Wednesday, August 23, 2006

Ouch!

It was another fine summer's day here in our little neck of the woods. I was inside preparing dinner, Trouble happily playing with his new-to-him-via-Ebay GameBoy Advance. Mini-Me was outdoors playing with a couple of friends. Hubby had just stepped out to return a movie. The sky was blue, there was a light breeze - it was picture-perfect.

Then the clouds rolled in, literally and figuratively. The dog had warned me that there was someone at the door. I looked over my shoulder to see Mini-Me's little friend, Missy (But she's not my girlfriend, Mom! She's just a girl, who's a friend.), peering at me through the screen.

"What's up, Missy?"

"Mini-Me fell and now he's bleeding here and here and here and ..." as she points to various parts of her face and legs.

Lovely. Put dinner on hold, get Trouble into a pair of shoes and out the door we go. Mini-Me is sitting at the bottom of the neighbour's driveway, bawling for all he's worth. As I get closer, I can see the carnage. Oooh, that looks like it's gotta hurt. But I steel myself and put on my best "Oh, you're overreacting" mom face.

"What happened there, big guy?" I inquire in an upbeat tone.

Through gut-wrenching sobs, he manages to convey that they were playing some sort of chasing-the-bad-guys game. He was running, tripped and apparently tried to break his fall with his nose. He looked like Rocky Balboa before the all-important pep talk.

As I brought him inside to clean up his battle scars, I though Hmmm...it's been a while since we've had an accident. I guess we were just due. And then it dawned on me. School starts in less than two weeks. Just enough time for his wounds to scab over. Of course, that'll be followed shortly by school photos, right around the time when the scabs will have fallen off, leaving shiny new pink scars right in the middle of his face, where the camera's flash is sure to pick up the reflections quite nicely. Not that this is the first time he's sporting some sort of wound for a school photo. There's a picture on our wall from his second year in daycare, where he has a similar (although on a much smaller scale) scar across the bridge of his nose. It's almost become a tradition for our boys to record their mishaps for posterity.

Maybe for our Christmas card photos, he can give his brother a black eye. We must maintain our traditions, after all.

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Friday, August 11, 2006

Ineffective Ads: Part Deux

Further to my previous post on the subject, I'd like to add yet another ineffective ad to the ever-growing list.

Have you ever seen the Febreeze ad? You know the one - where the mom picks up a bunch of stuffed animals from the carpet, puts them into the toy box and then sprays the carpet with Febreeze. When she turns around again, all of the stuffed animals that she had just put away are now face-down on the carpet, supposedly enjoying the fresh scent.

Now, I don't know about you, but this is not something I would enjoy seeing in my home. Especially that creepy little monkey they focus in on, with the huge, funky eyes. As a matter of fact, this would be one of the circumstances at the top of my "Get the bleep out of the house NOW!!" list. Seriously, there have been several horror films created on this very premise. How could anyone at the agency think this commercial was a good idea? Is their next brainstorming session going to produce commercials for Spray 'N' Wash where they demonstrate how their product could possibly have removed the pig's blood from Carrie's dress?

On a completely different note:

You all remember my dog, Wile E.? Well, she's taught herself another trick.

It started when we were at the neighbour's house and had left her in our yard. She apparently heard us talking through the kitchen window and decided she wanted to join us. So, she figured out how to climb the fence. Not jump it - climb it. She gets her front paws on the top cross-bar, and then climbs up the chain link with her back paws until her rear end is high enough to push herself over the top.

Originally, she was only doing it to join hubby or myself on the other side of the fence. Recently, she's been climbing at will to join the Lab next door for a little play time.

So, I figure this is my cue to get cracking on that back-yard agility equipment I've been meaning to build for her. Maybe, if she has enough of her own toys to play with and climb on, she won't be tempted to go looking for fun elsewhere. After all, a tired dog is a good dog, right? If anyone knows of any links to free, on-line plans, please post them in the comment section. Wile E. and I thank you!

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Monday, August 07, 2006

Extra Crispy

Sometimes, parents will adopt the old "Do as I say, not as I do" mentality. I never thought I'd be one of those parents. I sure proved myself wrong this week-end.

I'm a firm believer in sun screen. I will buy the best quality, highest SPF on the market and layer it on my children like cake frosting several times a day. So, you'd think, as I was preparing to attend an outdoor wedding this past Saturday (a lovely, blue-sky, blazing-sun day, I might add), that I'd automatically reach for the sun block before heading out the door.

Apparently, I was too pre-occupied to remember the sun block.

I didn't really notice the danger, truth be told. The ceremony was held at 11:00AM. Yes, the sun was right up there, beating down on the unsuspecting guests, but it wasn't as hot as it has been over the past few weeks, and there was a lovely breeze as well. Once the ceremony was over, everyone spread out to the few shady areas around the lawn, myself included. So, yeah, I was in the sun for a while, but not that long, and it wasn't that hot, so I should have been ok, right?

Unfortunately, the t-shirt I was wearing was lower cut than usual and had higher sleeves than I normally wear. This means that my standard farmer's tan left a few key, milky white areas on my body exposed to the cruel rays. Having never before seen the light of day, the top two inches of my biceps and the area between my neck and the top of my cleavage were left vulnerable to attack.

And an attack it most certainly was, my friends.

By Sunday morning, I was reaping the rewards of my forgetfulness. Can you say, "Ooooowwwww!"? I had barely slept the night before. Lying on my side meant that I had to put weight on one of my arms, which was an impossibility. Lying on my back had my boobs tugging at the skin on my chest, which felt like it was going to rip apart from the pressure. Sitting up only made my boobs apply pressure in a different direction. The very air around me hurt - before this night, I never realized air actually had a texture similar to sandpaper.

It's now three days later and I'm still gingerly tugging at the neckline of my t-shirt to relieve some of the stinging on my chest.

Learn from my mistakes, people. Never forget that sun screen, even if you're only stepping out for a moment or two, or if it doesn't feel that hot. The sun can be deceptively cruel. You wouldn't want to wind up like me, looking like someone's splashed a bottle of hot pink paint on your chest.
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Tuesday, August 01, 2006

A Pet Peeve: Ineffective Advertising

Since I have nothing better to occupy my mind while watching TV, I find myself analyzing all the commercials I see. I've come to the conclusion that there are a whole lot of overpaid advertising people out there making one bad decision after another.

For example, if your ad winds up spinning around my brain like a bad Wiggles song for three days, but I can't remember what the product is that you're trying to sell, then you created an ineffective ad.

Another example: There's an ad being aired about a certain brand of cat litter. I can't remember which brand, which is your first clue that it's not a very good ad. In this commercial, the poor cat has to enlist the services of a Bloodhound in order to find his litterbox. The point of the ad is that the litter absorbs all odours, so your cat will have a hard time finding his litterbox.

Why is this ad so bad?

Anyone who has ever been owned by a cat can tell you exactly why.

If your cat cannot find his litterbox, the results will be neither comical nor endearing. More likely, they'll involve the cat wandering around for a couple of minutes before deciding, "Meh. Whatever," at which point he'll turn to your bathtub or potted plants for his immediate needs.

See? Ineffective. Why would any sane person want to buy cat litter that will turn their favourite African Violet into an outhouse for Princess KitKat?

Far more effective (and true-to-life) would be an ad depicting the people being unable to locate the litterbox while the cat rolls his eyes at their inadequacy as loyal servants.

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