Getting my Christmas Cheer On

I have really enjoyed my time off work over Christmas. I’ve been busy promoting my new ebook, AMBER FROST, writing the sequel to it, and even finding some time to blog, read and take a few photo’s. We’ve visited friends, visited Santa, taken a family trip on the local “Christmas Train”, and even been to Church (for the first time in… umm… 7 years?).

I hope you all had a wonderful Christmas and got to spend lots of time with you families and friends. That is exactly what I did this year and I couldn’t have imagined a more special time – or more hilarious. Because that’s what happens when the crazy-people-who-I-call-family all gather together.

Oh, where to start?

This was my son’s second Christmas but it will probably be the first that he’ll really remember (we think but who really knows!). It was amazing how quickly he grasped the concept of opening presents – this is the same child who frequently walks around with a bucket on his head and eats sand while saying “yum-yum” - my special Little Man. He caught on to the idea of opening presents very fast, but he definitely did not “get” the idea of giving presents. When we tried to encourage him to hand out the presents that were from him (he loves to hand out pictures of himself, modest little man) he freaked. There was a lot of “noooooo!” and “miiiiiiine!” and trying to open other peoples’ presents and run away with them. He’s not even 2 yet so he deserves a little bit of a break. But still – it was a little embarrassing. He did remember to use his “peas” and “dank-doos” appropriately though, so there was that at least!

My son’s Grandparents all went a little overboard this year in the "giving" department. The Little Man is the only grandchild on the hubbie’s side of the family and the only one in the country on my side. Our little monster actually got so tired of opening gifts at my in-laws that he started to say “no-no” when offered a present and would run and hide. He just wanted to play with his new, toy car on the kitchen floor and chase the in-laws’ dog. At my folks’ place his favorite toys were a fly swatter he found out on the deck and a penguin magnet he stole off their fridge. Isn’t that always the way?

As for myself, I was quite spoiled too. I especially enjoyed the Amazon gift card from my folks so I could load-up my Kindle (check Goodreads to see what I’m reading now) and also the Paderno cookware set from my in-laws. I never thought I would hear myself squeal in delight over a set of shiny, new pots and pans. My eighteen year-old self was definitely rolling her eyes.

The best gift this Christmas though was the arrangement made between the hubbie and I, and his sister and brother (and their respective partners). Instead of each couple buying gifts for the others, we each took the money we would have spent and donated it to our local food banks. It was a great idea; kudos to my sister-in-law and her fiancé (still haven’t forgotten about the Giant Evil Bunny incident) for coming up with it. To be perfectly honest – it was fast, convenient, there was no wasteful spending and it felt SO good! The lady at the food bank was almost in tears when we dropped off our cheque. She thanked us profusely when really, all we were doing was dropping off a cheque – she was the one who was volunteering her time and effort! It still felt good.

The absolute best part of Christmas though was all the time spent with my loved ones; waking up Christmas morning, warm and happy in my husband’s arms, watching the joy on the Little Man’s face as he pulled a little train out of his stocking and starting yelling “CHOO-CHOO! Mumma! Dadda! CHOO-CHOO!” And all the good food and hugs and laughter – oh, it’s so corny but it’s true. It really is the most wonderful time of the year!

No matter where you were, what you were doing and how you did (or didn’t) celebrate the Holidays, I hope you had a perfect time.

Suzi

Sometimes I Wonder About Myself

Did my mother make as many mistakes as I did and do? Do my friends? Do people just not want to talk about the stupid and embarrassing things they have done? I guess we’re all afraid of looking dumb or irresponsible but we all make mistakes sometimes, don’t we?

Over the past year and a bit, I have come to realize that parenting, like so many other things, is a trial and error process that you won’t necessarily get right the first time. I’m starting to wonder now about the “eldest children” out there that I know, aka. the parenting guinea pigs. Forget 'middle-child syndrome'!

But seriously, I think I am doing a pretty good job raising my Little Man but like I said, it’s harder than it looks. And though I’d like to blame lack of sleep and changing hormones and all those fabulous excuses, my child sleeps through the night and is nearly 1 ½ so I’ve got nothing. Guess I’ll just have to admit that sometimes, I’m just not that perfect - sometimes.

Here are just some of the things that make me question my ability to ‘parent’:

I have literally spoken the phrase: “No, this is Mummy’s chocolate and I don’t have to share.” I have also tried to sneak chocolate past the Little Man . You don’t even have to say it – I know.

Similarly, I have seriously considered raising my child to believe that he is allergic to chocolate. I’d love to say this would be for his benefit but really…

When I have run out of things to entertain my son (if we’re stuck waiting somewhere) I have let him play with such non-Daddy-approved “toys” from my purse as lip gloss, tampons and make up.

Instead of nursery rhymes, since my son was a newborn I have been singing songs like “All the Single Babies” (Beyonce), “Shake, Shake, Shake – Don’t Shake the Baby” (Shake Your Booty) and “Push it” (Salt n’ Peppa – usually when he’s pooping).

I laugh when my son farts. I know this only encourages him but he looks so surprised and then cheeky… how do you not laugh?

