Do You Know The Muffin Man?

I do! And his name is Trouble.

Earlier this evening, I thought I'd treat my boys by making a batch of muffins. OK, don't get excited. It's the Quaker stuff in the bag. But they love it, so we don't need to tell them that I'm cheating.

Anyhow, I set the muffin pan on top of the stove to cool and head into my cavern - I mean basement - to work on a plate I need to engrave for a customer. The boys were in the adjoining room, watching TV.

At least, that's where the older one was.

Trouble had other schemes brewing in his mischievous little skull. He had stolen away upstairs, dragged a chair over to the stove, climbed up and proceeded to pull the tops off of all the muffins. Then he ate the evidence. Well, most of it, at any rate.

By the time my overworked Mom radar sounded, it was too late. Mental note to self: must call the shop to have that radar looked at - Trouble may be tampering with it while I sleep. I hurried back to the kitchen to find Trouble standing across the room with a muffin top in each hand. As soon as he spotted the me coming up the steps, he backed himself against a wall, both hands (still clutching the muffin tops) behind his back, eyes wide, shouting, "No! No! No! No! No! No!...."

So, what do you do at this point? It's time for dinner. Trouble, surprisingly, isn't hungry.

"If you don't eat your dinner, you're not getting any ... oh, wait ... never mind."

Technorati Tage: Parenting ; Children ; Muffins

On A Lighter Note...

I'm a huge Robin Williams fan. The man is a comedic genius and master ad-libber. His acting range is as broad as Bill Gates's credit rating. His stand-up always has me falling down.

He's been on a few talk shows lately to promote his new movie, RV. I've seen the trailers on TV, and I'm not entirely sure this is going to be one of his finest moments. None-the-less, I went to check out the movie's website to see if there might be something I'm missing in the commercials.

On the website's main page, there is a picture of the title's rv perched precariously and teetering at the top of a very pointy rock.

My youngest (you know him as Trouble, the two and a half year old) took one look at the picture and said, "Whoa-ho-ho! A flying bus! Dat's not good!" Hmmm....Foreshadowing, maybe?

At any rate, I'll be waiting for this movie to come out on DVD before logging my official review. I have a feeling it's not as bad as the trailers make it appear. I just don't think it'll be worth the cost of admission. Besides, something tells me it'll be a lot funnier with Trouble sitting beside me, offering his commentary as we go along. ;)

Technorati Tags: Robin Williams ; RV ; Movie ; Comedy

The Comfort Zone

I admit it. I am a mindless drone. Doing exactly what advertisers tell me to do.

I'm so desperate to potty train my youngest that I'm dishing out fistsfull of cash for products that I know in my heart won't work. Disposable training pants. You know the ones. You can get them with cute little cartoon characters on them that disappear when your wee one piddles, or, the latest concoction, the liner that actually allows your child to 'feel' wet.

Here's the problem with these training pants.

My child apparently likes his - um - warm and squishies. He is either ignoring the mess completely, or he's decided it's comfortable. His own portable comfort zone, so to speak. Maybe it affords him extra padding during play time. I don't know. Whatever his reasoning, he refuses to tell me when he 'goes' and puts up quite the fight when I mention trying the toilet. I've tried bribery. You know, the usual - stickers, treats, toys, etc... Heck, I was willing to buy him a $50 custom painted dinosaur toilet seat today if it would have coaxed him onto the can. Nothing doing.

That's why these training pants won't work. My son is too comfortable in them. Disappearing designs mean nothing to him. He's a boy. They're only designs, after all. He can pick up a set of markers and make his own designs, if he really wants to.

Those feel-wet liners aren't the greatest either. I tried them once. Either my son has a bladder the size of a 25 year old frat boy's after a kegger, or the manufacturer miscalculated the tensile strength of the liner. After one all-nighter, I was cleaning up a bazillion little crystals from my son's nether regions because the liner had disintegrated from over-use.

So why do I keep spending money on these things? Well, I have to put something on him if I don't want to spend my days chasing him around with a black light and a mop. And, while I'm not generally the kind of person who cares about what other people think, it's a little embarrassing having him in regular diapers at his size & age. Besides, I don't think those little tabs would hold up to his brand of horseplay.

Come summertime, though, we can move on to Plan B. We're going to spend every waking moment outdoors, where he can run around in a little bathing suit and nothing else. If he piddles down his leg a couple of times, maybe he'll finally get the message and start taking me up on my toilet training offers. Or, maybe he'll just like his newfound 'freedom' and decide on his own that those comfy training pants aren't that comfortable after all. With my luck, though, he'll probably enjoy peeing outdoors, at which point he'll start competing with the neighbour's dog for height on the fence posts.

Technorati Tags: Toilet Learning ; Potty Training ; Training Pants ; Toddlers ; Parenting ; Motherhood

Red Revival

Happy days are here again! Schumacher brought home his first checkered flag of the season for Ferrari at the San Marino Grand Prix. Not that Michael's a stranger to checkered flags, mind you. Today's was his career 85th!

