August 2015 archive

One Man’s Trash…

 

Early on a weekend morning you find yourself carting boxes full of old books and toys out on to your front lawn. Clothes you no longer wear, furniture that’s chipped, VHS tapes you’ve found in the basement; you put all those out too. You felt like you were up early enough yet there are already people there, ready to rummage through your stuff.

You my friend are having a garage sale.

I have VERY mixed feelings on garage sales. They really are a weird event. A plan to get rid of all your old things that never really works out for me. First of all, if I bring a box up from the basement full of toys my kids haven’t played with in years, they suddenly have interest in them again and simply CANNOT part with them. Now dusty old baby toys are scattered around my living room floor. I also don’t like people trying to barter with me over things I’ve owned and loved, trying to talk me down from the Toonie I am charging.

“No, I won’t take a quarter for it. It’s an end table!!”

I stand there, on my lawn, with a good portion of our lives out for display knowing that if it doesn’t sell I will have to load all of it up in our car and take it to a donation centre. I look at the handful of change I’ve earned so far, which is barely enough to buy a coffee, and start wondering if I just should have not bothered with the sale, but just headed right for the dump.

My kids, who were the ones who talked me in to having a sale in the first place, have long lost interest and have gone to the park to play. I can’t stop thinking of the guy that bought all our DVD’s for $5. He was so excited and kept saying “I can’t believe you don’t want these!!” I am starting to regret selling them. DO I want these? Now it’s too late. Would we ever watch Cannonball Run 3 again? I highly doubt it, but I am still feeling regretful.

The only thing worse for me than having a garage sale is the slightly embarrassing fact that I LOVE going to them. I can’t help myself. I pull over all the time and shop on people’s lawns. Over the years I have picked up so many things that will be great “DIY fixer upper projects.” I buy all kinds of furniture that I could easily refinish and that would be AMAZING when I’m done. Problem is, I don’t ever do it. NOT EVER. I don’t even know how! I usually keep all this junk in my basement for two years and then resell it to some other poor sucker off my lawn.

Despite all of this, I know that I will continue to stop at garage and yard sales. I just can’t help it. Once again my kids will leave with old DVD’s and giant sized toys and I will leave with a broken chair and some useless knickknacks.

Oh well, at least we will have some new things to sell off next year!

My latest purchase. It's salt and pepper shakers that are also a bottle opener AND a corkscrew! How could I resist?!?

 

Is THIS My Midlife Crisis??!!?? (Warning. A lot of swearing.)

So, something happened last night. I had an “Aha! Moment.” I know this is an Oprah thing, but since I’ve never watched Oprah, I am just going to go ahead and assume she means that moment when you realize you’ve TURNED INTO A GIANT FUCKING LOSER.

I was just plating our dinner (How’s that for an obnoxious term?) when I took a bite of the salad I’d made (I make salad every night, EVERY NIGHT, so I am not sure why this is a big deal.) and called out to my husband “WOW, I really knocked dinner out of the ballpark tonight!”

He didn’t really hear me, because he was busy talking over me, telling me who he would pick as his dream cast for the “Ultimate Ghostbusters Reboot.”

I stood in the doorway, holding our plates with my award winning, grand slamming dinner on it, staring at him as he then went on to say “For the record, they DON’T NEED to do a reboot. BUT since they are I love that it’s women and love the women they’ve cast, but I’ve heard they are also doing a men’s one, which is SO STUPID and thank god they didn’t do the one they had talked about years ago with Chris Farley and Adam Sandler BUT IF they do end up doing another one, and I could cast it, it would be Will Farrell, that funny Asian guy who’s in EVERYTHING right now (Randall Park), Chris Pratt and Kevin Hart.” “Oooh. Great cast!” I say. “I’d hit all of that.” I also say, because I always like to keep it classy.

We sit down, I hand him 40 napkins and say “Okay. We can eat on the new couch but PLEASE be careful.” Then we watch Netflix. We don’t actually watch a full show or movie, we scroll for a half hour pointing out all the things we could watch, and WANT to watch, but not tonight, because I have super anxiety and can only handle comedies.

A bottle of wine and some chips follow, and then I force him to rub my bunion. Welcome to my Saturday night.

Seriously. WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK.

How did this happen??!!?? I used to be super fun and funny. I used to go out, and work nights and have crazy adventures and still manage to get up early and function. Now I can’t even handle staying up late. I complain about never getting invited to parties, but when I do, and the start time is after 9pm, I say “WHAAAAAAAAATTTT, WHO leaves the house after 8??” in a super high pitched voice, and usually don’t go. I went to my friend Laura’s house, and stayed until 2:30 am, and am still trying to recover three weeks later. I have actually been bragging about walking home at that time, as all the bars poured out onto the streets, and that the Domino’s Pizza was still open. STILL OPEN! Who even knew that? People under 40, that’s who. People way cooler than me, that’s who. Everyone else. That’s who.

I talked to my girlfriend about this, and said MAYBE just maybe I am having a midlife crisis. “But I am TOO YOUNG!” I said. She said “No. I think that’s about right. If anything, you should have had it about 5 years ago. Let’s face it, with your health and bad luck do you REALLY think you are going to make it to 80?”

Rude, yes. But not wrong. I don’t want to come right out and say I think I have a shorter life expectancy rate than others, but hey, some days MY ENTIRE LEFT SIDE DOESN’T WORK.

