BikerMomma's Blog

The Gadget Queen's Guide To Weight Loss

2010-06-29T22:40:00.018-04:00

That dreaded plateau. The dieter's nemesis. We've all been there ... some of us have frequent flyer miles to that gawd-awful place.

That's where I am right now. Or, more accurately, where I was a few weeks ago. For the past two years, I've been working my poor old body into a lather with almost religious devotion, attending Taekwondo classes 3 nights a week, taking time off only when the dojang was closed for holidays. I've lost some weight, have built up lots of great muscle tone, increased my endurance beyond my wildest expectations, and have conquered my personal issues with self-confidence and public display by entering (and winning, I might add) several regional tournaments.

However, I was paying ZERO attention to my diet. I mean ZERO. As in indulging in giant bags of M&M peanuts on a weekly basis. And it caught up with me. I had started gaining back some of the weight I had lost.

So, I spoke to my Master and was told that my problem was simple...if I want to lose weight, I need to be in a caloric deficit every day. Simple problem...not so simple solution. I know my limitations. I've done the Weight Watchers thing before. I apparently have D.A.D.D. - Dieter's Attention Deficit Disorder. After a few days of weighing and measuring and tallying and agonizing, I get bored and chuck the whole process out the window.

What I need, I've decided, is a process that's simple, easy to follow, and requires minimal effort on my part.

For those of you who don't know, I love my gadgets. Love 'em to bits. From my pretty purple cell phone with its crystal-covered Bluetooth ear piece, to my iPod Touch, to hubby's latest object of our affection, the iPad I'm using to create this post - you'll never find me without my toys for any reasonable length of time.

So it isn't much of a surprise that my iPod Touch gave me the answer I was looking for. While surfing for apps a few weeks ago, I came across a little FREE gem called LoseIt!

LoseIt! is a calorie counting app for those of us with very short attention spans. When you sign up, the app asks you for your age, height, current weight and (I think) gender. Then it asks you what your goal weight is, and how many pounds you want to lose per week. Being a reasonable app, you're limited to a max of 2 pounds. It then calculates how long it'll take you to lose that weight, giving you the date you'll reach your goal. It also tells you how many calories you can take in every day in order to lose the weight you want every week.

Then the fun starts.

Every day, you enter in the food you eat. The app comes pre-loaded with all sorts of foods from almost every major brand name and restaurant out there, along with generic foods like peanut butter or bananas. Bear in mind that this is an American-based app, though, so Canadian content is scarce. The good news is that you can add custom foods with all of the nutritional information you want to capture. You can also enter recipes and the system will calculate the caloric content for you! As you enter food and drinks you've had throughout the day for breakfast, lunch, dinner and snacks, the system counts the calories down for you, letting you know how many calories you have left for the day and whether you're over or under your daily goal. As you weigh yourself weekly or monthly or whenever, you record your new weight in the app so it can keep track of your progress.

Since misery loves company, the app lets you find friends who are also using the app, so you can keep tabs on each other, encourage each other, call each other out...whatever floats your boat. You can set alerts to send you e-mail reports on a weekly basis, or to remind you if you've forgotten to enter a meal at any point. You can also set it up to send updates to your Facebook or Twitter accounts so you can share your progress with your friends...which might help to keep you honest.

Did I mention that the app is FREE? Not too shabby, huh? After 3 weeks and 9 pounds, I'm still trucking along, annoying the heck out of my husband by whipping out my iPod Touch before every meal, and Googling nutritional information before going out to any restaurants. I figure this app is going to be as important to me for the rest of my natural life as a blood sugar monitor is to a diabetic. After all, if I don't stay on top of things, I just might be needing a blood sugar monitor one day, so I might as well stick with this particular gadget that lets me play games or listen to music at the same time. Like I need another excuse to grow more attached to my gadgets.

Listen To The Cookie!

2009-03-31T15:12:00.002-04:00

Do you believe in fate? Kismet? That some things are just "meant to be"?

Hubby and I have been in the market for a 2nd vehicle - used, of course, but not so used that it would become a paperweight in our driveway within the next five or six years. The problem is, we had no idea what we were looking for.

I thought a people-mover (but not a mini-van, by God!) would be a better idea. Let's face it, our children weren't getting any smaller, and neither was the amount of gear they needed hauled around. Personally, I had fallen in love with the Honda Pilot.

Our financial situation was screaming for a very cheap gas mizer, just big enough to fit the four of us and the dog without causing permanent injury. Something that wouldn't require a bank loan. Something that could be paid for by visiting the ATM a couple of times in a day.

While at dinner for our niece's birthday the other night, we were once again agonizing over the decision. I half-jokingly suggested we flip a coin. Sure, let a coin toss decide our financial down-fall. Why not? Hubby, looking to make this situation a tad more realistic, said two out of three. I called heads for the people-mover, tails for el-cheapo.

Toss number one landed heads. Okay, so far, so good. Toss number two also landed heads. Hubby and I looked at each other. Are we really going to let this coin toss make this huge decision for us? We let it lie and went on with dinner.

Now, this particular dinner was happening at a Chinese buffet. So, the end of dinner also brought the requisite fortune cookies. We all cracked open our cookies and laughed at each other's fortunes. Except for hubby. He did laugh at his own, but it was not a laugh at the ridiculous...it was a laugh of incredulity. Here's what his fortune cookie read:

"You received some good advice tonight. Listen to it!"

Seriously? Heed the coin-toss's advice? Was someone "up there" trying to tell us that we should buy this people-mover after all? Kind of spookey, don't you think?

Alright, we can certainly take a hint when one hits us over the head. So we were on the hunt for a used Honda Pilot. Easier said than done. Apparently, anyone who turned one of these trucks in after their lease was up did so because they never learned how to park it properly. Every one we looked at had some major dents and gouges on each of the four fenders. One even looked like part of the interior had been chewed by a beaver. Many disappointing leads later, we found one in our price range with all our required options about an hour's drive away. So we pile into the CR-V and head on down to have a look.

On the way down, we start chatting about some of the accessories we'd like to get for the new vehicle, if and when we ever find the right one. One of the items we would be getting is a rubber mat for the cargo area so that the dog fur would be less likely to weave itself in to the carpet.

Once we arrived at the dealership and were greeted by the salesman who immediately became our long-lost best friend, we were steered through the showroom. And there she was. Oh...my...GOD she was beautiful! Of all the trucks we had looked at, this one was by far in the best condition cosmetically. Yes, there were a few dings and scratches, as expected in a used vehicle, but way fewer than any other truck we had seen so far. The paint was almost new, with the exception of a couple of rock chips here and there. The interior was pristine. The leather gleamed. The motor positively purred. She was perfect.

And then we opened the back hatch. What did we see sitting in the cargo area? The exact rubber mat that hubby and I had just been discussing on the way down.

Yet another sign that this match was meant to be?

I certainly think so!

We signed the papers as soon as we could without seeming too desperate. We pick her up tomorrow night. Yes, I'm so excited about getting this truck that I'm even willing to take the chance of missing one night of Taekwondo (just in case we don't make it back in time)! Of course, I'll make up for it later in the week if I do miss it, but you get the picture. ;)

Looking For Shoes

2009-03-24T15:04:00.004-04:00

Hey all.

For those of you who don't know, I lost my one and only sparring match at this past week-end's tournament. It was a close match, and I came home with bronze because of the way the tree fell.

I won't get into the gory details. Suffice it to say I'm not impressed with my performance, and I'll be working diligently to improve the situation before the next tourney.

On to other matters at hand...

I'd like to get a pair of Taekwondo shoes. I'd like something I can wear around the dojang (since I spend a few hours there several times a week, between my own classes and my son's), as well as at tournaments while warming up. I learned at this last tourney that warming up in bare feet on the cold, concrete floors of the high-school hallway is not a pleasant experience - even for those of us with the most weathered "Taekwon-toes" in the dojang.

I probably won't train in them, since we're not allowed shoes at tournaments, and we're taught to train the way we compete.

Here's where it gets interesting...

I'm looking for a style to match my latest girl-power-themed mid-life crisis.

Hitting the Big 4-0 was something that took me completely by surprise. Not the number itself, although I shied away from even thinking the number until the very last possible minute. No, it was the manner in which my mid-life manifested itself.

I've never been a girly-girl. I never understood the concept of "make-up" or "wardrobes" or "shoe fetishes" the way my friends all did. Shopping gave me a headache. Every stitch of clothing I owned was either black or red...not a drop of pink or purple to be found. I've spent several decades sporting the same bland, utilitarian Timex watch, small gold hoop earrings and no other jewelry to speak of.

I still don't think I'm "girly" per se.

But my 40th birthday brought with it a sudden, inexplicable, and somewhat scary appreciation for the more feminine things in life.

Like my new purple, flowery cell phone with the Bluetooth earpiece that is bedecked with Swarovski crystals so it looks like I have a cross between the Star Trek triangle emblem and a disco ball stuck in my ear.

And my pink iPod with the matching pink aluminum case that I had laser-etched with my name and a flaming horse.

And my new short, spiky, sassy haircut that is modeled after the one Halle Berry sported in her Catwoman movie - after she develops the feline 'tude, of course.

Right...back to the shoes. What I'm looking for is something functional, yet feminine. Pink would be preferable. Something shiny would not be frowned upon, either. But it has to be something that won't dent or mark the mats in the dojang, and something I can do light work-out/warm-up work in.

What do you all think? Any suggestions? Reviews? Favourite on-line shopping sites for all things "martial arts"? Lay it on me, folks! :)

Wish Me Luck!

2009-03-20T22:25:00.003-04:00

This is it, folks. The night before my very first Taekwondo tournament.

Silly me, I actually went to the dojang to train tonight. So, everything from the neck down is tired and achy. Actually, it was all still sore from Wednesday's beating...I mean...training session. On top of that, we did a little sparring tonight, so I have several new bruises coming with me tomorrow as well. I'm just hoping I'll be able to lift my arms to protect my face. If I come home with all my teeth, it will have been a good day.

Am I nervous? Yup. Can I sleep? Nope. That might present a bit of a problem when my alarm goes off at 6:00 in the blessed AM.

So, here I am, on the eve of my very first foray into competitive Taekwondo, sore and battered...and doing laundry. Yup, I'm staying up, trying to get my whites their whitest. Because, Heaven forbid I should face my almost phobic fear of public display and humiliation in a dingy dobuk.

Wish me luck!

Just Another Drop

2009-03-19T16:50:00.004-04:00

Hey blog fans!

Remember my recent posting about Just A Drop? The miracle product that probably saved my marriage?

I received my care package from the makers of the Just A Drop. Inside was a smorgasbord of Just A Drop goodies for me to try out. There were new bottles of the original product, which I neglected to mention last time has a wonderfully refreshing eucalyptus scent ... makes your washroom smell like a craft store.

There was also a box of their single-use packs. Now, if you've ever had to deal with a bowel disorder, you will understand what I mean when I say that these single-use packs are an absolute Godsend. I've already used them a few times at the dojang where I train ... one washroom inside the women's change room, and one inside the dojang itself. Neither is the kind of place you want to walk out of after you've caused it to smell like an outhouse, 'cause everyone will know it was YOU. These single-use packs are brilliant. Sheer genius. They work 100% as advertised. I can't tell you how absolutely thrilled I am to have some in my purse right now. If I had a limited amount of space in my purse and I had to choose between carrying some of these single-use packs and - oh, I don't know, say - pictures of my family, I'd choose the Just A Drop and wouldn't even bat an eyelash.

And then there are the bottles of the two new Just A Drop scents - Floral Oasis and Refreshing Spring. I never thought I'd be this excited to go to the bathroom! :)

My TKD Is Like A Bad Pun Or Dysfunctional Goat

2009-03-11T13:01:00.004-04:00

A guy walks into his psychiatrist's office.

"Doc," he says. "I've been having this strange recurring dream. First, I'm a teepee. Then, I'm a wigwam. Then a teepee. Then a wigwam. What does this mean??"

"That's easy," says the psychiatrist. "You're too tense." Get it? Two tents? What...no rimshot?

Anyhow, this is apparently one of my issues when sparring in taekwondo. I'm too tense. It's my bad fortune to have the natural reaction of bracing myself for impact when I see someone's foot headed in my general direction. The result is that I'm not loose enough to react in time to counter the attack and gain a point or two in the process. My Master likens this to the fainting goat syndrome:

As unflattering as that comparison is, I need to accept his evaluation and conquer this particular weakness...preferably before my very first tournament in a week-and-a-half's time.

So, I'll hit the dojang tonight with that video playing in my mind, to remind me to keep things loose, fluid, constantly moving. And there we have the next marker on my martial arts journey ... the demise of the goat-lady.

Coupons & Samples - Oil of Olay

2009-03-09T12:34:00.002-04:00

Wow, 2 posts in 1 day! Go, me! :D

I just wanted to post a quick link for you ladies out there who, like me, are are tired of having stupid skin issues at every stage of your life (do we ever get a break??). The Oil of Olay Canadian website has a bunch of free sample and coupon offers posted for your perusal. I don't know about you, but "fee" and "save money" are always welcome words in my world.

Enjoy!

My New Not-So-Secret Weapon

2009-03-09T08:51:00.005-04:00

Listen up, people. I've found a product that just might save your marriage.

I first heard of Just A Drop on one of our local morning shows. It's a magical blue liquid that comes in a teeny tiny bottle. You apparently squirt one single drop into the toilet bowl BEFORE you...ummm...do your duty, and it supposedly eliminates ALL subsequent odour. The hostess of the morning show was gushing about how wonderful this product is and how unbelievably well it works.

I was just as skeptical as you are.

And then my husband started working out at the gym. And he started consuming large amounts of whey protein and various protein bars on a more-than-regular basis.

I don't know if it's because of the whey protein, or because he's missing half of a colon no thanks to a nasty brush with colon cancer, or a combination of both, but HOLY CRAP (pardon the pun) that man can clear a room! I'm talking eye-watering, blame the dog and evacuate the house kind of stink. To make matters worse, most of this extra heavy duty concentrated super-stink occurs in our en-suite bathroom. Yup, I get to wake up to this lovely aroma. Kind of like getting drunk and waking up to find yourself in a poorly maintained barn and not knowing how you got there.