Could this mean that Ferrari is finally past last year's abysmal performance? I certainly hope so! I really missed hearing that Italian national anthem during the podium ceremony. If you've never heard it, you should have a listen. It's quite an upbeat little tune.

Ferrari is now in third place for the Constructor's Championship, at 30 points, behind McLaren-Mercedes with 33 and Renault with 51. Schumacher is in second place in the Driver's standings, with 21 points. He trails Alonso, who's currently sitting at 36 points. The season isn't even half over yet, so it's really still anybody's game. Well, almost anybody, that is. I'm pretty sure Red Bull aren't holding their collective breath.

Rumour has it that Michael is going to announce, some time in June, whether or not he's going to retire at the end of this season. If he decides to retire, I sincerely hope it ends on a high note for him, bringing home the Driver's as well as the Constructor's Championships one last time.

Technorati Tags: Formula 1 ; Racinf ; Michael Schumacher ; Ferrari

WAHM Bloggers Question of the Week

The good ladies over at Work At Home Mom Bloggers have put forth this question of the week: What do you sacrifice to stay home with your children?

First and foremost, there's my ability to converse as an adult. I'm quite serious. We are products of our environments, after all. While in the corporate world, I could easily carry on conversations about software upgrades or group benefits, and generally come across sounding as if I knew what I was talking about. These days, my eyes glaze over at the mere mention of megabytes, and I find myself more often debating topics like Steve vs. Joe (Steve wins, hands down, every time) or researching websites where I can download free Sonic colouring pages.

I own one pair of jeans and one pair of dress pants, and I've worn both to parties as well as while doing home renovations. I won't buy a new pair of either until I've worn giant holes on the inner thighs that are no longer sewable. I own one pair of running shoes and one pair of "dress" shoes (read: a pair of black loafers, because I can't be bothered with heels and nylons anymore), both of which have had the soles repeatedly glued back on.

I have secret competitions with myself to see how quickly I can get out of the shower. I do not own a louffa (I don't even know how that's actually spelled). Conditioner is saved for special occasions. My legs haven't been shaved in six months. Here's something the cosmetic companies will never, ever tell you, ladies. Your leg hair only gets so long. Unlike the hair on your head, it doesn't keep growing and growing. It stops when it has reached its maximum length. If you're lucky, your leg hair's maximum length won't rival Lassie's.

My motorcycle has been (albeit temporarily) stabled. I am now driving a Honda CR-V with a car seat, a booster seat, an overhead DVD player and a floor that is encrusted with dried-up milk, cookie crumbs and an odd assortment of McDonald's Happy Meal toys. I tried the mini-van thing once. Sorry ... no.

Admittedly, I've gained quite a few skills and immeasurable knowledge in the bargain. I've learned that the human brain can function on surprisingly little sleep for weeks at a time. I can cook and do homework and rock out to a two-year-old's drum solo at the same time. My latest acquired talent is to type with a sock on my hand (Steve is showing us how to play with sock puppets today). There are so many more that I can't think of right now because, although the brain can technically function without much sleep, it doesn't recall information that readily.

In the grand scheme of things, I think I've come out on top! ;)

Technorati Tags: Question of the Week ; WAHM ; SAHM ; Parenting

The Ever-Changing Me

They tried to warn me. They told me that 'everything' would change after I had children. Well, d'uh! Of course it would! Midnight feedings, diapers up the yin-yang, no more jumping on the bike early one Sunday morning and going for a twelve hour ride down some back country highway, not caring if I get lost...

That's not what they meant.

They meant 'everything.' Every little aspect of my life that I took for granted. Every minute detail that I never even realized existed but would impact my daily life in ways I could never have dreamed.

Take Kentucky Fried Chicken, for example. I used to love the stuff. For all I know, I probably still do. Unfortunately, where I previously had a cast-iron stomach, motherhood has apparently replaced it with a wet sack of oatmeal. KFC is now cause for a desperate call to 9-1-1, which someone else will have to make since I'll be doubled over, suffering from abdominal pains that would make Sigourney Weaver jealous.

We won't discuss my breasts. They used to be very close, but they've apparently parted ways.

I was never sick. Never. Not even a cold. I also had no allergies to speak of. I could run naked through a field of dandelions while frolicking with a Persian cat, and I wouldn't get so much as a sniffle. Now I catch anything my son brings home from school, whether or not he's showing any symptoms. Allergies? Either I've developed allergies to the lovely set of tulips sitting outside my front door, or I am suffering from the longest and most location-specific cold in medical history.

A piece of useless trivia: it's impossible to sneeze without closing your eyes.

A piece of useful advice: after motherhood, it's not wise to sneeze without crossing your legs.