Whenever the Little Man sees an empty beer can he runs to pick it up. He will either pretend to drink from it and then go “ahhhh” or he will take it straight to his Daddy. We have no idea where he picked up these habits.

I may have once forgotten to properly close the backdoor to my car after buckling my son in. I was pulling out of my spot in the Walmart parking lot and the door flew open – the Little Man laughed and started waving at the shocked people he could now clearly see. I stopped and closed the door. It may have actually happened twice.

Whenever the Little Man hears a loud truck, he points and yells, “Daddy!” When we’re in a parking lot, I find myself repeating over and over, “No, that’s not your Daddy. No, he’s not your Daddy either. Nope, not baby’s Daddy, try again.” I love it when the guys driving the big trucks have their windows down though and hear him. That “deer-in-headlights” look is priceless. It’s even funnier if there’s a girl sitting next to them. The Little Man will usually smile and wave like he really does recognize them too.

It’s bad enough that the Little Man already recognizes a Tim Horton’s (the source of the occasional cookie ) and claps his hands and points from the backseat of a car going 90 km/hr, but it’s even worse that the girls in the Tim Horton’s drive thru by my house know not just me but also my son by name!

I bought the Little Man his own little baseball bat. I don’t know what I was thinking with that one. Our cat still hasn’t forgiven me.

And finally, I’m wondering whether I really should be saying things to my son like:

- “No, we don’t hit Daddy. Only Mummy can do that.”

- “Get the cat!”
(He runs after it screaming. It’s pretty funny until he does it to other people’s cats.)

- Daddy – “What does Mummy say?”, Little Man – “Mooo!”
(My husband thought that was a pretty clever thing to teach him.)

- “Ouch! Mother Ducker!”
(If he repeats that one at daycare, I think I’m still going to look pretty bad.)

- “Look – there goes Big Fat Baby!”
(Baby who lives down the street whose name I always forget. This has the potential to be quite embarrassing once the Little Man can talk more.)

- “Pick it up quickly, it’s still good. Five second rule… Ten second rule… Thirty second rule… Here, let me get that for you.”

- “Baby, be careful! Don’t go near the Evil Bunny!”
(My sister-in-law bought me this as a joke. I suppose I shouldn’t perpetuate the idea that the bunny is “evil”. I’ll include a picture so then you’ll have a better idea of what I’m talking about. Actually, in this case, it might be an example of good parenting – you decide!)


Suzi

The Best of the Worst

One of the greatest challenges I’ve found in ‘blogging’ is creating interesting and entertaining posts on an (almost) weekly-basis. If I don’t have anything to write about, I refuse to force myself to write. The end result is always that my readers must force themselves to read; it doesn’t work out for anyone. I will only write if I’m excited about something, if I’m inspired or interested enough by the subject matter that the story (or in this case, the post) writes itself. But I have made a commitment to my readers to post as regularly as possible and so at times, I do find myself stretching for new ideas. This has resulted in some really bad and embarrassing posts that fortunately, were abandoned before they were ever published.

I try to keep in mind that the best ideas often plant their roots within the worst. They rise up from the manure that has fertilized their roots and blossom into a wonderful creation that can stand tall on its own. Excuse my bluntness, but I also feel it’s important not to forget the shit you had to get through to reach your eventual goal. And, in my case, sometimes “the shit” turns out to be even more entertaining than the actual end result. Or at least it can be once you’ve gained enough perspective to look back and laugh at yourself (re: The Cake That Everybody Ate but No One Ever Saw)

And with that being said, here are some of the best of my worst ideas for blog entries. I encourage you to laugh:


“The Sugar Cleanse”
An overview of journal entries from a sugar addict/chocoholic’s (my) experience on a self-imposed (and husband-suggested) sugar-free diet for ten days. I thought it might be funny/interesting to record my experiences… it wasn’t. It basically ended up being three days of me complaining how hungry I was and then pathetically abandoning the whole thing so I could devour unsightly amounts of chocolate. Not pretty and not funny – not in the way it was supposed to be anyway.

“Ode to my Baby Daddy”
This one was a poem I wrote for my husband for Father’s Day. He never saw it – no one ever did. The “Ode” may make an appearance next year on Father’s Day; I’ll admit it had some potential hilarity mixed into its short, rhyming lines. There were some awful parts too though. I may have rhymed “dear” with “beer”, and “happily” with “pee” – I don’t think I need to explain why this one never saw the light of day.

“The Portrait Project”
A photographic investigation of portraiture as I attempted to capture my subjects’ “true beauty” through a series of bad shots (poor lighting, unflattering angles, badly-timed moments, etc.). The end result was a series of fugly photos (oh, how I enjoy that word!) that though hilarious, were certainly not what they were meant to be. Maybe one day these photos will resurface for your enjoyment, or for future blackmail purposes.

“The Right Lyrics”
You know how sometimes you think you know all the lyrics to a song, and then one day you’re singing along to your car radio and your passenger enlightens you on the fact that you are actually singing the words completely wrong (by laughing hysterically at you)? Well... this happens to me a lot. I started writing a post about all the song lyrics I’ve gotten wrong over the years but to be perfectly honest – it was just too ridiculous. I mean, how did I think Nelly saying, “Hey… must be the money!” sounded like “Hey… fuck you buddy!”? And then why would I decide to sing along so loudly… in public…?