Anyhow, hubby and I were wandering through the aisles of The Big Bad W store yesterday, and out of the corner of my eye I spot a tiny blue glint of colour. After several months of whey-induced stink, I've decided I'll try just about anything to protect my nose and the noses of my children. So I grabbed a bottle (which was quite reasonably priced, all things considered) and we headed for home.

Reading the ingredients list, I was quite impressed. It's made from all-natural plant extracts, so it's safe for your plumbing or sceptic systems or whatever you've got going on, although I wouldn't recommend tasting it yourself. It comes with a little holder that sticks to the wall, so you can put it right next to the toilet rather than hiding it in the medicine cabinet, and that way everyone will be more likely to remember to use it (let's face it ladies, this problem isn't restricted to the Y chromosome, although they do seem to take more pride in it than we do).

Hubby was the first to try it when we got home. He came out of the washroom and announced that he thought it worked pretty well, but would leave the final verdict up to me. Thanks, honey. I screwed up my courage and went to face the music. I was stunned. I had to ask hubby to confirm that he actually did something in there. There was no trace of any smell at all! It was magical, and it almost brought tears of joy to my eyes.

They also make these cute little travel packs so you can take it with you to work or parties or wherever you might want to avoid having to hide in your bathroom stall until everyone else leaves in disgust before showing your face.

I highly and enthusiastically recommend this product to anyone and everyone who uses a toilet. :)

The Bare Facts

2009-03-03T12:44:00.007-05:00

Perusing the news headlines today, I came across a story about the US's First Lady, Michelle Obama, and the scandal that is her bare arms.

Apparently, there's a small uproar south of the border over the fact that Mrs. President enjoys wearing sleeveless outfits to public events.

Holy jeez, people. Get a life! It's the year 2009, not 1909, for Pete's sake. Bare arms mean nothing more in this day and age than that the woman exposing them is proud of her physique - and well she should be. Nice definition in a woman's arms is not easy to come by for a woman over the age of 40. She has to be working very hard to maintain that level of fitness, so why shouldn't she be proud of what she has and flaunt it?

The woman is beautiful in whatever she wears. She has never displayed anything other than class, poise and confidence in any pubic venue. It isn't like she's showing up at these events wearing a Hooters uniform.

I am quite glad, however, to notice that the nay-sayers are the considerably minority. I'm fairly certain that these critics are somewhat older than Mrs. Obama, and probably lean so far to the right that they've fallen over and can't get up. I'm also glad that there are a large number of very vocal supporters out there to drown out the poo-pooers.

Then again, I'm Canadian, and we tend to swing from an entirely different set of branches than our esteemed neighbours to the south. Something like this wouldn't even raise an eyebrow up here, as long as it didn't interrupt a hockey game. After all, we are the country that begot Jean Chretien ... the Prime Minister who bludgeoned a would-be burglar with a soapstone carving. Strength and Confidence are our middle names! :)

Status Update

2009-02-26T16:10:00.006-05:00

Hey blog lovers.

I was just cleaning up my blog, deleting old, irrelevant entries, etc... So I thought I'd drop you a quick note to let you know how my fitness journey and martial arts training are progressing.

I'm excited to report that I've reached the first weight-loss milestone I had set for myself, which was to be able to buy a pair of jeans in the "regular" size clothing section of WalMart instead of the "plus" size section. OK, so I'm at the extreme high end of the "regular" sizes, and that would likely change if I was to shop in another store, but you get the picture.

Taekwondo training is progressing nicely. I'm still a green belt (had I already told you about that particular accomplishment?). I was going to test for my blue stripe at the end of this month, but I have other financial obligations at the moment that are slightly more pressing.

Next on the agenda is a tournament in March that Mini-Me and I will both be competing in. Yes, I'm a glutton for punishment. I mean, we already knew that, right? Why else would I take up a martial art when I was pushing 40 and morbidly obese?

I am absolutely terrified, naturally. Aside from the very real threat of having my butt handed to me on a platter, there's also the very PUBLIC aspect of this endeavour. It's no secret that I hate all forms of spotlight. I can't stand having my picture taken, I don't like having people look at me for any reason, I don't like having attention drawn to me (which is why I love blogging ... totally anonymous). So, yeah, naturally I'd pay a large sum of money to appear in a ring where some strange woman is trying to knock me on my ass while several people are judging my every move, keeping score, and several other people are video taping and taking pictures of the whole spectacle for posterity.

Should be a hoot.

So, wish me luck, folks. If I somehow manage to come out of this with some minute bit of dignity left, I'll come back to tell you about it.

Progress Update

2008-09-10T12:04:00.004-04:00

Hey blog fans!

I realized this morning that it's been some time since I measured my weight-loss (or, more accurately, inch-loss) progress. Two months, actually. So I dusted off the ol' measuring tape and got to it.

Here are my results since beginning this wellness journey back in November:
Chest (or, "the girls", as some folks would call them): 1 inch lost
Rib cage: 2 inches lost
Waist: 4 1/2 inches lost
Tummy (what I affectionately refer to as my "overhang"): 4 inches lost
Hips: 3 inches lost
Thighs (each thigh): 2 inches lost

For a grand total of ... drum roll, please ... 16 1/2 inches lost since November! Yay, me! :)

This started, as you may recall, by walking on the treadmill. I believe I started slowly, at maybe 15 or 20 minutes, and worked my way up to 30 minute walks, 5 days per week. In June, I enrolled at my son's Taekwondo school, and the treadmill, I'm ashamed to say, has sat idle ever since. This is because a) beginning Taekwondo took a lot out of me physically, so I decided to take it easy on the days between training sessions, and b) the kiddies were home for the summer holidays, which makes "me time" hard to come by (unless I wanted to wake up at 5:00AM ... ummm ... no).

Well, the rugrats are back in school now (Trouble only goes on alternate days, being in Kindergarten this year). So my mornings, once the bus turns that corner and before I have to work at my paying job, are once again my own. I intend to reacquiaint myself with the treadmill once the kids and I are in some semblance of a routine - i.e. putting Trouble on the bus is no longer an aerobic routine on its own. Boy, who'd a thought one 40lb kid could put up such a struggle? I mean, I know that some kids don't handle the transition from home to school very well, but I've had to wrestle Trouble into the school yard, onto the bus, into his clothes in the morning... The way this kid bolts when that bus comes to pick him up, I think we'll be signing him up for track really soon.

Anyhow, so the treadmill is going to be revisited at some point in the next few weeks. As for my diet, I'm still trying to drink more water than soft drinks, eat more fruit and veggies on a daily basis (lemon pie counts as a fruit, right?), and limit my chip intake to the single-serving bags. Yeah, I've broken that rule a couple of times. Kind of hard to have movie night with one tiny bag of chips to call your own while the rest of the family is chowing down on M&Ms and Fritos by the bucket.

Taekwondo is going very well. My short-term goal was to make it through class without uttering the words "Please, God, make it stop!". I'm pretty much there most nights. Except for when the instructors come back from some sort of seminar or are preparing for a tournament. Then they seem to become even more excited about training than they usually are, and they get creative with the styles of push-ups and crunches and kicking combos they make you perform by the hundreds. It's all good, though. No pain, no gain, right? Although, sometimes I prefer the saying, "No pain ... woo hoo!"

My biggest hurdle right now (other than not being able to perform the more acrobatic kicks because I'm being weighed down by my age and my back-side)is that I seem to have a mental block when it comes to sparring. We're wearing full padding, so I techincally shouldn't have an issue kicking the bejesus out of my opponent, but I do. I can't kick a person with the same force as I kick a target or a heavy bag. Kind of makes for a one-sided fight, with me standing there getting my butt handed to me on a platter. But, like with any martial art, it's more about the journey than anything else, and this is just part of my personal journey. Here's hoping I turn a corner soon, though. My kids are beginning to think my skin tone is naturally purple and green.

Time Flies

2008-09-03T09:55:00.005-04:00

Holy Moley! Has it really been 2 months since the last time I posted?! Geez, time sure does fly when you're ... ummm ... what's the phrase I'm looking for here? Having fun? Nope, that's not it. Broke? Exhausted? That's getting a little warmer.

Anyhoo, here I am, three months into the whole Taekwondo journey. Yes, I passed my first belt test. I actually double-tested, which means I skipped over the yellow-stripe and went straight to a yellow belt. I've since tested for my green stripe, and I find out tonight whether or not I passed. I honestly have no idea whether or not I did, because the whole testing experience is a blur to me. I was so nervous through the whole thing that I've managed to block out the memory completely. Not a very effective training technique, to go through the whole experience in a terrified trance. At this rate, I'll never make Ninja Queen.

You can't blame me, though. I had a large audience and fan club in attendance the night of testing. My brother and his family had come to town for a visit. Since he and his children are Karatekas, they thought it would be interesting to witness a TKD testing event. My sister and husband also came. My husband, the man who is supposed to love me unconditionally, brought our video camera. It was supposedly to take video of our son, who was also undergoing testing that night. He completely ignored the daggers shooting out of my eyes and took video of my testing, as well.

So how can I have video of the event and still not be able to remember how I did, you ask?

Because about three seconds into the video, my husband has to wrestle the camera out of my hands as I am overcome by the urge to hurl said video camera through the nearest fifteen story window.

Why, oh why, do martial artists wear WHITE uniforms?? I look like freaking Cartman from South Park wearing his mom's bath robe! I look like the Queen of Marsmallow Land! I look like the Creature Bride of the Michelin Man! It's downright GROSS!! Especially since the manufacturers of these uniforms seem to think that anyone with hips the breadth of mine must also be seven feet tall. The result, even with some creative hemming, is that I have the pants pulled up to my pits a la Erkel while my feet are hidden beneath four folds of the material. The top would hang down to my knees if it wasn't being held up by my belt, which then creates enough of a fold around my upper body to clothe a small African village. And all this is done in WHITE ... the one colour/shade that makes Naomi Campbell look pudgy.

But, white is the colour of the school uniform, so I will have to grin and bear it. At least until I lose enough weight to buy a new uniform that isn't cut for a sumo wrestler.

Moving Off The Plateau!

2008-07-03T09:35:00.004-04:00

Yup, you read it right, folks! I've moved off of the dreaded plateau. You know ... that really awful wasteland of despair where you land when you've stopped making any weight-loss progress for a period of time. Well, after almost a month of TKD classes, I mustered the courage to take my measurements again, and sure enough, I've dropped another couple of inches! Yay me!

It isn't much ... basically an inch or two around my waist and tummy area. Probably from the hundred or so crunches our Master has us do in every class. But, hey, I'll take it! :)

Add to that the increased stamina I've picked up over the past few weeks, and it adds up to some real progress! Sure, I'm still sweating like Homer Simpson at an all-you-can-eat buffet, but at least I'm no longer collapsing in a heap when I get home.

Last Friday's class was a bit of an eye-opener, though. I've been suffering from shin splints since I started this martial journey. Nothing new there. My shins are notorious complainers whenever a new exercise regime comes into play. Just grit your teeth and work through the pain, ice them when you get home. It'll get better once I've built up a little muscle in the area. But, last Friday I made the mother of all rookie mistakes. During a so-called no-contact sparring match with (of all people) a black stripe (meaning he'll be getting his black belt soon), I smashed my shin into his knee. Apparently, we tried to kick at the same time, and neither of us thought to pull back in time to avoid the collision. Being some 20-odd years younger than I am, the black-stripe limped around a bit and went on with his life. He tells me that he recovered that same night. Me? I'm sporting a bruise about the size of a small dog. A very tenacious small dog at that. It refuses to fade, or diminish in the amount of pain it delivers every time I make the mistake of hitting it against something...like the car door, or someone's fist during other no-contact sparring sessions (can you hear the wry laughter whenever I say "no-contact"?). I've learned yet another important lesson about aging. It takes the body a while longer to recover from simple, minor injuries. Fantastic.

Oh, well. Live and learn, right? If I was concerned about a little bruising from time to time, I should have taken up knitting. Who am I kidding? I probably would have impaled myself with the needles. At least with TKD, I can wear padding from time to time.

Now, on to the next challenge. Belt testing this Friday. Am I nervous? You betcha! But, if I wasn't nervous, then I'd really have something to worry about, right? At least, that's what people keep telling me ... I'm not sure what it means. Wish me luck!

Another Step on the Wellness Journey

2008-06-10T09:29:00.003-04:00

Hey blog fans. Once again, I have to apologize for not posting in such a long time. The truth of the matter is that there hasn't been much to post about. I can only give you so many "No change, still hanging out on the dreaded plateau" posts before I completely lose motivation and toss the blasted treadmill out the living room window.

Hey, at least that would give my biceps a decent workout.

Anyhow, I'm still doing the hamster routine every morning for 30 minutes. After 10 minutes, I bring up the incline a bit. This is an older, lower-model treadmill, though, so I have no idea what the angle is or anything. I basically hold down the little + button for about 2 seconds. Then, when there's about 5 minutes left, I bring it back down to the flat position for a little cool-down.

I've decided that it's time to step things up a little. Break out of my comfort zone ... namely, the living room. I need to regain some of the muscle tone that I've lost after 15 years of inactivity behind a computer and 2 c-sections. I need to get my clothing size into something more manageable, if only so I can shop in the less expensive parts of the store and save us a few bucks every now and then.

So, I did it. I took the plunge. I signed up for Taekwondo at the dojang where my son has been taking lessons since January.

Am I scared? Hell, yeah. This is extra money every month that we don't have. But I figured that it's about time I convinced myself that I'm worth the money, that I need to do this for my health before I end up diabetic or needing bypass surgery before my 45th birthday.

Won't it hurt? Probably. Like I said ... 15 years of inactivity has left me looking like the "before" people in the LA Weightloss commercials. Who am I kidding? I'd love to be the before people! I tried a demo class at the dojang a couple of months ago. Couldn't walk for 5 days. My calf muscles felt like they were trying to snap my shins in half. But it felt so good to push my body that way again! I had completely forgotten how wonderful a good workout could feel! Clearly, I'll need to learn to pace myself a little, remember that I'm not 25 anymore, don't try to keep up with the black belts, etc...

