Notes from the Blue House

It's been awhile, eh? In all honesty, life's been busy and I couldn't bear to open up a startlingly white blank page without having an idea of what I wanted to say. Then I read this article...and I had shit to say. Check it out, otherwise my ramblings won't make a lick of sense. Go ahead, click on the link. I'll wait here. http://nymag.com/news/features/retro-wife-2013-3/ Done? Great. Here goes. Firstly, there's nothing wrong with a woman choosing to leave her career to stay at home with her children. Just as there's nothing wrong with eagerly handing your wiggly, poop soiled child off to a daycare provider so that you can return to what feels good to you-work. When will we stop judging each other for choices that are personal and unique to each family? Being in a position to opt-out of working is very fortunate, not all families can swing that. The subject of this article, Kelly, makes some pretty broad assumptions about men and women. I say "bro...

With baby number three only a couple of months away, I've been reflecting on what I've learned after spending five years in the muthahood. Admittedly, I'm no expert and I don't doubt that there are countless discoveries waiting for me as I start from scratch with another babe. I'm excited to see which moments have me thinking 'well, that's different' or 'I didn't see that coming.' That's what keeps life interesting. Here's what I've figured out so far. 1. You may very well poop while you push. No, it doesn't happen on T.V. sitcoms or Hollywood movies. Those coiffed and spray-tanned women are the picture of dignity and serenity as their babies are handed to them but it happens in real life. Here's the best part, you won't even care so don't worry about it. You'll be disheveled, delirious and triumphant despite having pooped yourself only moments earlier. 2. A baby's umbilical cord will make you wince. It...

"Wow. Yep, this is happening", I thought as I stared squinty-eyed at that faint second line on the dollar store pregnancy test. With each passing day, that second line got darker and the realization that we would be a family of 5 in 40 short weeks began to sink in. What an amazingly joyous little secret an embryo makes. What a tough secret it is to keep though, Mother Nature is one twisted chickita. You're supposed to keep your fertilized blob under wraps until at least 12 weeks, that seems to be the generally agreed-upon rule. Ah, but it's during those early weeks that you're most likely to fall victim to public barfing-I've been there. 5 years ago, I had to casually stroll away from a splatter of vomit I left on a subway platform during rush hour. It's when you need the understanding and support of those around you the most that you're least likely to get it because you're keeping your trap shut. How many times can a girl claim to be stricken by ...

Months before Tim and I tied the knot, we took a pre-marital course. We spent a few of our Saturdays sitting in a circle with a half dozen couples who would soon be married. We participated in a bunch of activities and discussions about making our marriage work, led by..ahem..a  divorced  social worker but I digress. We soon discovered that we were the only couple who'd voluntarily forked over the money to give up our Saturdays, every one else was there because their clergyman said so. What a pair of keeners we were!  I confess that it wasn't long before Tim and I were placing bets on which couples may not even make it to the altar, which ones would last a year, which ones would end up in the headlines for killing each other. We're mean like that. There's one activity I remember in particular. We filled out these questionnaires, individually, about how we envisioned the day to day workings of our family. I consider...

I'm ashamed to admit this: I had a fight with a Walmartian. If you haven't wasted 15 minutes laughing at  http://www.peopleofwalmart.com/photos/ , you should. You really should. I confess that Walmart is my one-stop spot for groceries and kids clothes. That said, I refuse to qualify for a photo on that website. I DO NOT, under any circumstances, wear pajamas to Walmart. I do not wear crocs. I do not wear t-shirts that make reference to bombs, farts or trailer park boys. I may shop there but I am not a Walmartian. The monster who hooked me into a verbal altercation in check-out lane #14 was a bonefide Walmartian. Her stringy, straw like, bleach blonde hair hung limply from her worn out baseball cap. She wore ripped yoga pants and a pink rain poncho. Her rough looks weren't the issue, her bat-shit crazy behaviour was. Here's what went down. I pulled my cart loaded with a weeks worth of groceries into the check-out lane. There she stood, ahead of me, with one, single ite...

Is there anything worse than rejection? OK, maybe a frontal lobotomy but I swear that's all. Rejection is a tough pill to swallow. Agreed? As if rejection in and of itself isn't sucktacular enough,  it's felt much more sharply when it comes from someone you adore. Didn't get asked to dinner with friends? Crappy. Didn't get the dream job? Terrible. Asked someone out and got the cold shoulder? Awkward. Tried to hug your kid and he smacked you in the face? Well, I can assure you that the latter is the worst. Simon's been putting me through the ringer since I've gone back to work. If he was a cat, he'd have pissed in my shoes by now. He's blatantly, and without apology, favouring Tim. When he's fallen down and scraped his knee, he'll push me away and bury his face in Tim's lap to cry. When Tim and Owen ducked out this evening for a quick errand, Simon clutched his little shoes and sobbed at the door; devastated to be left behind. I crouch...

I hate change. Once I've settled into a comfortable routine, I avoid change like I avoid dental work. You can imagine how comfortable my routine had become over the past 16 months of being a stay-at-home mom. Ya, so what I'm still in pajamas at 4pm? Wanna fight about it? Sure, there were days that I was touched out, talked out, tuckered out and glancing around for the nearest escape from my kids. Those days were rare, though. Truthfully, I loved being at home. I accomplished things around my house. I watched Dr. Phil. I wore  yoga pants. I made lunch dates with people I like. Please don't rant at me about how hard it is to be a stay-at-home mom, I get it. It's not for sissies but it had it's undeniable perks and I loved the whole shebang. Now, the money's run out. I knew in July that September, and my return to work, was looming but I decided that if I didn't think about it, it wouldn't be true. I ignored it in August too, skipping through life like ...