So, is this the midlife crisis? Am I two weeks away from getting a mom haircut? Is this the moment when my brain shifts to a new, comfortable spot where it stops keeping track of any new technology or cool music? Will I start wearing boxy shorts, fanny packs and cross trainers when I travel? Will all my tee shirts be from Northern Reflections? Will I start wearing bedazzled clothing??

SO MANY WORRIESOME QUESTIONS.

My biggest worry is that I have been this boring and middle aged my entire life, but that I am only realizing it now, as age brings some sort of wisdom. (It must, right?)

This was totally not what I pictured doing with my life. Do you know how I spend my days? Writing up “Fun Family Recipes” for Mom blogs that I never actually make, and get paid in gift cards. (Right eye twitches as I die a little inside.)

I can tell you this. Starting NOW I am going to make some changes. (Totally a thing someone says who’s having a midlife crisis.)

I won’t be buying a sports car or going on a fancy trip. Did I mention so far I also sort of suck at being an adult? I think I must HATE money. I have to get rid of it the second I get any, so these two items are definitely off the table.

I won’t train and run in a marathon either. I may be having a midlife crisis, but I am still super lazy. I probably won’t lose the baby weight I’ve been carrying. I won’t sky dive, change careers, or get plastic surgery.

I’m not sure what I’ll do, but it will be something. Or worse, my biggest fear, I’ll do NOTHING. Just get older and MORE BORING. I am frowning as I say this. Which I shouldn’t do, because now I have lines on my mouth that resemble a ventriloquist dummy.

40 is NOT the new 30. Only old people say that. Old people with Howdy Doody mouths and accordion foreheads.

Something’s gotta give, and it can’t be my hip.

Stay Tuned.

30. Oh 30, how I miss you.

30. Oh 30, how I miss you.

Grade 8. SO MUCH STYLE

Grade 8. SO MUCH STYLE

Early 90's. That's a lot of hair.

Early 90’s. That’s a lot of hair.

 

Sometimes, Toddlers are THE PITS!

My oldest son turned sixteen this month. I decided to make him a birthday collage of old photos. I was quite certain this is the thing teenaged boys really want. As I was digging through the memories, I couldn’t help but pause at pictures of the toddler years. Those soft little arms, that angelic face, that child that could do no wrong. Perfect right?

I then started really thinking back to those years, and maybe, just maybe the Golden Child wasn’t so perfect after all. He was a toddler, and I am here to say sometimes TODDLERS ARE THE PITS.

I love when people refer to the tough stage as “Terrible Twos.” That’s because they’ve never spent time with a three year old. Three year olds are straight up a**holes sometimes. Buckle up parents of two year olds, you haven’t seen anything yet.

Toddlers are adorable you say? Are they? How about their shoes? Yes. I hate their little shoes more than anything. First of all, why does a shoe smaller than the palm of my hand cost so much money? To help their foot development. I do get that, but since my son wouldn’t keep a shoe on his foot to save his stinking life, I may as well have just wrapped them in newspapers.

It is hard trying to get out of the house in the mornings with a toddler. First you sit them on your lap, facing outward, and then struggle to put the damn little shoes on their feet. “Please hold still,” I’d beg, but he didn’t care, he just had to wiggle off my lap to grab a toy. I’d get one shoe on, and he’d kick it off.

“Please Buddy, leave the shoes on. Mommy HAS to get you to daycare, and I HAVE to get to my work. I can’t be late again. PLEASE BUDDY PLEASE. DO NOT KICK THAT SHOE OFF.” He’d look me right in the face, and then KICK. IT. OFF. In the house, in his stroller, on public transit, or the worst, in his car seat, where he could somehow magically kick it to go all the way under the front seat. I would then get to our destination and have to crawl on the floor of the car, through the spilled milk and Goldfish Cracker crumbs, to retrieve his million dollar sandal. He would also try and kick me, or pull my hair with his toes while I was doing this. I don’t think there was a single day that I got to work on time, let alone clean. I was always sweaty and frazzled after our morning routine of Mother And Son Shoe Smackdown.

Sickness. OH MAN. Why do toddlers get sick all the time?? I worked part time, but my son would wake up with a fever ONLY on my work day. I missed so many days of work because of him! Sick toddlers can’t go to daycare, and no one wants to be a backup plan for your feverish, snotty kid. I do not miss those anxious times, worrying that if I called in, or worse, get the call at work that once again my child has a fever and has to be picked up, I’d get fired. Some days, by the time parents get to work, they’ve already been through a whole day, and usually a change of outfits. My second go round I decided to not go back to my job, but instead did home childcare, so I could take other toddlers off their parent’s hands and say “Enjoy your day of work with poop on your shirt!”

And, last but certainly not least, Pooping. Last minute pooping. Inconvenient pooping. HOW did you not know four minutes ago that you needed to poop? WHY do you need to the second we step into the discount grocery store so that we have to go into their disgusting bathrooms? WHY? Also, why do you need to wait until the food comes to the table at a restaurant, before saying you need to go? I had every dining out meal ruined for a two year span.

It’s hard to believe the little stinker that caused so much trouble is such a nice teenager. Sure, he STILL kicks his shoes off in the car, but at least now he puts them back on himself.

So buh bye to the toddler years, and hello to the teen years.  So far, so good!

If you have any stories or things that your toddler does/did that drive you a bit nuts, I’d love to hear it. Maybe you have a frequent clothes changer, or one who loves to sleep in your bed, with their feet or bums in your face. Just know that it won’t last forever, and one day you may actually miss it!

So Happy Birthday to my Big Boy. I wouldn’t change a thing.

Except maybe the shoes. I’m still pretty pissed off about that.

 

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