Am I nuts? Most likely. I believe my husband thinks so, although he isn't saying it out loud for fear of retribution once I learn how to land a solid roundhouse kick. My parents probably think the same thing. The only person who has told me this might be a good idea is my oldest brother, but that's only because he's doing Karate with his kids, and so he probably wants someone else to do something just as crazy to take some of the heat off of himself at the family Christmas dinners. Just kidding. Most everyone has been really supportive of the idea ... if somewhat perplexed. I mean, this isn't exactly the typical housewifey thing to do. I guess everyone is wondering why I don't just join a gym, do a little aerobics, maybe some aquafit. Well, that just wouldn't be "me", now, would it? ;)

So, stay tuned boys and girls, as I chronicle my progression through the belt levels. See you next time!

All Wired Up With Nowhere To Go

2008-04-23T14:58:00.004-04:00

This sucks.

I had decided that I wanted to "officially" start practicing Taekwondo as part of my new fitness regimen. I say "officially" because, to this point, I've been practicing at night with my son. Nothing strenuous. Just making sure he's hitting targets properly, going through the poomsae with him, stuff like that. But not "really" practicing the art and sport of Taekwondo.

So I went to see my family doctor, just as a precaution you understand. After all, I'm no spring chicken any more. Pushing 40 and considerably overweight (I hate to use the term "morbidly obese", because it just sounds gross), I felt it was prudent for me to make sure I won't be going into cardiac arrest during class.

It's been a while since I've seen my family doctor. So long, in fact, that I've only now realized that he has shut down his family practice in favor of a walk-in clinic. The doctor I saw this week is not the man I've been seeing for years, not the man who saved my husband's life when he was diagnosed with colon cancer, not the man who saw me through 2 pregnancies and their subsequent c-sections. No, this was some other schmoe who happened to be manning the shop that particular day. Gotta love the personal touch of a walk-in clinic.

So, I told Schmoe of my plans, and how I wanted to make sure it was OK before I signed up. I also mentioned these funny little flippy feelings in my chest that happen once in a while for a second or so. I presumed these were a direct result of my excess weight, and they'd stop once I got back into some semblance of shape, right?

The mystery doctor listens to my heart, writes a few squiggles in my file, and tells me that there's nothing to worry about (easy for HIM to say), but we're going to get me to wear this thing called a "cardiac loop recorder" for a week. This will record my heart beat for the week, and then it'll be sent out to a cardiologist for review. If I have any more of these "flippy" feeling things, I'm to press the little button on the recorder and write it down in the diary (which is actually a sheet of paper - talk about high-tech).

I'm on day two of wearing this thing, which looks a bit like an iPod, except that it's wired to my ribs and collar bone instead of my ears, and isn't nearly as entertaining. I hate the feeling of being "tethered". I hated it when I was in the hospital for my c-sections, to the point where the nurses had to remove my IV or I'd do it for them. I hate it now, but I'll put up with it because I have to if I intend to get into kick-ass shape (get it? It's a pun on the whole Taekwondo thing). It's just one more step in my wellness journey, right? At least, that's what I keep telling myself every time the stupid connector things get glued to my T-shirt. You'd think they'd at least make the stupid wires long enough to let you pull your pants down when you go to the bathroom.

I've got one week with the iPain, and then another week or so before I get the results. So I won't be joining TKD until some time in May, if at all. Not impressed, people! In the mean time, I've been googling "flippy chest feeling". Turns out they're called "palpitations" and can be caused by any number of things. My fave, though, has got to be "menopause". Because that would just figure. It would add to the whole "old and fat" theme I've got going on these days. Ugh.

Derailed

2008-02-08T13:37:00.001-05:00

Hi there, folks. It's been a while, so I thought I'd check in.

I'm sorry to say that a rather severe cold has forced me to fall off the "fitness" bandwagon. Well, in all honesty, it wasn't so much a "fall" as it was a running leap with a flawlessly executed swan dive.

It started on Superbowl week-end, when we gathered at my sister's house to watch the spectacle that was the defeat of the undefeatable Patriots. This gathering began with a bowl of pasta with meatballs, and ended with large bowls of chips, peanuts and cashews. I figured, after being so good since November, one night of extreme over-indulgence wouldn't really hurt, would it?

By the time we finished stuffing our faces, I felt a little tickle threatening the back of my throat. Oh, I knew full well what that meant. Sure enough, Monday morning dawned, and I felt like I was breathing through a straw. So, no treadmill for me on Monday. This feeling progressed so that by Wednesday, it felt like my lungs were filled with wet cement. Oh, it was a lovely sight. Kleenex everywhere, a nose to rival Rudolf's during the deepest Christmas Eve storm, and watery eyes reduced to slits the size of a paper cut. Very attractive.

So, I've had one week of inactivity, except for the tremendous effort required to cough or sneeze ... or breathe, for that matter.

I'm feeling much better today, though I'm still coughing a little. I therefore promise to claw my way back onto the fitness bandwagon to reclaim my tenuous perch on Monday. I'm really not looking forward to finding out how much damage my little junk food binge and the following week of phlegm production have caused, but I'll just have to deal with it like a big girl ... otherwise I'll never stop being a "big girl", right?

Status Update

2008-01-16T09:00:00.000-05:00

Bonjour, Blog Fans! It's been a couple of weeks since the Holidays and all the joy and calories that they bring. Let's see how far we've come since starting this healthy journey way back on November 21, shall we?

To recap: I started out slowly - just 15 minutes on the treadmill, 5 days/week. A short time later, I bumped it up to 20 minutes/day.

I've left it at 20 minutes for now, but I've just this week started doing some strength training - crunches, rear leg lifts, modified push-ups, side push-ups to start. Again, I've started off slowly - just one set of ten reps to begin. I've been kicking around the idea of getting a home gym, but I have very limited space in my home, so I was thinking about one of the Nautilus BowFlex machines - maybe the Blaze. I like this machine because the bench folds up, so when not in use, it has a relatively small footprint. If anyone has any opinions on this (or the other folding BowFlex home gyms), I'd love to hear them.

On to the progress report: Since starting this workout routine 7 weeks ago, I have lost...
* 1" off my bust
* 1 1/2" off my ribcage
* 2" off my waist
* 2" off my tummy (I can't wait until my waist and my tummy are within a couple inches of one-another!!)
* 1" off my hips
* 1/2" off each thigh
...for a total of 6 inches overall.

Not too shabby, considering I'm not exactly taxing myself here, and my diet has remained relatively unchanged. With the exception of the 2 weeks during the Christmas/New Year Holidays, I've kept to the small (individual serving size) bags of chips, I'm taking in more water than soft drinks, and I've tried (with some small success) to include more fruit and veggies in my daily food intake.

As time goes on, I'll be adding some reps to the floor routine, and maybe eventually upping the time on the treadmill ... although I don't want to make this an all-day event, either. I gotta go to work at some point!

We enrolled my oldest (you'll know him from my earlier posts as MiniMe) in junior Taekwondo classes, and he has been having an absolute blast! So have I. I've been helping him practice his patterns and moves every night ... and I do mean EVERY night. We've been having a lot of fun with it, and even though it's only been a couple of weeks, he seems to really be enjoying it and I've noticed a difference in his attitude and self-confidence level. I know that there will come a time when he will lose interest. I'll deal with that obstacle when we get to it, which hopefully won't happen for a few years.

In the mean time, I'm going to enjoy his enthusiasm. Who knows? If the financial horizon gets a little brighter than it is right now (which is a dull shade of midnight blue at the moment), you just might be reading a post in the future about my quest for a black belt. ;)

Back To The Ol' Grind

2008-01-02T13:44:00.000-05:00

Happy New Year, folks! I hope everyone had a great holiday, filled with fun, food, family & friends.

Now that THAT's over with...

It's back to the ol' grind. Not only are we all (well, most of us) back to work, it's also time to assess the damage that the Holiday eating binge did to the relatively new fitness regime.

Surprisingly, I didn't fare as badly as I thought I would after what felt like a solid week of non-stop eating, and my trusty treadmill sitting idly by, approximately 600km away. Only a half-inch gained here and there. It could have been a lot worse.

Seriously.

Have you ever celebrated Christmas with an Italian family? We go "back home" each year for the Holidays, where my mother feels it's her maternal duty to make sure we all eat as much as (or slightly more than) is humanly possible. After all, she's not here with us for most of the year, so we must be starving, right? The fact that I could pass for Rita McNeil's stunt double has apparently escaped her notice.

If the lasagna, manicotti and canelloni aren't enough for you, you could also have some soup, meatballs, sausages and other various animal body parts that are thrown into the pot to make the sauce for the pasta. We managed to convince her for the first time this year that we absolutely DO NOT need a roast of some sort to go with our salad at the end of the meal.

But no amount of arguing could get Mom to limit herself to two cakes for the night. Cheesecake is a must, after all. It's tradition. And so is the sponge cake she makes every time we visit, insisting that it's my husband's favourite (to his immense surprise). But the one that really took the cake, so to speak, was the double-decker chocolate cake with chocolate frosting for the kids, even though the smell of chocolate makes her gag. They NEED chocolate cake, she will vehemently argue every time. Not want ... NEED. Mom refused to listen to our arguments that children do not NEED chocolate cake at 11:00 at night, which is when dinner is over, because it takes that long to eat Christmas dinner at Mom's house, after all.

So, yes, I'm quite surprised and pleased to find that I've only regained half an inch in a couple of spots over the past couple of weeks, all things considered. But, now the holidays are over, the leftovers have been dealt with, the New Year has begun, and my battle of the bulge has resumed. Hello treadmill, old friend. I've picked up a couple of Friends episodes on DVD to make our time together pass a little more quickly. Next week, we introduce my butt to the floor for some leg lifts, crunches and push-ups.

Happy New Year, back-side. I hope I'll be seeing a lot less of you from here on in. ;)

Progress Report #2

2007-12-19T11:21:00.000-05:00

Well, blog fans, it's been 2 weeks since my last progress report, so I thought I'd check in with you again.

Since I started my new "get off my behind once in a while" program back on November 21, 2007, my measurements have decreased by the following:
* Bust: 1" (hubby's not going to be too thrilled about that one)
* Rib cage: 1"
* Waist: 1 1/2"
* Tummy: 1 1/2"
* Hips: 1/2"
* Thigh: 1/2"

Not too shabby, eh? Although you'd think the hips and thighs would show a little more progress, since they're the parts that move the most (if you don't take into account all the jiggling that's going on everywhere).

I had a little scare yesterday, though. Just as I got off my ol' faithfull treadmill (you remember, the one that's been sitting in various corners of my house collecting dust for the past several years), it gave me an error message on the display. "E2" ... whatever the heck that means. Possibly, "Lady, lay off the cookies, would ya? You're killing me here!" I tried clearing the screen, I tried pulling off the little safety key - nothing happened. Fabulous. Just as I decide to get back into shape, my equipment dies and now I'll have to convince hubby that I need to spend another $1000 on a new treadmill - smack in the middle of the Christmas season.

I decided to unplug the machine, as I do every day to avoid power spikes and the like. Just like with a computer - if all else fails, reboot. I came back to it a while later, plugged it back in, and all was fine. I didn't get any ominous error messages this morning before, after or during my daily walk. Whew!!

I Is So Smart!

2007-12-14T13:44:00.001-05:00

Hooo, boy, am I in trouble!

You all remember Trouble, right? My 4-going-on-20-year-old? Well, we've finally gotten him toilet trained, after what felt like years of cajoling, bribing, threats and deal-making. As I had been explaining to everyone all along, it was completely his idea. He just decided one day that it was time to give it a try. Great news, right? I never thought I'd be pining for the Pull-Up days.

Trouble has decided that he is dead-set against wearing underwear. That's right, he goes commando on a daily basis. I don't know why. It's not like he ever had a bad experience with underwear, other than everyone asking him why he won't wear them. He has all sorts of wonderful undies - Spider Man, Bob the Builder, SpongeBob SquarePants, Diego, as well as a wide assortment of dinosaurs, trucks and wildlife. None of these characters have enticed him in the least little bit to wear undies.

Well, I thought I'd pull one over on him this morning. While getting him dressed, I slipped a pair of underwear into his pants and pulled the whole kit and kaboodle on and immediately got him involved in some activities before he could notice that something was different. Oh, I was so proud of myself! I sent a text message to hubby, who was extremely impressed. I sent an e-mail to my sister, who immediately called to congratulate me on my cleverness. Yes, I was feeling like quite the Cheshire Cat this morning.

Trouble came over a few minutes ago for a little hug. I took advantage of his proximity to check on the underwear situation - make sure things aren't bunching up on him and the like. But ... wait a second ... I don't feel any undies at all. Where the heck did they go?

"I took them off," was his quick but firm reply. "I don't want any underwear."

And here I was, labouring under the delusion all day long that I had finally outsmarted my 4-year-old. Shoulda known better!!

Progress Report

2007-12-05T08:34:00.000-05:00

Hey there, blog lovers!

Two weeks ago, I had welcomed you to the beginning of the rest of my life. True to my word, and somewhat surprisingly, I've been walking on my much-neglected treadmill every week-day since then. I started at 15 minutes per day, just to ease into things. I've since moved up to 20 minutes. I hope to be able to kick it up to 30 minutes in the New Year. Baby steps, remember?

So, after 2 weeks of walking, and eating smaller bags of chips, I have some progress to report.

I've lost 1" off of my ribcage, 1" off my waist and 1" off my tummy which, thanks to age, 2 c-sections and gravity, hangs considerably lower than my waist, so I figured I'd measure it separately.

I'm also happy to report that the smaller bags of chips that are sitting in my pantry are somewhat less vocal than the large bags I used to buy. I'm not sure why, but the little Hallowe'en sized bags don't call to me the way the Costco bags do. Maybe smaller bags have smaller voices and, because I'm a Mom, I'm quite used to ignoring the little whining voices around me. Whatever the reason, it's working, so we'll keep going with this part of the plan as well.