Oh there are so many more embarrassing ideas to tell you about but you’ll have to be satisfied with these gems for now. And to thank you all for your support of my blog… here’s a teaser from the “Portrait Project”. It’s a self-portrait of me and my son. You’re welcome.

Suzi

The Day that Kicked my Ass

It started out badly, as this type of day will tend to do.

The Hubbie and I overslept by an hour. We woke up to the sound of his cell phone ringing – the guy he gives a ride to work to was wondering where he was. It was 7 am.

Extra sleep might not sound like such a bad start to the day but for me it was. One of my many roles in our household is Head Alarm Clock Attendant and I had quite obviously failed. Hubbie would sleep through the alarm everyday if it weren’t for me. He requires a properly placed elbow in the ribs and a few loving slaps in the face to wake up. One day they’ll invent an alarm that will replace me and then I’ll have to find something else to contribute to our marriage. But anyway, I digress…

So the Hubbie was late for work and not too pleased about it. He left the house with a few grumpy stomps and a slightly over-enthusiastic slamming of the door that woke the Little Man up. And of course, my sweet baby boy decided to make my morning even more interesting. Toys were thrown at me, breakfast was thrown at me, and nothing I did pleased the little prince. It didn’t help my mood when he threw a spoonful of oatmeal onto my last pair of clean Capri pants and I had no other option but to put on jeans when at 8 am it was already over 20 degrees.

Thank goodness for naptime.

As soon as he was asleep, I took some time to check my emails. I happened to have received my first rejection letter for my second novel. It was a standard, polite response - the kind I’ve grown to expect. But no matter how ok you tell yourself you are with it, rejection still hurts. It definitely didn’t make my day any better.

Then the phone rang and woke up the Little Man after only 45 minutes of peace. And it wasn’t even a good phone call – it was a telemarketer. I was thrilled.

Little Man woke up cranky. Of course he did. I decided to take him to the pool to get us both out of the house but couldn’t find his swimming shorts. Then I realized that after I had been stung by a wasp the other day and had come home from the beach in a drug induced trance (prescription meds thank you very much and my sister-in-law was there babysitting me and the kiddo) I forgot to take the Little Man’s swimming things out of my backpack. Lovely. His swim shorts and towel were sandy and damp and had been sitting in the bottom of my backpack for 2 days. And they reeked – way more than they should have. And that’s when I realized I had been betrayed.

My dear sweet Fat Cat who has such perfect bladder control that we don’t even have a litter tray for him anymore had turned my backpack into his own personal bathroom. This, I would expect from the Bad Cat who presently lives outdoors because of such past incidents but my Fatipuss? The world really was turning against me.

So the swim shorts and towel went into the washing machine and my backpack went into the garbage. It was just what I needed to cheer me up – more laundry.

It was an hour or so later when we were finally ready to go swimming. We got all packed up and loaded into the car, drove down to the pool only to find out that in the summer time the wave machine is turned on from 1pm onwards. And it was 2pm. The Little Man doesn’t do waves.

Are you freakin’ kidding me?

So we pile back into the car (did I mention it’s nearly 30 degrees on this beautiful day and I drive a BLACK Honda?) and just as I go to pull out of my parking spot my Blackberry buzzes. I’ve just received another email in response to the queries I sent out – this one from a certain Literary Agency.

Well, what do you know? It’s another rejection letter but this one’s a “shit sandwich” (as a friend of mine likes to say). You know the format – compliment, criticism, compliment. So apparently my novel is “interesting” but “there is too much telling going on” while my ideas are still “creative”. Then it’s all topped off by saying that they rarely take on “previously unpublished authors” anyway.

Rejection I can deal with. Criticism I can accept, especially if I can learn from it - but this? Really? If you’re going to send me a four sentence rejection letter, why even bother to make vague and critical (yet non-constructive) comments?

So I was really getting my ass kicked by the world at this point and I realized that today, I was obviously not going to win. So what did I do? I went to a wonderful place where I could bury all of my troubles beneath a heap of chocolaty ice cream. Where no one could judge me for wanting both oreo cookies and chunks of brownies in my ice cream because it’s actually on the menu. Where I could satisfy my chocolate, cookie, brownie, ice cream craving without ever having to get out of my car. Thank you DQ.

And then things started to turn around (don’t tell me food doesn’t fix things).

Little Man had his first taste of a Blizzard which was pretty entertaining. We hit up Wal-mart and strolled around in the AC for longer than necessary, played with toys I had no intention of buying, and even found a new backpack. Then Hubbie got off work early and surprised me and the Little Man. He entertained our trouble-maker while I made dinner and he even handled a dirty diaper solo, making me fall in love with him all over again.

And that last rejection letter? I decided something that made me feel a lot better. When one of my novels is published and that particular agency comes knocking at my door offering representation, I will have a shit sandwich all ready to serve them back.

“Thank you for your generous offer” but “your agents do too much ‘telling’” so... “have a nice day”. Ha.

Immature, but it makes me smile.


Suzi