I wear a pad every day of the month just in case I sneeze while I'm out shopping. Hospitals should definitely introduce Kagel exercises as part of the postpartum program, not only in prenatal classes.

Do I regret any of it? Nope. Not in a million years. Saggy, mismatched breasts and all - these are badges of honour and I wear them proudly. For I am a Mother. No higher honour can be bestowed upon me. :D

Technorati tags: Motherhood ; Pregnancy

Reality TV Vs. Real TV

For the first time in a long time, I can honestly say that I like Mondays. Look forward to 'em, even.

I'm not a huge TV watcher. The boob tube in our house is usually set to Blues Clues or Spongebob Squarepants. The closest I come to intellectual television is Sesame Street. And I've been fine with that. There was never really anything on that I could say I had to watch. Reality TV, in my humble opinion, bites. There's nothing real about it. And all those cop shows - well - they're a little too real, if you know what I mean.

Enter the Discovery Channel. True reality TV at it's finest. People just like me, having the same problems I'm having, facing the same challenges I do. Except they're failing at far more spectacular levels than I could ever dream of.

My latest favourite is a happy little show called Canada's Worst Handyman. It airs on Monday night at 10:00PM. At first, I had my doubts about this one. I was fully expecting it to be nothing more than video clips of home renovation mishaps, like America's Funniest Home Videos in a really tight niche.

Oh, no, my friends. This is knee-slapping, side-splitting ineptitude. There are five nominees who are forced to perform standard home reno tasks with the help of their nominators. At the beginning of each episode, they are shown by a professional how to complete the required tasks. Of course, none of them ever thinks to take notes. This shouldn't surprise us, though, since note-taking would demonstrate some modicum of common sense, which seems to go on immediate hiatus as soon as anyone in the group is handed a power tool.

The good people at Discovery Channel had me hooked at episode one. This is where we're introduced to each of the nominees and their unique brands of incompetence. Task number one was to patch a six inch by six inch hole in the ceiling. Remember, they were all shown how to complete this task beforehand. It involved a block of wood, a few screws, a piece of drywall, some drywall tape and putty. Note that I did not say "duct tape" anywhere in that list of supplies. Put the block of wood inside your hole, screw through the existing drywall (on either side of your hole) to hold it in place. Then screw your piece of drywall into your block of wood. Tape and putty the seam around your drywall patch, and voilà ! You're done.

None, and I do mean none, of the nominees used the block of wood. One of them apparently has a duct tape fetish. He uses it for everything from plumbing to dressing wounds. When his piece of drywall refused to defy gravity and stay in place without screws or bracing, he went in search of duct tape to hold his drywall patch in place. He found some, in another room, being used to cover a hole that the show's lighting men had made (kind of ironic, no?). His drywall patch is now being held in place by a couple of pieces of used duct tape. He then proceededd to plaster over the duct tape. No, it didn't hold (just in case some of you out there are thinking of trying it).

Another nominee used his block of wood as a brace, but it was on top of a ladder and a small stack of boxes, actually propping up his sagging drywall-and-putty mess. Yet another nominee couldn't figure out why his screws weren't going in, so he abandoned his piece of wood as well. Turns out the drill he was using was in reverse. He was lucky, though, in that he was able to wedge his piece of drywall into place so he could actually putty it without it falling on his wife/nominator's head.

This is funny, funny stuff, people! Better yet, it's funny stuff we can all relate to. Way better than watching a bunch of beautiful people eating cockroaches on a tropical island in hopes of a million bucks and an endorsement deal or two. This is real TV.

Maybe We Should Name It "Shirley"?

Don't mind me. I'm just sitting here, chuckling to myself after watching one of those Canada Post "Heritage Minutes." I understand that these are supposed to enlighten Canadians about the country's origins and rich history, and maybe stir up a little National Pride.

This one is too laughable to stir up anything other than a giggle ... and maybe a little sympathy for the poor natives who had to deal with our brilliant founders.

It shows a group of natives greeting a group of settlers - I believe Cartier was the leader, but since I'm not sure, I'll just refer to him as "Jack". The tribal elder invites the visitors down to the village for a chat. Jack turns to a priest standing at his side and asks, "What did he say?"

The priest looks like he's doing some quick thinking and then announces that the elder said the nation's name is "Kanata," since that was apparently the only word he could make out of the elder's little speech.

One of the group standing behind Jack pipes up and says, "I think he was referring to that village down there."

The priest refuses to believe he can be wrong, even though he clearly made up his last answer. So he repeats that the elder was referring to the nation and "Kanata" is its name.

Basically, the gist of this story (as I see it) is that our country was named by accident. Our country's founders were, apparently, not only arrogant, but they also didn't have a clue. If this story is historically correct, we were one syllable away from living in the great nation of "We" or "Talk."

When looking at today's politicians, it would appear that the more things change, the more they stay the same.