Well, gotta go. My treadmill is calling me...

Reason #1 To Carry A Video Camera At All Times

2007-12-04T10:22:00.000-05:00

We're in the grips of several days' worth of snow squalls in our neck of the woods (for those who don't know, squalls are really nasty, but short-lived, storms that brew up over the lakes, whip up really high winds, lay a bunch of snow down and blow it all over God's green acres, making driving a dangerous mess). We're on snow day #2 after a 3-day week-end for the kids. Can you say "cabin fever"?

Yesterday evening, the whole family ventured outdoors. Mom and Dad shovelled and snow-blowed while the kids slid down the hill on the front lawn with their body boards. They had a couple of old, battered body boards, which had been left outside and were now coated in several inches of snow and ice. We had also bought them a new pair of very slick-looking boards at Costco over the week-end, which they were using.

After finishing with the clean-up, Dad decided he wanted to play with the kids. Mini-me made it look so easy, after all. Just grab onto the handles, get a running start, launch the board onto the ground, land on it on your knees and enjoy the ride. Simple, right? So, Dad grabs one of the old, ice-and-snow-encrusted boards, waves the kids out of the way, and takes a running leap onto the hill.

Geronimo!

Did Geronimo know that ice on snow is a very effective braking system? Probably. Dad didn't.

The body board hit the snow. Dad hit the body board, apparently expecting it to go sailing down the hill. The body board had other ideas. It gripped the snow harder than Scrooge gripping his money bag. Dad went from 0 to 60 and back to 0 again in less than a quarter second. The result? Dad did the mother of all faceplants into a foot of fresh snow. From my vantage point, standing safely behind them on the front deck, I saw his head go down and his back-end come up. And that's all I saw, because I started laughing so hard that the tears almost froze my eyelids shut.

Where was my video camera? In my bedroom. Why, oh why don't I carry it with me at all times? That video could have made me a bunch of money on AFV ... or, at the very least, given Dad his 15 seconds of fame on You Tube.

Let's Try This Again, Shall We?

2007-11-21T10:09:00.000-05:00

Hello blog lovers. Welcome to the beginning of the rest of my life. I hope.

Weight management. I hate that term. It's always been a struggle for me, ever since I hit puberty some thirty years ago. Did I say "struggle"? Try "epic battle". I've never been a rail, but I have been in shape, somewhat thin, ridiculously large, and everything in between, at some point in my life.

You know how it goes. Lose a little weight, gain it back twice over. Well, do this for thirty years and you can collect some significant poundage. That's where I am right now. I'm at the largest I've ever been, which is a very scary thought, because I've been pretty big in the past.

So, why is it bothering me now? Other than the obvious "can't climb a flight of stairs without wheezing, washing dishes tires me out" reasons, that is. Well, in an attempt to become slightly more active after spending hours and hours at one computer or another in my house for a variety of reasons, I have re-enrolled in dog agility classes with Wile E. They're lots of fun ... or, at least, they were until hubby came to last class with a video camera. What a sobering sight! Especially since all of his shots were taken from the back while I was bending over to treat the dog or pick up her leash. Yowsa.

So, I've taken some initial steps towards self improvement.

Step 1: Make a montage of the agility video and post it on Facebook. A lot of these people haven't seen me since high school, so this will probably be a bit of a shock for them. It might make a few of them feel better about themselves, which is great. Glad I could help. I feel that a big part of my problem is that I've distanced myself from people. I've taken to hiding behind my computer screen, where I can be as thin as I want with very little effort. This is my first piece of self-imposed therapy to help me come out of my shell a little.

Step 2: Throw away the scale. I hate it. It hates me. When I was about twenty-four or twenty-five years old, my best friend was getting married and asked me to be a bridesmaid. I was in a "heavy" stage at that point, so I accepted reluctantly. Then she showed me the dress she had in mind and I just about threw up. I had a year to get myself into some semblance of shape so I could pour myself into this dress without turning stomachs. Don't get me wrong, it was a lovely dress. Very simple, ankle length, deep green, clean lines. Very flattering, as long as you weren't built like a killer whale, which I was. So, I joined Jazzercise, an hour long class three nights a week. What a blast that class was! I've never had so much fun working out in my life, and if there was a class nearer to me now I would join it in a heartbeat. At that time, Jazzercise was also offering their "Know More Diet" diet. Kind of like Weight Watchers, but a little more permissive. It worked wonders. I got into what I feel is the best shape of my life, I looked fantastic in the dress, everyone was happy. So, back to my point about scales. At this point, when I looked my best, felt my best, everyone thought I looked fantastic, I weighed a whopping 175lbs. You'd never know it to look at me. So, I've decided that weight in itself is very deceptive and completely useless as far as physical well-being goes. I'm going to ignore it entirely.

Step 3: Set a goal. My goal at this point is to be able to dress in regular clothing sizes. I hate having to go to the "plus size" stores or sections. I'm embarrassed. I don't try anything on, because I'm afraid to take it off the hanger. You see, the people who work at these stores know how to fold and tuck things on the hanger so that it looks somewhat normal. When you take it off the hanger and hold it up to take a better look at it, the garment then resumes it's actual proportions. I feel like I'm blocking out the sun when I unfold a pair of pants and hold them up for perusal. So, I avoid it. And I hate it. I don't want to do it anymore.

Step 4: Record my benchmark. I threw together a quick spreadsheet with columns for the date and the measurements of my various body part. I started this morning, and will continue measuring myself each week at the same time. It was a little sobering, writing all those numbers down, seeing them laid out in front of me in black and white. But, it will be good to have the numbers recorded from the beginning. That way, when someone I haven't seen in a while says, "Wow, have you lost weight?" I can either say "Yes, thank you for noticing," or "I haven't lost anything, you liar," and I know I'll have the proof to back it up.

Step 5: Get a grip. I have a pretty good idea of what works for me and what doesn't at this point. Diets don't work. We all know that. Healthy eating plans, like Weight Watchers and Know Your Diet, work to a certain extent. My biggest problem is when I fall off the wagon, I fall HARD. I know I won't stick to the program forever. I know I will fail. It's inevitable. And when I do fail, I'll gain back all the poundage and then some, and I'll wind up even bigger than I am now, which scares the bejeesus out of me. So, I'm going to try doing this without a wagon this time.

My biggest nemesis is chips. I'm terrible with chips. If there's a bag in the house, it'll call to me until I give in and devour the whole thing in one sitting. Sometimes, it even calls to me from the store. It's a good thing I don't have a car anymore and I'm too lazy to walk to the corner store, otherwise I'd give in to the seduction and buy a bag a day. The plan here is not to give up chips, because I know that'll never last. But, I will try to buy the smaller Halloween sized bags instead of the extra-large Costco sized bags. At least this will help keep my portions in check. And if I give in to the urge once in a while and demolish a bag of Doritos all by myself, at least I won't feel guilty about cheating on my diet, because I'm not on one.

Step 6: Move. Exercise is also a big part of any weight management plan. I don't get any.

Did I mention the computers in my house? There are four of them. I have a part-time day job which I work from home, and they've provided me with a computer for that purpose. I have a computer in my shop which is used for the engraving business, and it's where I check my e-mail. There's the "personal" laptop, which is the old machine I used to use for the business, but it crashed one day from data overload. So, after moving everything to the new computer in the shop, I formatted the laptop and reloaded it with the bare minimum Windows and McAffee Anitvirus. I now use that one at night when I'm just chillaxing, chatting on IM and playing in Facebook. Then there's hubby's MacBook, which is just too much fun not to play with. It's used for all our photo/video stuff.

So I need to get off my comfy leather chair once in a while and move. Easy enough, right? Wrong. I have Trouble at home with me. Going for walks with him is like watching paint dry. I can't get my heart rate up because we're moving at about 1/2 a mile an hour. I can't go out by myself before work because Hubby leaves for work at 5:00AM, and I'm just not motivated enough to go walking at 4:30, sorry. After work isn't good either, because there's the business to run, supper to make, homework, housework, and all the other lovely things that come with being a home-owning, child-rearing adult.

I have a treadmill. It's a big, guilty secret of mine, because I bought it about 6 or 7 years ago with the intention of using it daily. It's a good treadmill, too, because I knew that a cheapo WalMart version would never hold up to my significant weight pounding on it day after day. It has since sat and collected dust. It's been moved around the house, up and down the stairs, a few times, but that's about all the movement it's seen. So, this morning, I'm quite proud to say that I dusted it off, plugged it in and had a little walk. Nothing spectacular. I won't be running marathons any time soon. It was a slightly brisk walk for 15 minutes, that worked out to about 3 P!nk songs on Hubby's iPod. But, it's a start, right? It's my intention to do this every week-day before sitting down to work, slowly building up to half an hour a day.

I'm also toying with the idea of pulling out my old hand and ankle weights and doing a little weight training at night before bed. But that won't be for a little while yet. Baby steps, after all. ;)

The last step is to blog about it. We all need motivation. Everyone knows that it's easier to work out when you have a partner there to kick your butt when you're feeling sluggish. I don't have that partner, so I'll be using you. I'll be accountable to you, my dear readers, for my progress or lack thereof. I'll check back once a week and let you know how it's going. That's the plan, anyway. Now all I have to do is click on "Publish Post" to make it official. OK, here I go... I'm clicking... now... right... now... (geez, this is a lot harder than I thought it would be!)

Are You Smarter Than A Third Grader?

2007-11-14T10:24:00.000-05:00

I don't get it. When I was in the third grade, I would listen to my teacher, come home, take a few minutes to do my homework, go to school the next day. That was it. My parents did not have to sit with me for hours on end to get my homework done. They did not have to pull out a thesaurus to be able to explain what was being asked of me.

So then why, pray tell, do I feel completely inadequate when doing homework with my third grader? Why do I stare blankly at the page, wondering if maybe I should go back to school in order to tackle some of these questions? Is it normal to have to peruse the entire workbook in order to make sense of one question? Why are they using terminology at this level that I have never heard before?

And what the heck is with the paragraphs required to answer a math question? As far as I'm concerned, math should be "A + B = C". That's it. One of the problems my son tackled last night ended with several blank lines, preceded by the question "Explain how you know you're right." I beg your pardon? My son's initial reaction was, "But I don't know if I'm right." Somehow, I doubt this answer would have been sufficient for the teacher.

I think we're expecting a little too much from our kids (and parents) these days. After I've been working all day, the last thing I want to do is continue working into the night. Yet, that's exactly what we expect our kids to do, and we're forcing parents to do it as well. This can't be a good habit to develop. What's going to happen when these kids become adults? They might continue in the habit of working long hours, which will destroy families or compromize their well-being. Alternatively, they'll shut down. They'll finish school and scream, "I've had enough!" Either way, we're looking at ulcers or burn-out by the age of 25. Not a happy looking future, is it?

I'm Such A Suck!

2007-09-25T08:59:00.001-04:00

I couldn't do it. I just couldn't.

Trouble was supposed to start Junior Kindergarten today. He turns 4 years old in a couple of weeks. The problem is that he isn't ready for it yet. Neither am I, for that matter.

Sure, the Ontario school system would gladly take him in. He's old enough by their standards. Heaven knows he's smart enough ... as witnessed by the fact that he outsmarts me on an almost daily basis. (A little side story here ... we were driving down the street yesterday, and Hubby was musing about his stress levels, indicating that he needs to re-discover his "happy place." Trouble suggested, "How about WalMart?".)

But he's just barely toilet trained. I mean, mere weeks ago, he was still flatly refusing to accept any of the many generous bribes I was offering for a short stint on the potty. He's still having accidents from time to time, as well. And, with the understandable rules in place at school stating that they can't help him with his toileting needs, that means I would have to drive out there each time he needed a little cleaning up. Kinda hard to do, since I presently am without a vehicle.

We're also still struggling with what is turning out to be an extremely tenacious umbilical cord. It's probably a by-product of me being a stay/work-at-home Mom this time around, as opposed to with Mini-Me, who was a daycare baby. Mini-Me handled the transition to JK way better than I did. He gave me a casual wave and a "See you later, Mom", while I cried my eyes out for the rest of the day (mind you, I was 8 months pregnant at the time as well, so hormones played a big factor in that incident). Trouble isn't quite so blase about our parting. I tried to leave him at my sister's house last night while I went out to meet with a prospective client. The ensuing tantrum would have had Child Services breaking down the door, if the neighbours didn't already know the whole story.

I thought about it, though. If we were still living in Quebec, he wouldn't be attending school for another 2 years. So why is it so gosh darned important for him to go right now, just because we're 600km away?

Hubby and I discussed it and made the decision to keep him home this year, let him start Senior Kindergarten next year. That gives me - I mean him - a whole year to get used to the idea...

Crackbook

2007-07-25T09:48:00.000-04:00

(Author stands with hands clasped behind her back, shuffling her feet nervously)

"Hi, my name is Bikermomma."

(Crowd replies)

"Hi, Bikermomma!"

"It's been eighteen minutes since my last login to Facebook."

(Smattering of applause)

Hubby was recently invited to join this highly addictive on-line community. After he exchanged pleasantries with a few of my friends, I thought maybe it was time I gave it a shot.

BIG mistake.

What a fabulous way to trot out all of my old highschool insecurities! I wake up every morning and, before I even check my e-mail (because that takes waaayyy too long on my dinosaur of a laptop), I have to see what's going on with my Facebook account. Has anyone contacted me? Has anyone responded to my requests for friendship? Is anyone looking for me? Have any of my "friends" posted on my wall? Has anyone sent me a gift? A hug? A beer? Thrown sheep at me? WHY DOESN'T ANYONE LOVE ME?!?!?!

This is all my husband's fault, you know. He's the one who introduced me to Facebook (or, Crackbook, as one of my friends so appropriately nick-named it). He's the one who stays up late every night so we can search for more long-lost friends. That's OK, though. It's nice to know there's an enabler in the house if I ever wanted to - say - start smoking or take up on-line gambling. At least that's one good thing I can say about Facebook - it's free, so my children's college funds (or therapy money) won't suffer for it.

