Notes from the Blue House

Thirty is the best, I'm convinced of it. I understand the whole plot line of Jennifer Garner's crappy movie titled "13 Going on 30". Well, almost the entire plot line-magical wishing powder? huh?? That aside, let's be real-very few of us look back at our awkward teenage years with longing or with fondness. If you do, you were probably one of the popular kids and well..screw  you. I'd sit down to a steaming platter of pig shit before I'd volunteer to be thirteen again. Mmmm..is that pig shit?...delish! Pass me a fork. Or a spoon. I'm not sure what utensil is best suited to manure. Thirteen was the age that it became undeniable to me, though probably not to my mother, that I didn't fit in. Anywhere. With anyone. When I did manage to wriggle into a group of girls, it felt false or temporary to me. Wanna hear a sad tale? Of course you do. In eighth grade, a couple of girls from school invited me to go Christmas dress shopping w

First words. The babble of that first word fills a parent's heart with pride and anticipation. Ah, just think of all the amazing things he or she will say in the coming years. Look at how communicative this little person is becoming! Imagine the insightful conversations we'll share as they learn and grow...sigh...it's a beautiful thing. Except that not every word they say is cute. Owen's picked up the odd curse word and, of course, I have no god-damned idea where he got those shitty words from. Those little gems are easily dealt with though. When we're done disguising our giggles as coughs, we've explained to Owen that a word he's using is ugly and unwelcome in our house. Usually, he's accepted that and traded out the offending word for something cuter. Done and done. Problem solved. Aren't we just the greatest parents ever? Nope. Owen screwed me over recently and I wish it had been a swear word he'd dropped in the home of one of my friends. It

See what I did there? This post is about my kitchen, and I worked the word "cooking" into the title. You're amazed by my wit, no? Yeah, that's not a cheesy title at all. Anyhoo, when I started blabbering away on this blog, I'd intended to chronicle the renos and redecorating we were doing around this place. Of course, nothing consumes your life, your thoughts and...ahem...your blog quite like parenting, so this became an outlet for my thoughts about raising humans. A house related post is long overdue so here ya go. When we bought this place, 2 years ago, the kitchen was a sore spot for me. Our previous house had a bright, open concept kitchen that was perfect for having friends over for dinner and I've been pining for my old kitchen ever since handing over the keys. Taking a step backwards in the kitchen department to gain the extra bedrooms we needed was a necessary evil. Yes, it was a compromise we had to make in order to gain some square footage but I'

I love my kids, really I do. I love my husband too but sometimes I want to tell him to get stuffed and then dash out the door and into my car. Well, last week I did just that-minus the 'get stuffed' part. I'd had the boys for 6 days solid, and Owen's been a miserable you-know-what since having his tonsils out. I've come to realize how integral to my sanity his 3 days/week at daycare are. Tim had to visit with family in Niagara last weekend and was gone for 5 hours. I know what you're thinking, 'what's 5 more hours after 6 full days?' I'll tell you what it is-it's 2 more viewings of Cars2 with a whiny brat on your lap. It's three more Jello related meltdowns. It's another diaper change for Simon while Owen whines at my leg. It's another scrub at the cat barf on the carpet. Tick Tock Tick Tock. I've gotta get the hell out of this place. The moment Tim walked in the door, he suggested that we try to get Owen out of the house for