the same experience.
This morning I was sound asleep, then I heard the sound of a doorbell in my sleep – you know the one from the American Horror Story series? Exactly like that, so I knew that it wasn’t our doorbell. It was weird though because I hadn’t had any freaky Piggy Piggy nightmares or anything. Not five minutes later Soph comes out of her room insisting to go downstairs at 5:30 in the morning.
Come oNNNN, man! I don’t say much. I grunt. I leave her to stand there for a few minutes and wander off, but not likely back to her room.
Then Boobs gets up for a bathroom break and falls back into bed. I was really tempted to get up and enjoy a good 2.5 hours of coffee time before having to get anyone ready for school but I forced my self to remain in bed. I decided to play Candy Crush Saga. It worked. I fell back to sleep. It was only for 1/2 an hour.
Boobs kindly pointed out the bags under my eyes this morning, but the painful, crooked finger of arthritis was pointed right back at him because he forgot to take his medication last night!
It seems I don’t have leisurely blogging time anymore. Hmph. Well, that’s because in January we adopted our second daughter, “Little Buddha” from Thailand.
She fits into our family like a magical glass slipper. Even though she’s 2 years old, it’s like she was always here. It hasn’t taken us long to get to know her. Man, does she make some funny faces. She also puts on a great one-man dance party.
There are some things I’ve got experience with being a mom/parent, some things I don’t. I missed some of Soph’s developmental stages (22 months worth, actually). And for our new daughter G, we haven’t been able to spend her first two years together as a family. That’s what comes along with adoption.
Trying to conceive: yes, been there, didn’t do that, even after trials of various methods. Sure, it was difficult at the time, but I’m more than over it. Oh, and one useless (IMHO) fertility doc and one much better one later who told me I had premature ovarian failure (POF), we had two options: IVF or adoption. Right away I knew…
Adoption: was absolutely right for us.
Gestation: though physically irrelevant for me, people going through the adoption process, there is definitely a mental thought process centered around nesting, prepping, paperwork, and the idea of meeting a fully-formed little being with its own habits and personality traits already developed.
There’s the curve ball that gets thrown at you when you think you’ve still got another whole year to get your poop together and pick away at those nasty forms that have to be filled out for immigration.
Then there’s the phone call you get from the adoption agency asking you if you’ve filled out that nasty immigration form because you are matched with a baby and you may travel within 4 – 6 weeks to bring her home.
We were matched? With a girl? WOOHOO! Soph gets her sister after all. There was a time when we said she might be getting a brother, but maybe somehow she knew what would turn out in the end and insisted it would be a girl.
Travel overseas: immanent. Days away. A handful of sleeps, really. Soph’s spending her first night in her newly-decorated bedroom (that was once the guestroom). And at 9:55pm, she’s still not asleep. I just had to lure a cat out of her room with treats.
After many trips looking for curtains at more than one store and back again to make returns for those curtains, tomorrow I have to move all of her clothes, books and toys into the new space and get the other room set up for G. Plus Soph still needs a hamper, pictures put on the wall, etc.
Tomorrow after I take Soph to school, I’ll have fun doing a little bedroom decor shopping.
I can’t even plan well enough to dress my child in something extra nice for her photo with Santa.
OK I have two excuses, well, just one: we were in a rush and I dressed her in something semi-festivish-wintry-a-la-holiday shirt. She threw on her boots, grabbed a stuffy and we were out the door to the mall.
The photo turned out great – no complaints about that. In the car I had a sudden thought. “I hope I didn’t dress her in the same shirt that she wore for her picture last year,” I told Boobs.
Well, the new photo and last year’s are side-by-side. Same Santa. Same big green chair. Same effing shirt! The only proof I have that it’s a different year: she’s holding a different stuffy, wearing different boots and the year 2012 is printed on the bottom.