On the positive side, though, it is nice to catch up with all those old friends I haven't seen in years. So far, I've gotten in touch with old high-school buddies, a couple of long-lost cousins, the children of old neighbours I haven't seen in decades, and the guy who introduced me to my husband.

There is, of course, a dark side to all of this "re-connecting", though ... other than the addiction, I mean. It's meeting up with these "kids" whom I haven't seen in years.

"Oh, honey, look! It's Little Suzie! You remember her. She's George's daughter, they lived across the street from us in Hometown. How old was she when we first moved in? Four? Five? She was such a cute kid. Remember how she used to come over to ask if the dog could come out to play? I wonder what she's up to these days. Oh, look! She's in College now. And she has a boyfriend. Let's look at her pictures, maybe there are some pics of her dad in there..."

Bom chicka wow wow...

Suddenly, you're looking at photos of scantily clad drunken college girls in a hot tub, all flashing their various piercings at whatever lucky college guy is holding the camera.

As I try to resist the urge to burn out my retinas, I suggest to hubby that we file that one under "Too much information."

So, beware, my friends. The addiction hits hard, and it hits fast. It's damn near impossible to resist. And, when you least expect it, you'll stumble across some bit of information that you could happily have gone your whole life without knowing ... like the fact that you are getting very, very old.

Got Skunk?

2007-07-12T08:34:00.000-04:00

What a lovely way to start the day.

I was woken up at 5:00 in the blessed AM by hubby dearest swearing like a trucker. The bleeping dog had gotten sprayed by a bleeping skunk ... yet again.

This isn't a new routine for us. The bleeping dog, and her bleeping predecessor, had been sprayed by skunks before, always at ungodly hours of the morning. You see, hubby dearest works these wonderful shifts, and so, he feels he is doing the good dog-daddy thing by letting the dog out for a pee before he heads off to work. This is despite (or, perhaps, in spite of) my repeated requests to stop because - d'uh! - there are bleeping skunks in the area and, being nocturnal animals, they're all heading home for a good night's - or day's - rest at precisely that time of morning.

What I find amusing about this whole ordeal is that the inevitable comment that follows a multiple spraying like this is, "You'd think she'd learn her lesson after the first time."

Oh, yes. Of all the characters involved in this comedy, you'd think the dog would be the one to learn the lesson. As intelligent as she is ... and she is extremely intelligent ... she is, in fact, a dog. She is a highly prey-driven, chase-anything-that-moves kind of dog, to boot. Would I expect her to take a face-full of fresh eau de skunk as a lesson to stop chasing little things that run? That would be nice, but I'm not holding my breath (well, technically I am, but that's not what I mean here).

I immediately embarked on my virtual quest for skunk-spray remedies. I've come across one interesting recipe, repeatedly, which everyone swears will works like a charm. The directions involve peroxide, baking soda and liquid dish soap ... oh, yes, and a pair of thick rubber gloves. The recipe also cautions that you should keep the mixture in an open container, as enclosing it with a lid might cause it to explode.

Forgive me, but I'm a little hesitant to pour a volatile concoction, with the potential for combustion, onto my dog's head. Call me old-fashioned, but I'm funny that way.

What other options do I have? Well, it's not likely that she'll spend the rest of the season in the back yard. She's been out there for 4 hours now and has almost figured out how to open the patio door by herself. She's most definitely an indoor dog, and doesn't take kindly to being separated from her pack. The last time I went to the back door to make sure she was OK, she gave me an intense stare and then ... I swear to you ... with her nose, she pointed at the door handle. She was very clearly saying, "Look, I've had quite enough 'fresh' air now. Would you open the freakin' door already?"

I can't very well put her in the car and take her to a groomer or to the pet store to pick up some dog-safe product with which to bathe her. Aside from the fact that hubby dearest would probably divorce me for stinking up the truck that badly, I do have two young children who would have to come with me, and I think enclosing them in a car with her at the moment could be construed as child abuse.

I also can't leave her in the back yard while I go out. Not only is she a chaser, but she's a climber as well. As soon as I would walk out the front door, she would scale the measly 4 foot fence just like a cat. Now that I think of it, she must have learned that particular trick from all the cats she's chased out of our yard over the years. Gee, thanks, puss!

So, she'll have to spend the day out back, offending our neighbours, until hubby gets home from work and one of us can go shopping. In the mean time, my biggest challenge will be keeping the kids from inadvertently letting her into the house during their various daytime wanderings. That task should prove a bit of a challenge - kind of like trying to build a dam out of a pair of pantyhose.

BACK IT UP!!!

2007-06-15T10:37:00.000-04:00

This is a quick entry to remind everyone of a very important lesson I learned the hard way last night.

For the love of all that is holy, BACK UP YOUR HARD DRIVES!!!

I had a spectacular crash last night. Every digital picture I've ever taken or been sent through e-mail, every piece of clipart I've collected over the years, every client project file, every project template I've downloaded, the drivers for my new laser engraver ... all gone in the blink of an eye.

And all this happened when I had two projects that absolutely needed to be done last night and a very large one waiting in the wings that needs to be started this week-end and which will take a week and a half of full-power, 12-hour days to complete.

Luckily, hubby has a computer that we were able to install the laser's drivers on, so we were up and running and had the "must do" jobs completed by 2:00AM.

But I'm still mourning the loss of all of my photos, clipart and data, as witnessed by the box of Timbits I killed today.

So, please, learn from my mistakes. Back-up your hard drives weekly, if not daily. Your stomach (and the lack of ulcers therin) will thank you for it.

The World's Sexiest Song

2007-05-28T16:52:00.000-04:00

I've found it. The world's sexiest song. I know some people are going to disagree, and that's fine. But, even if you think this isn't THE world's sexiest song, you surely have to agree that it's up there in the top 10.

It's Come Back To Bed by John Mayer. Yup, four simple words that, when crooned in that raspy, just-woke-up-and-noticed-you-were-gone voice of his, are enough to cause most warm-blooded women from all four corners of the globe to emphatically reply, "OK! You betcha!"

I can only imagine what it's like to attend a live concert of his. Maintenance crews must use legions of mops to clean up afterwards, what with all the women melting into puddles all around the stage.

Yessiree. John Mayer, with his husky bedroom voice, gives a whole new meaning to the term "oral sex".

An Inane Observation...

2007-05-17T08:59:00.000-04:00

Generally speaking, I envy birds. I love to watch them as they swoop and soar, dodge and dive. Watching them in flight can uplift your spirits. Their command of the skies is truly awe-inspiring. Their grace and beauty, poetic.

Except for ducks.

Hubby and I were driving to my sister's house the other day when a mallard flew by overhead. We watched it flap frantically until it disappeared over a stand of trees.

Ducks really look like they're not having a good time up there. If I could hazard a guess as to what's going through a duck's mind as it flies along, judging by it's body language, I would say it was something akin to, "oh-shit-oh-shit-oh-shit."

Next time you see a duck flying by, pay closer attention to it. Tell me that it doesn't look like it's in a bit of a panic. Kind of reminds me of the poor, harassed parent who straps on skis for the first time in their life because the 10-year-old apple of their eye thinks it would be a fun thing to do together. The look on that parent's face as they careen down the hillside is very reminiscent of the look on a duck's face as it takes flight.

Then, of course, there are the landings. Geese don't land particularly well, either, but they're still cool about it. They'll come in on a body of water somewhere, ski in on those gigantic flippers of theirs, settle in and look around with their beaks in the air, as if to say, "Dude, I totally meant to do that."

Ducks will aim for the water and flap desperately in an attempt to avoid a face-plant. Once they've safely established themselves on top of the water, they will continue to paddle around in the same way that a person might pace nervously after narrowly avoiding a near-fatal accident.

"Oh-shit-oh-shit-oh-shit."

Clearly, they're not enjoying the experience. It's almost as if they were wishing that God would have made them penguins instead. Or, if you prefer, that evolution went horribly wrong. "We have to use these flappy things on the sides of our bodies to do what?! Are you out of your mind? Whose brilliant idea was that?! I'll bet it was someone on your side of the family."

Blog Revival

2007-05-08T12:15:00.000-04:00

Hey blog fans! How've you all been? Yeah, I know. It's been a while since I last posted. Sorry. We've had to deal with Christmas, tax time, some sort of Norwalk virus taking the household down and a major computer crash. But we're back up and running, and I hope that means I'll have a little more time to blog.

Let's see ... what's been going on since November ...

Well, Trouble is now 3 1/2 years old and still refuses to potty train. Can you say "stubborn"? I'm not too concerned. Mini-me was the same way. He just woke up one morning and said, "I'm done, Mom. Take these things off me now." Never looked back. Trouble will be the same way, I'm sure. I just hope it happens some time before his 16th birthday.

It gets a little frustrating, though. I mean, I know he's smart enough.

Maybe that's the problem ... maybe he's too smart (Yeah, sure, Mom. Keep telling yourself that if it makes you feel better.).

He is very intelligent, though. How many 3 1/2 year olds do you know who not only know how to play GameCube and PlayStation, but also know how to change the games whenever they want, and can even plug the thing into the front of the TV if need be? Granted, the little wires and plug thingys are colour coded, but still...

Speaking of plug thingys, how thrilled am I that they've come out with Canada's Worst Handyman 2?! Oh, man, this batch is almost as good as the last bunch. Some are better, actually. My fave is the woman from out West who thinks she's a better handyperson than her contractor husband because she watches a lot of home improvement TV shows. So, if I start watching America's Next Top Model religiously, does that mean I'll shed 150lobs and grow 5 or 6 inches? Cool!

Then there's the poor fella who has to put up with his ornery mother-in-law. At first, I thought she was just ticked off at him because she thinks he isn't good enough for her daughter. But then she went to "help" one of the other nominees whose partner had to leave because of a back injury. Turns out that, no, she's just a biatch.

Ah, well, guess I'd better get back to work now. 'Till next time (which hopefully won't be another 6 months from now), keep the rubber side down. ;)

A Sign of the Times

2006-11-12T21:51:00.000-05:00

Here's a conversation I just had with my 3-year-old:

Mommy - "What do we use to smell with?"

Trouble - "Hmmm... My nose!" (Yes, he actually says "Hmmm..." before answering any questions)

Mommy - "What do we use to see with?"

Trouble - "Hmmm... My eyes!"

Mommy - "What do we use to listen with?"

Trouble - "Hmmm... Headphones!"

Um - yeah.

Effective Advertising

2006-09-26T20:33:00.000-04:00

I've ranted about ineffective ads in the past. Twice, actually. The airwaves seem to be rank with commercials that make you want to throw a brick through your television screen.

To give credit where credit is due, I have to admit that there are a few ads out there that are actually well thought-out and do the job they're supposed to do - namely, to make me and the little money I have part company.

One such set of commercials are the "Mac vs. PC" ads. You know the ones, where a not-so-young (notice I didn't say 'older') guy in a suit introduces himself as the PC and a younger guy in casual clothes represents the Mac. Now, I'm not so sure that I've actually been won over by the arguments that Macs are better than PCs. I think I'm just afraid of turning out like the PC guy. I mean, he's been taking some pretty nasty beatings during these commercials. First, he had a really bad virus and was sneezing all over the Mac guy. Then he was split up into a bunch of pieces so that parts of him were in other boxes. In the latest commercial, poor Mr. PC has been yanked unceremoniously off the desk by someone tripping over his power cord. He's been confined to a wheelchair with at least one broken arm and a brace around his neck. Not to mention the fact that he comes across as a bit of a stiff, almost accountant-like in his demeanor. I'd much rather be like the cool, young Mac dude.

Another series of commercials that aren't effective so much as they are entertaining are the Bell Sympatico ads featuring the beavers. Talking beavers are always good for a chuckle (or maybe that's just a Canadian thing). But, does anyone else giggle at the thought of beavers living in an apartment with hardwood floors and wooden furniture? I don't know why, but this one gets me every time.

Technorati Tags: Advertising ; Television ; Computer ; Mac ; PC ; Sympatico ; Beavers

Ellen on Blogs

2006-09-07T09:20:00.000-04:00

I was watching the Ellen show this morning. In her opening monologue, she was chatting about creating a 'life's list' - a list of things you want to accomplish or experience in your lifetime. One of the items she revealed to us today is that she is computer illiterate and so wants to learn more about computers. To that end, she's going to have a daily segment about computers.

Today's computer segment was about blogs. Ellen had only recently learned about blogs and was fascinated by them. She decided she'd start her own blog about her experiences on the show.

I always find it entertaining when people first hear the word 'blog' and learn what they're all about. The reactions are almost always amusing.

First of all, the word 'blog' in itself is comical. For those of you who don't know it, the word 'blog' is actually derived from the term 'web log'. Being in the super-sonic, high-speed age that we're in, we apparently don't have time for two syllables, so we've shortened the term to 'blog'. It's always fun, though, to hear people wrestle with the word for the first time. They try to roll it around their tongues like it's a foreign language - blloooggggg. I actually find, when it's said quickly, that it sounds a little like the noise my dog makes when I catch her chewing on something and make her spit it out.

And then they ask you to explain the purpose of a blog to them. The conversation goes something like this:

"Well, it's sort of like an on-line diary."

"But what do you write in it?"

"Whatever you want."

"But who reads it?"

"Whoever wants to."

"So ... you just write about anything you want?"

"Yup."

"What do you write about?"

"Well, today I wrote about a TV talk show I was watching where the host learned about blogs for the first time and I thought that was funny."

"And people want to read that?"

"Apparently."

"You're all nuts."

Absolutely. Of course, not everyone is babbling about nothing, like I am - the Seinfeld of blogs (or, the Seinblog, maybe). Some people blog about their hobbies, imparting their knowledge to the world through cyberspace. Some people blog for money; they blog about their businesses or about a specific topic and then have a bunch of related Google ads or affiliate links plastered up and down their sidebars. Secretly (or maybe not so secretly anymore), I do it to keep my friends and family in line. You see, ever since I started blogging, everyone has been afraid that I'll write about something they did or said, so they've all been on their best behaviour whenever I'm around. Works like a charm (insert evil cackle here).

Technorati Tags: Blogs ; Computers ; Ellen ; TV ; Web Log

Ouch!

2006-08-23T21:08:00.000-04:00

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.

Technorati Tags: Parenting ; Children ; Kids ; Mothers ; Moms ; Accidents ; School

Ineffective Ads: Part Deux

2006-08-11T01:05:00.000-04:00

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!

Technorati Tags: Advertising ; Commercials ; Television ; Dogs ; Training ; Tricks ; Agility ; Equipment

Extra Crispy

2006-08-07T22:17:00.000-04:00

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.
Technorati Tags: Sun Screen ; Sun Burn ; Outdoor ; Wedding

A Pet Peeve: Ineffective Advertising

2006-08-01T21:56:00.000-04:00

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.

Technorati Tags: Advertising ; Commercials ; Television ; Cats ; Litter ; Litterbox

It's All Over Now...

2006-07-21T14:33:00.000-04:00

Hey, blog fans. I know it's been a while since I've logged an entry here. Sorry. Been a little busy.

Nothing new has been going on in BikerMomma's world. Hubby is still home from work because of his surgery to remove a cancerous tumour. We're in the process now of deciding whether or not chemo would be a good course of action. The older child has been home from school for a little less than a month, so I've been spending my days and nights playing referee between the two siblings. The younger one ... well ... Trouble is being Trouble.

I've come to the conclusion, though, that I've already lost the fight. Trouble is going to steamroll right over me for the rest of my natural life, and there's not a darn thing I can do about it. He's not even three years old yet and he's already won. It's all over. How do I know?

We were at my parents' house last week. Trouble was doing something I didn't want him to do. I don't remember exactly what - moving furniture or swinging from a chandelier or some such nonsense. I told him, in my firmest Mom voice, to stop. His response was an equally authoritative "No!" So I pulled out my standard bluff, the one that has always worked in the past:

"Stop it right now or I'm going to spank your bum."

Now, I've never actually spanked him. I've never had to. Until that day, my bluff worked like a charm.

Trouble stopped dead in his tracks. He turned his back on me and stuck out his behind. He looked over his shoulder at me and, with a twinkle in his eye and the most charming grin God has ever created on his face, he gave his bum a little pat and said, "Come on, Mommy. Spank me!"

What do you do? Hubby is of the impression that I should have gone ahead and spanked him. Of course, that was presuming I would have been capable of leaving my seat. Which I wasn't. It took every ounce of muscle control I had at the moment to stop myself from dissolving into fits of laughter, scooping him up and kissing him a hundred times just because he was so damned cute. Instead, I turned my head to hide the tears welling up in my eyes and pretended to cough.

Trouble walked away, free to manipulate me another day.

Italy ROCKS!

2006-07-04T17:52:00.000-04:00

That's what my two little ones are running around the house chanting right now. And they're RIGHT!

In case you haven't heard yet (like, maybe you've been hiding under a rock somewhere with massive earplugs in your ears), Italy has beaten Germany today with two very beautiful goals in the dying seconds of extra time.

It was one heck of a game. The home field advantage certainly helped Germany and bolstered their spirits, but the Azzurri didn't give up until the fat lady sang - and boy, oh, boy did she ever belt it out big time!

You'll find plenty of game discussions and photos here at the FIFA World Cup website. I'd love to get into it with you, but I have to go celebrate with my fellow Italia fans.

Forza Azzurri!

Technorati Tags: Italy ; Italy ; Fifa ; World Cup ; Azzurri ; Germany ; Soccer ; Football

An Unexpected Visitor

2006-06-29T13:13:00.000-04:00

This morning started out like any other. I woke up at 7:00, hit the snooze button until 7:30, rushed to get the six-year-old dressed and fed and ready for his last day of school. I don't normally accompany him to the bus stop, I usually watch from behind the window or, at the most, our front deck. This morning, though, I wanted to wish the other moms a happy summer, so I headed down to the stop.

As the kids were boarding the bus, we noticed that there was a little white fluffiness prowling the nieghbourhood lawns. "Oh, he was there yesterday, too," said mom #2. "You won't be able to catch himi. The kids tried yeserday, but he just ran away."

It was a miniature poodle. Cream coloured. Clearly a male, judging from the way he was lifting his leg so high he was almost falling over. So, once the kids were safely on their way and the bus had rounded the corner, I tried my hand at capturing the elusive little critter.

In my happiest voice (strictly reserved for dog training and two-year-old rangling), I called out, "Here, puppy, puppy!" He came. Imagine that?

Yup, he's a boy, alright. A male, intact (that means his little package was present and accounted for), purebred miniature poodle, just wandering the streets alone. He was also filthy and soaking wet, presumably from being out in the torrential downpour that lasted the better part of yesterday and last night and included marble-sized bits of hail. No collar, no tattoos, nothing to hint at where he came from. I scooped him up amidst a flurry of licking tongues and wagging stub-tails and carried him home.

After drying him off and introducing him to a less than thrilled Wile E (who, I'm pretty sure, though he was a rabid squirrel, judging by the way she kept carefully out of his reach), I started making calls. The first was to the closest vet. No one had reported a lost dog, but I could bring him in to check for a microchip. So I put one of Wile E's old leashes around his little neck (remember, no collar, so I had to make do) and carried him into the car. We got to the vet's office where they checked for a microchip. Nope, no microchip either, although they did determine that he's between one and two years old.

Here's a little piece of advice for all of you dog owners out there. If you have a dog, get it microchipped. The cost varies, but mine was $40, one-time deal. They put a little chip, the size of a grain of rice, just under the dog's skin between the shoulder blades. The chip contains a number which is linked to the same number in a huge database. This number is connected to your contact information. Your information is kept in the database forever. If your dog somehow manages to get lost without its collar, this is the best way to make sure he/she gets back home to you, safe and sound.

Anyhoo, once we got home, I continued with my phone calls. I called every local vet and left my name and phone number along with a description of the dog. I called our local SPCA and did the same. I then called our town's animal control officer. Well, let's just say he's given me a topic for another blog on another day. Everywhere I called, no one had any reports of a missing poodle.

Now, I don't know about you, but if my dog were missing for two days, I think I'd be trying very hard to find him, wouldn't you? I'd be calling everywhere I could think of, putting up posters, knocking on doors. Mind you, my dog is tagged and microchipped, so anyone who found her would be able to find me very quickly. Not to mention the fact that she's a bit of a cling-on, so even if she did get out of our yard, she wouldn't go very far without me by her side (and I know this for a fact because she does get out on occasion, only to be found right behind our front door, waiting to be let back in).

So I started making plans. In the event that he isn't claimed by the week-end, I certainly can't keep him (Wile E is liking him less and less as the moments progress), so we'll have to find him a proper home. First things first, though, he's getting neutered! The last thing we need is another baby-maker running loose in the streets! My sister-in-law has been tossing around the idea of getting a pet lately, so maybe this is fate intervening on her behalf.

He was being quite the nosey little parker, so I stated calling him "Parker" in the interim. I kept him blocked off in my kitchen, to allow Wile E a chance to escape whenever she felt the need. Wile E can clear a baby gate without working up a sweat. Parker, while he clearly can attain the height needed, hasn't figured out how to propel himself forward, so he just bounced up and down on the other side of the gate.

Later in the morning, I thought we could all go outside for a little air. I put Parker on a leash, put Wile E's leash on (although she can go out without her leash, there's no fear of her running off, but I still put it on her just because it's the law) and put Trouble's hat on. As we stood there watching Daddy work on Mommy's motorcycle, I notice an elderly gentleman walking up the next block, checking in all the ditches and in people's yards.

Uh, oh. I think I've found the wayward owner. I battled with a little voice inside my head that wanted me to hide the dog in my house, and which was very close to winning for a moment.

"Are you looking for a dog, by any chance?" I call out to him.

"As a matter of fact, I am. A little one."

"This one?" and I pull Parker out from behind my car.

He smiles and comes over. "Yup, that's the one!"

The dog's real name is apparently 'Tic-Tac' (no wonder he ran away!). He belongs to the old man's daughter. Tic-Tac has the bad habit of sneaking out of his owner's yard through a tiny hole in their fence. "She really should do something about that hole," he said. Yeah, no kidding. "She said he usually comes back, but he was gone too long this time, so I came looking for him." There's that voice in my head saying, "I told ya so!" as I try not to think of how many females he could have impregnated in two days. I offer up the advice that she have him microchipped, just in case he escapes again. I told him it would cost approximately $40 at the nearby vet, and it's really the surest way to identify the dog if he were to ever get lost again. Seeing as how this wasn't his dog, I refrained from preaching about the benefits of neutering the dog as well. The old man thanks me, tucks Tic-Tac under his arm and heads on home.

About fifteen minutes later, I see an older man and a younger woman walking down my street together. As they get closer, I realize it's the same man who had just picked up Tic-Tac. The woman must be his daughter. I figured she wanted to know who had found her dog. They nod politely and walk on by. What?! Not that I performed any great feats of heroics or anything, but surely I deserved a word of thanks for potentially saving her dog from being hit by a car or eaten by coyotes (yes, they've been calling to each other in the back fields again) or, worse yet, picked up by a puppy miller who would put him to a lifetime of caged slavery pumping out some rediculous oodle-mix puppies?? Nothing. I got a nod and the backs of their heads. Nice.

Technorati Tags: Lost ; Dog ; Microchip ; Spay ; Neuter ; Overpopulation

Couldn't I Have Her Eyes?

2006-06-23T19:53:00.000-04:00

They say that dogs sometimes look like their people. In my case, it's the other way around. I've recently realized that I've taken on some of my dog's characteristics. Not the good ones, either.

Why couldn't I have taken on her athletic physique? She's built like Lassie - all tucked-in tummy and long, muscular legs. Me? I'm ... well ... not. She can run forever seemingly at the speed of sound without breaking a sweat. Yeah, I know, dogs don't sweat. You're missing the point here. Suffice it to say that, when we're discussing body structure, she's the clear winner. Kinda sad when you're jealous of your dog's metabolism, isn't it?

Maybe it's the eyes? Nope, that's not it either. My eyes are brown. That's it. No embellishments to be found anywhere. Wile E., on the other hand, has these lovely doe eyes in a mysterious amber colour with long, spikey lashes and thick, permanent eye-liner a la Cleopatra going almost back to her ears, for Pete's sake.

No, good readers, it's not the eyes or the body structure. I made the sad realization this morning while in the shower. The only thing my dog and I have in common is the shedding.

Yes, shedding. While I started out in a free-flowing shower, I soon found myself in a quickly mounting pool of water which was being held in by spidery masses of my very own hair. Too bad it's all coming off of my head, though. Wouldn't it be nice if once, just once, all the hair on your legs or under your arms or your bikini line just jumped off your body voluntarily? I mean, of course, without there being some sort of severe medical issue that causes the hair to jump off.

My shedding issues aren't restricted to the shower, either. My kids are quite used to pulling dog hair out of their food. What's an extra follicle or two amongst family? Take a close look at the dust bunnies under my bed and you'll realize that some of those dust bunnies have had dye jobs (and their roots are showing pretty badly, too).

Oh, well. I may not have the svelte figure or the Cleopatra eyes. But, when my guests are picking bits of fur off their behinds, at least I can blame it on the dog. :D

Technorati Tags: Dogs ; Shedding ; Hair Loss ; Humour

Echoes of Mom, Much?

2006-06-22T13:48:00.000-04:00

Why get a parrot? I mean, they live for - what? - fifty-sixty some-odd years, don't they? If you really want to have a creature to follow you around all day repeating every word, every turn of phrase you utter, I'd suggest getting a toddler.

For example, I was sitting here reorganizing a years' worth of paperwork the other day. Trouble had disappeared from my side yet again, having grown bored with the movie he had asked to watch. Knowing what kind of carnage Trouble is capable of over a short period of time, I shouted from the bedroom/office, "Hey, Trouble! Where are you?"

The answer came from the living room, "I downstairs!"

Me: "Well, come back here and watch the movie with me!"

Trouble: "What?"

Me, slightly louder: "I said, come back here and watch the movie with me!"

Trouble: "I can't hear you! Come down here to talk to me! Don't yell across the house!"

I guess I can file that nugget of wisdom under "Do as I say, not as I do." Nothing better for a mom's ego than having a two-and-a-half year old show you with crystal clarity exactly how ridiculous you sound.

Technorati Tags: Parenting ; Children ; Toddlers ; Motherhood

WAHM Bloggers' QOTW

2006-06-16T21:47:00.000-04:00

This week's question from the gals at WAHM Bloggers is: What was your first job and what life lessons did it teach you?

Wow. My first job. What a blast that was! Seriouisly, what's more fun for a seventeen-year-old who refuses to grow up than a job at Toys 'R' Us?

I started out as a stock clerk. You know, unloading those eighteen foot trailers packed full of pallets of play sand, and doing it in a denim mini-skirt and heels. Now that's talent!

They quickly moved me up to cashier, mainly because it was nearing the Christmas rush and they needed bodies on the registers. Remember, ladies and gents, this was back when we still had to take imprints of people's credit cards and actually remember which copy belonged where. This was pre-debit cards and prior to electronic displays, when people paid mainly with - can you believe it? - cash, so we actually had to know how to count back their change properly.

Since I was one of the few girls who lasted past the Christmas (and boxing day) rush without having a nervous breakdown, I was promoted to head cashier shortly thereafter. I was one of the first to use the new-fangled computer-based cash register reconciliation system - oooh! I was there when they introduced the new debit card systems, and as head cashier, it was part of my duties to win the 'old timers' over to the new way of accepting payment. And it was during my capacity as head cashier that I caught my first major thief. Oooh, that's a juicy story, full of intrigue and high-level deception. I would tell you all about it, but I was sworn to secrecy (author casts furtive glances around her as she types).

What life's lessons did that job teach me? Well, for one, the strength & vigour of youth should not be underestimated. We pulled all nighters just to get the latest load of Cabbage Patch Kids on the shelves before the next major holiday or to get inventory counted in the allotted timeframe, and stayed the very next day for our regular shifts. We dined on pizza five days a week and still managed to maintain our target body images. We had the memory capacity to know exactly what someone wanted when they came in asking for, "...those little red things - you know - they're small - and red. Know what I mean?" We also had the patience to answer these same customers with a smile, and refrain from taking out our frustrations on those inflatable clown punching bags - at least, until we made it back to the staff lounge.

In all honesty, I learned that attitude really is everything, a smile and good service can change someone's day (or life). I also learned that, if I don't enjoy what I'm doing, noone else will. So, when you're contemplating a career path, make sure it's one you're going to be happy in, something you truly enjoy doing. Because your clients will know, in the end, whether you're satisfied with your job ... or miserable in it. ;)

Technorati Tags: QOTW ; WAHM ; First Job ; Toys R Us ; Life's Lesson

BikerMomma's Slacking Off

2006-06-14T09:18:00.000-04:00

And BikerMomma apologizes for it. It's been a little hectic around here lately, so I haven't been able to post as much as I'd like – or, at all, for that matter. Which is unfortunate, since there has been so much blog fodder going on, what with all the visitors and house guests and the kids being kids. Too bad I have a memory like a sieve, because I can't remember any of it now, although I distinctly remember thinking at the time, "Wow! This is great blog fodder!"

There have been visitors galore, and the phone hasn't stopped ringing off the hook. Like hubby said, "Gee! All I have to do to get people to come visit me is develop a potentially fatal condition!”

While hubby’s been having a great time receiving guests and gifts and phone calls from people he hasn’t spoken to in years, I’ve been running around like a chicken without a head. For one thing, I sometimes feel like the phone has been permanently melted to the side of my head. Another example - I made the mistake of washing my floors before my parents arrived, only to be told that I’m supposed to wait until after the party to clean up. Why do the same job twice? I like that logic. However, by the looks of it, my floors won’t be washed within the next six months, as the steady stream of well-wishers is showing no signs of slowing. Who knew hubby was this popular?

Then there’s the food. All these people need to be fed and watered, after all. It’s a good thing Mom and Dad showed up when they did. Mom always has crates full of homemade cookies in tow whenever she comes for a visit, so at least I can offer coffee and treats to my unannounced visitors. So far, only one of them had the – um – foresight to show up an hour before suppertime.

What is it with men and illnesses? They have no idea how to convalesce properly, do they? I know hubby’s going stir crazy. He’s not used to weeks of forced inactivity. We’re at the point now where I’m seriously considering the use of tether straps to keep him from overexerting himself. When my six year old doesn’t want to do his homework, I threaten to tell his teacher, which usually gets him moving. I’ve now resorted to the same strategy with hubby. “If you don’t sit still and relax, I’m going to call Dr. G and tell him what you’re doing!”

It’s a good thing I’m screening all his phone calls, too. Hubby doesn’t have the will power to resist the kind of temptation his so-called ‘friends’ are throwing at him. Just yesterday, exactly two weeks after his major abdominal surgery, hubby got a call from one ‘friend’ to ask if he’d be up to going dirt bike riding over the weekend. Sure! While we’re at it, why don’t I just rip your incision open with my bare hands? I’m sure that would be a lot of fun, too (excuse me while I wipe up the sarcasm that’s dripping all over my dirty floors).

I’ve discovered, though, that laughter truly is the best medicine. It’s working wonders for me, for one thing, and it does a great job of keeping hubby laid up in just the right amount of pain to remind him that he’s not completely whole just yet. Luckily, our family's antics are extremely laughable, so I have plenty of material to pull out of my hat whenever hubby's proving especially ambitious. We also have a friend who sends a daily compilation of jokes he receives from various sources. There's usually at least one per day that has me in tears, like the anecdote about the gentleman who thought his lizard was giving birth, only to be reminded that they lay eggs (I'll have to post that one for you some time - it's a classic).

Along with the guests and the phone calls and caring for the husband who won't sit still and two bored children and the bored dog and the offers for mystery shopping jobs that I had to turn down, I've also received - get this - one major engraving order from an existing client and one new offer for a freelance copywriting job, both worth several hundreds of dollars each. When it rains, it pours. In my world, it's apparently monsoon season. But, hey! Where would I get my blog fodder from if life were a picnic in the park? ;)

Technorati Tags: Visitors ; House Guests ; Illness ; Convalescence ; Jobs ; WAHM ; Work At Home

The Latest Groaner...

2006-06-02T22:50:00.000-04:00

...courtesy of my sister:

A Tale of Two Robins

Two robins were sitting in a tree.

"I'm really hungry," said the first one. "Let's fly down and find some lunch."

They flew down to the ground and found a nice plot of newly plowed ground that was full of worms. They ate and ate and ate 'till they could eat no more.

"I'm so full, I don't think I can fly back up into the tree," said the first one.

"Let's just lay back here and bask in the warm sun," said the second.

"O K," said the first.

So they plopped down, basking in the sun. No sooner had they fallen asleep, when a big fat tomcat up and gobbled them up.

As the cat sat washing his face after his meal, he thought...

(scroll down)

(ready??)

(you're gonna like this one)

"I JUST LOVE BASKIN ROBINS."

Technorati Tags: Jokes ; Humour ; Robins ; Cats ; Baskin Robins

Another Day In The Life...

2006-05-31T22:26:00.000-04:00

So, hubby's had the surgery to remove his tumour. The official term for it is a 'right hemi-colectomy'. It went very well and we find out in a few days whether or not chemo is needed.

But the day leading up to his surgery was a series of events better suited to a Three Stooges' skit.

He was supposed to go in for 7:30AM on Tuesday. Monday night, at around 10:30PM, we receive a phone call from the hospital. "Hi, I'm calling from the hospital's surgical services department. We're having trouble with some of our equipment, so you don't have to come in at 7:30 tomorrow morning. Stay home. We'll call you when we're ready for you."

Equipment? What equipment?! Hubby is now in a bit of a panic. If you don't already know it, he's absolutely terrified of anything involving doctors and/or needles. I'm talking mind-numbingly, strap-him-down-or-he'll-bolt kinda fear. So, when he heard the words 'equipment problems', his heart rate just about tripled - not a good thing when you're anemic and awaiting surgery. He had visions of anaesthetic equipment malfunctioning mid-operation and him waking up to find his innards on his bedside table.

Needless to say, it wasn't a very restful night for him. Nonetheless, he was in fairly good spirits the next morning, figuring he at least was getting a little reprieve before having to go under the knife. Nothing like a little imposed procrastination to brighten your outlook. It was short-lived, though. At exactly 7:30AM, we received a call from the hospital. They're ready for us, we need to come in right away.

We arrived at the admission desk, commenting on how it appeared to be a little warm in the hospital that day. We were greeted by a nurse with a clipboard and a handful of papers. She knew who we were right away and had us take a seat. "The doctor wants to speak with you."

Right on cue, in walks the surgeon. The 'equipment problem' was actually an air conditioning malfunction. The problem is that the sterilization room is heavily air conditioned. If there is no air conditioning, there is too much humidity in the air, and they can't sterilize anything. We now have a choice. We can either get hubby admitted - he already has a room and a bed waiting for him - they'll start him up on an IV and he can wait here until they get everything straightened out, or he can go home, remain on clear fluids all day, and they'll call us when everything is a go, most likely some time after supper today or tomorrow at the latest. Uh, gee, what were my choices again? We're out the door faster than you can say, "Please sign this consent form."

That was around 9:00AM. Hubby had enough time to get home, swallow another bowl of Jell-O and was in the middle of his extra-large glass of water, when the phone rang. "Have you had any fluids? Yes? Well, stop." But the doctor said... "Yes, but we think we'll be ready for you around 3:00 this afternoon."

It's now 11:30AM, so the rest of the family starts making plans for lunch while hubby watches longingly from the wings. Ring, ring! It's the hospital again. We're ready for you. Now. But you said...! Oh, never mind. So much for a reprieve. We say goodbye to the family - again - and off we go to the hospital, with poor hubby's nerves about as frayed as Daisy Duke's little shorts.

This time, they send us straight up to his room. They want him ready and down in OR for 3:00PM. Poor Nurse Cari has the pleasure of trying to introduce the IV to hubby's rapidly retreating veins. He's so tense that the muscles in his arms are actually clamping around the veins, effectively shutting them off from Cari's prying needle. After failed attempt number three, Cari wraps his arms in some soothing warm blankets and heads off in search of a smaller needle - or maybe a bottle of Jack Daniels, whichever comes to hand first.

On the fourth attempt, Nurse Cari manages to get a precarious IV going. She tapes the crap out of the thing in the hope that hubby's veins don't somehow manage to spit it right back out after she leaves. She tells us that the 'pain management nurse' will be in shortly to discuss hubby's options.

Nurse Kelly comes in and very cheerfully announces that the best option, the Cadillac of pain management, would be an epidural. I start to giggle involuntarily. Hubby loses what little colour he had left in his cheeks. You see, his only experience with an epidural was with my first pregnancy. After twenty hours of labour, they had to get one in me for an emergency c-section. Without going into great detail, suffice it to say that hubby was more traumatized by the experience than I was. There was a lot of moaning and crying out in pain on my part, it apparently took a few attempts before they were successful, and there was blood spurting across the room like a low-budget B-grade horror flick.

But we managed to convince him to go for the epidural because it apparently makes a world of difference in recovery. We explained to him that it would be a completely different experience from mine because a) he did not have a nine pound alien trying to escape from his body, and b) they would be giving him a light sedative beforehand, so even if it did hurt, he probably wouldn't remember it afterwards.

No such luck. He remembered every excruciating detail, including the facts that they had to try to get it in him twice and that it hurt like hell. But they finally got him all settled in and he apparently didn't even get the chance to start counting backwards from one hundred before he was out like a light.

As I said in the intro, the operation itself did go well. The surrounding organs were checked and nothing appeared to be infected. A couple of lymph nodes gave the surgeon some cause for concern, but we won't know anything for sure until the pathology report comes back in the next week or so. Meanwhile, hubby gets to spend a week in hospital, enjoying the luxury of having the TV to himself all day long, and trying to get back on his feet. I had half-jokingly said we were going to work his scar into a nice tattoo, but then I remembered that tattoos involved needles, so I don't think he'll be volunteering for one of those any time soon.

Technorati Tags: cancer ; Colo-rectal ; Colon ; Hemi-Colectomy ; Epidural ; Lymph Node

Speaking Of Ducks...

2006-05-24T09:36:00.000-04:00

As the popularity of blogs continues to explode, yet another international corporation has jumped on the blogwagon.

This one is a little sexier than most company blogs, though. No, it's not Victoria spilling all her innermost secrets. It's from Federico Minoli, head honcho at Ducati Motor Holdings, maker of Ducati motorcycles. He's decided to start up a blog so he can keep everyone abreast of his comings and goings in the motorcycle world.

For those of you who don't know what a Ducati is, let me enlighten you. Ducati is the Ferrari of motorcycles. They're sleek and sexy. They're the epitome of Italian design. They're the 'beautiful people' of the motorcycle world - except that they are available and attainable and fun to be around. They turn heads with their stunning good looks and very distinctive sound. It's like dating a supermodel, but without all the pretention - and she doesn't mind if you stop for a burger now and again. (Photo from Ducati Manchester)

And Ducati's blog is no different than the bikes themselves. It's written in both English and Italian. If you're reading it in English, though, you have to put on a really sexy Italain accent. It just 'sounds' better that way. Reading the comments is a lot of fun, too. Most of them are in Italian, and will therefore make no sense to the average North American. But it's fun to scan through them just the same. It's like taking a European vacation without leaving your desk.

Federico isn't just another suit, either. He's a motorcycle enthusiast and proud Ducati rider as well. His blog will take you from high-society galas to the race track to the Italian countryside in the blink of an eye - or with the blip of the throttle. I may be way off base here, but I get the feeling from his blog that he would be the kind of guy who'd gladly sit with you for hours and chat about bikes over a glass of wine.

If that is the case, then I'd like to extend an open invitation to him. Sig. Minoli, if you're ever in Canada and have some time to kill, drop me a line. My husband would love to bend your ear for an hour or two. All I ask is that you give me enough notice to get a few bottles of my father's best shipped to us in honour of your visit. I guarantee you won't be disappointed. :D

Technorati Tags: Ducati ; Federico Minoli ; Motorcycle ; Sport Bike ; Supersport ; Monster ; Racing

Lovely Weather, If You're A Duck

2006-05-22T22:20:00.000-04:00

We've gotten over the initial shock of our really, really bad news and have decided that we're going to be just fine, thanks. Hubby is going for pre-op tomorrow and is scheduled for surgery on the 30th. In the mean time, we're enjoying an unbelievable amount of support from family and way more friends than we realized we'd been blessed with.

The first wave of our out-of-town support team arrived on Saturday. It was my brother, his wife and their little girl. They came to offer their shoulders for a couple of days. Their daughter is four months younger than Trouble. Between the two of them, there was enough sweetness floating around the place to send everyone into diabetic shock.

Having just come from Montreal, where it's apparently been raining for two straight years (to hear them tell it), they were looking forward to our somewhat drier shores. No such luck. The rain had defied all laws of meteorology and followed them westward. It was chilly but sunny when they got here, so the children got in a couple of hours' worth of play time before the clouds caught up with them.

Much to everyone's dismay, Sunday dawned soggy and frigid. I believe our daytime high hovered somewhere around six degreesCelsiuss, with a windchill of minus a hundred. I kid you not. Even the dog refused to go out, unless it was to pee. At that, the poor thing had to battle against the wind to the point that she quickly learned to pee downwind. After a bout of small hail stones, we witnessed something that looked suspiciously like snow. I kid you not. As we stared agog at the tiny whiteness before our eyes, we all wondered if frogs and locusts would shortly follow.

My brother and his family departed Sunday night after dinner. On Monday we started making plans for our arc. That turned out to be unnecessary, though, as the clouds soon scattered and the sun poked his happy little face out once again. No doubt, the rain decided to head home to Montreal. I'm guessing, if nothing else good comes of it, the mushroom harvest in Quebec is sure to be a good one this year.

Technorati Tags: Weather ; Rain ; Hail ; Snow

Worst Day Of Our Lives

2006-05-17T15:12:00.000-04:00

This is not a happy post. I can usually put a funny spin on just about anything. Sorry, not today.

You see, my thirty eight year old husband has just been diagnosed with colon cancer. We've been told the outlook is good, since he's young and they apparently caught it early. I'm going to tell you the whole story, just in case anyone out there is feeling the way my husband did before seeing a doctor, and is thinking it's no big deal.

Because, you see, it all started out very innocently. Hubby was feeling tired and a little run down. Perfectly normal feelings for someone who had been working up to sixty hours per week. Until, that is, the company began cutting back on the overtime. Then, with all the free time and week-ends off, we thought he would be getting some of his vigour back. Not so. He began feeling even more tired, if that was possible. So, after a month of feeling really lousy and having several people tell him he looked terrible, he finally went to see our family physician.

The doctor wasn't impressed with his heart beat. It was irregular, suggesting a murmur or possibly arrhythmia. Blood work was ordered. Lots of blood work. Which was no consolation to my poor husband, who is terrified of needles. I managed to drag him to the lab where they squeezed out the four vials they needed. We'd hear from our family doctor in about a week, they told us. This was Friday morning.

Saturday at around noon, I get a phone call. It's the family doctor. Hubby's hemoglobin is at approximately sixty - one third what it should be. He's severely anemic. This tells us he probably is bleeding internally. We need to get him to the emergency room, and don't be surprised if they tell us a transfusion is required.

Sure enough, as soon as we arrive at the ER, they waste no time in getting hubby into a wheelchair and into an exam room, leaving me to fill out the paper work. By the time I can get back to see hubby, he's hooked up to all sorts of monitors and with an IV in his arm doling out fluids. He's already been through the dreaded 'rectal probe' while I was having him registered.

The doctor comes in to tell us he's going to start a transfusion. He believes we're dealing with a very slow leak somewhere within the body, most likely an ulcer, given hubby's age. Hubby will be admitted for the week-end. Our first order of business is to get the blood levels back to where they belong (or at least out of the danger zone). On Sunday, he'll start prepping for a pair of scopes. Yup, from both ends. A colonoscopy and an upper endoscopy.

At this point, hubby is in a complete panic at the thought of a camera being driven around his insides. I was trying to be helpful by telling him about my own experience with a colonoscopy. He didn't find it amusing. Nonetheless, he was a trooper and took his medicine with only minimal cajoling on my part.

He went in for his scopes on Monday. By four o'clock, I hadn't heard back, so I called the nurses' station. Sure enough, he was too doped up to talk to anyone at this point. As soon as he's awake, they'll have him call me.

At around five thirty, I get the dreaded phone call. It's the surgeon. The doctor who was initially dealing with my husband had asked him to come in and consult with us. It turns out that it isn't an ulcer. It's a tumour. On the right side of his colon. We're going to schedule him for surgery ASAP. In the mean time, though, they've already called my sister to go pick hubby up because he really wanted to come home.

And here we are. He's been for a CT scan so the doctor has a clearer picture of what he's dealing with. Surgery is scheduled for the end of the month. They're going to (unless the plan changes once they see the CT scan) remove the part of the colon where the tumour is located, and then connect the rest back together. Hubby is feeling like a pincushion. And, as much as he hates needles, he's now grown quite used to them, and will become heartily sick of them before all is said and done, I'm sure.

The moral of this story is - no matter how bad you think a colonoscopy might be, it's nowhere near as bad as cancer. So, please, please have yourselves screened. Convince your loved ones that they need to see a doctor if they're feeling 'off'. The signs aren't always blatant. It can start out as simply as feeling a little tired.

Technorati Tags: colon ; cancer ; anemia ; hemoglobin ; fatigue ; colonoscopy ; endoscopy

WAHM Bloggers QOTW

2006-05-11T15:30:00.000-04:00

This week's assignment from the ladies at Work-At-Home-Mom Bloggers is to answer the question: How do you stay fit mentally and physically?

Physical fitness has never been a problem for me. I'm in perfect shape. Unfortunately, that shape is 'round'. Being a work-at-home-mom means that money and me-time are luxuries I'm not going to enjoy for the next few years. Therefore, a gym membership is definitely out of the question. I do own a large, heavy treadmill. The only exercise I've ever gotten on that thing, though, was from periodically moving it around the house. I'm hoping my arteries will hold out for another two years. At that time, Trouble will be in Junior Kindergarten. This will mean that the dog and I can go for walks at a speed somewhat higher than half a metre per hour, which is as quick as we can go right now with Trouble thoroughly investigating every weed and rock and candybar wrapper along the way.

Luckily, mental fitness is easier (and cheaper) to come by. Being the freak of nature that I am, I enjoy a good ('good', not 'difficult') logic puzzle now and again. Another way I like to stretch my brain a little is with a game of Tile Rummy (or Rummy-O or Rummy Squares - I've never seen a game with so many names). Teaching an old dog new tricks is a great way to exercise the ol' cranial muscle, so I learn as much as I can about websites, blogs and the internet in general whenever the opportunity arises. Writing in my blog really is a great form of intellectual stimulation. It's also an exercise in building patience, as my cursor struggles to keep pace with my typing and my screen refreshes for no apparent reason, leading me to believe that Blogger is going down yet again, meaning my entire post will soon be lost if I don't save it soon. Hang on a sec ... I'll be right back ...

Now, where was I? Writing - right! Did you know that I've always wanted to be a writer? For better or for worse, life got in the way of that little dream, so it looks like blogging is as close as I'm going to get. Unless someone reads this blog and likes my style enough to offer me a gig, in which case my e-mail link is in the left-hand menu (*wink*). The experts will tell you to write what you know. I know sarcasm and self-deprecating humour, which, thankfully, appear to work well in a blog. How does that manifest itself into mental fitness? Let's just say that my goals are more in line with 'week-end warrior' rather than 'decathelete'.

There you have it, folks. BikerMomma's secret guide to everlasting beauty and a rapier-sharp mind. Not buying it? How about 'Body by McDonald's' and 'enough brains not to walk into things'?

Technorati Tags: WAHM ; QOTW ; Fitness ; Exercise

I'm Not Going To Say It...

2006-05-10T11:19:00.000-04:00

I'm not, I'm not, I can't ... must ... resist ... temptation ...

Oops! ... She did it again!

Sorry. What can I say? I'm weak.

It would appear that Britney Spears is expecting baby number two. Rather than sending out cute little announcement cards, she preferred to share her joyous news by making an 'unscheduled' appearance on the Late Show with David Letterman.

I know the article says she chose to make the announcement on the Late Show because she wanted to beat out the tabloids. However, I can't help but get the impression that it was more of a desperate plea for attention. After all, the media has been a-buzz for quite some time with news of TomKat's and Brangelina's respective progeny. All we've been hearing about Britney lately are stories of visits from the Child Welfare offices.

Unfortunately, the whole TomKat/Brangelina market saturation has started putting people (namely me) off of the 'star spawn' craze. So, they can breed. So can a bazillion other people on the face of the planet. You want to impress me? Publish pictures of what you look like after a month of midnight feedings. Let me see what your breasts are doing after you've stopped breastfeeding and before you schedule the appointment with your plastic surgeon. Show me your manicure after you've changed a couple years' worth of dirty diapers by yourself.

What I really want to see, though, is a video clip of Brad getting peed on when he tries to change his first diaper. That would impress me!

Technorati Tags: Britney Spears ; Tom Cruise ; Katie Holmes ; Brad Pitt ; Angelina Jolie ; David Letterman ; Pregnancy ; Babies ; TomKat ; Brangelina

Road Trip

2006-05-09T12:11:00.000-04:00

We're home! Oh, the joys of sleeping in your own bed after a week-end away. Oh, the joys of having your children sleep - period - after a week-end away.

There was a family function to attend in La Belle Province. Since hubby is running short on vacation time, we decided to save his few remaining vacation days for - well - his vacation. So, my sister and I loaded our children into my car and hit the road. Her teenage son (we'll refer to him as 'SuperStar') preferred to stay home. Gee, I wonder why. "Stay home with my girlfriend and buddies, or spend seven hours in a car with my kid sister to go visit my grandparents where I'll have to listen to lame jokes about my piercings and share the computer with at least ten other people." Choice? What choice? So he was left for two days with a set of rules a mile long, and all the neighbours, as well as his uncle, popping in to check on him when he least expected it.

The ride there was nothing short of heavenly. Three children crammed into the back seat - Mini-Me in his booster, Trouble in his car seat, and my niece (let's name her 'Butterfly') stuffed into the two-inch space between them. You'd think this was a recipe for disaster. Hubby and I had learned from our last road trip, though, that two children plus one set of headphones for the DVD player equals straightjackets for Mom and Dad. So we had bought an extra set of headphones for Trouble. Butterfly had her own personal DVD player which my sister had bought during their last road trip (no doubt having suffered through the same lesson we had just benefitted from). So the ride there was made in relative peace. When anyone asked me how the ride was, I boasted expansively about how wonderful those headphones were, the best investment I've made in years, we didn't hear anything out of the kids during the whole trip, yadda, yadda, yadda... Did you hear that? That would be the sound of Fate laughing long and hard at my boasting. She was gonna teach me a lesson, but good.

Night number one was spent at my brother's house. His two children are close in age to Butterfly and Mini-Me, and so they always have fun together. And a great time was had by all. Bed time rolled around, so we set the kids up on the living room floor with a pair of inflatable mattresses - boys on one, girls on the other.

I slept in my niece's bed with Trouble. I learned two things that night. One: For such a little guy, Trouble takes up a surprisingly large amount of space in bed. Two: He leads with his head. He doesn't just flip and flop and toss and turn. He points his head in the direction he wants to go, and then gives an almighty heave with his freakishly strong little legs. I slept very little that night, as Trouble brought back fond memories of my pregnancy with him, where he would plant his skull in one of my kidneys and dig in with all his might.

As if Trouble wasn't giving me a hard enough time, Mini-Me decided to take a few years off my life. When I went for my middle-of-the-night-pee, I decided to look in on the kids in the living room. There were the two girls, but where were the boys? I checked my nephew's bedroom. OK, there's my nephew, but where's my son? Back to the living room - nope definitely not there. Maybe he snuck into my bed during the fifteen minutes I was sleeping? Nope, not there, either. Full blown panic has now struck. In my mind, I'm having visions on Mini-Me suddenly developing a sleep-walking habit, and he's now wandering around the streets of a strange neighbourhood in his Hulk pyjamas. I bolt down to the basement to wake my sister. Hang on, there's an extra lump in her bed. There's my son, snuggled in next to his aunt. OK, I can breathe again. My sister had woken up at this point, so I asked her why he was there. "Why didn't he want to come to bed with me?" asks the hurt little voice inside my head. "Oh, he said he didn't want to sleep up there. The girls were making too much noise."

Of course, he was right. By the time I got back to bed, there was no way I was getting to sleep. For I was now painfully aware of a fact about inflatable mattresses of which I had previously been blissfully unaware. Every time one of the girls would roll over or shift positions, the mattress would emit sounds that made me think someone was building six foot tall balloon animals in the living room. Fabulous. Two hours of sleep after a seven hour drive. No problem. I can catch up on my sleep the next night, right?

Not so much. Night number two was spent at my parents' house on the inflatable mattress with both Mini-Me and Trouble, and a cousin on the sofa next to us who is a self-proclaimed 'violent sleep kicker'. One of the many downfalls of sleeping on the living room floor is that you have to wait until everyone else in the house goes to bed before you can do the same. This happened around midnight. I settled in with Mini-Me on the outside edge, Trouble in the middle and me taking the perilous spot mere inches from the violent sleep kicker. Around three o'clock in the morning, I discovered that Trouble doesn't enjoy sleeping in the middle. He really needs his space after all. He woke up crying loudly, and no amount of cooing or shushing from me would get him to calm down. So I picked him up and cuddled with him in an armchair. He fell immediately and deeply back to sleep. Great. I can't stay in this armchair all night, though, so now what? I gingerly place Trouble back on the inflatable mattress, where he rearranged himself into a suitably sprawled position, and didn't wake up again.

Well, that was good for him, but there wasn't room for me anymore. I tried in vain to attain a comfortable sleeping position in that armchair. I gave that up for a bad idea after the first half hour. I thought I'd try to sprawl across the foot of the air mattress. This would have worked, except that my legs from the knee downwards had no mattress underneath them. Add to that the fact that air mattresses are very much like waterbeds without a frame. If you move a fraction of an inch, everyone else on the bed goes for a trampoline ride. And, if you lie too close to the edge, the air in the mattress rolls out from underneath you and you get tossed rather unceremoniously off the bed.

As I clung precariously to my little corner of the bed, it never occurred to me that the mattress had, in fact, three other sides. At about four o'clock that morning, there was a loud 'ker-THUMP!' Mini-Me had learned the perils of rolling too closely to the edge of the treacherous air mattress. He was fine - had, in fact, jumped right up and climbed back into bed on his own without even waking up. I really didn't want a repeat performance, though, so I spent what was left of the night with one arm and one leg out at ninety degree angles, trying to keep Mini-Me and Trouble from rolling off the bed again.

So, a seven hour drive followed by two hours of sleep, followed by a party, another three hours of sleep, and another seven hour drive. The icing on the cake was my alarm going off at seven o'clock this morning so I could get Mini-Me off to school. The real kicker? As I protested weakly and pounded on my snooze button, Mini-me bounced out of bed, got himself dressed, and poured his own bowl of cereal and milk. Trouble woke up shortly thereafter, actually singing. *Sigh!* There went any hopes I had of lying comatose until noon.

Technorati Tags: Road Trip ; Parenthood ; Sleep ; Air Mattress ; Travelling ; Children

Ooh! Me! Pick me!

2006-05-04T13:55:00.000-04:00

I read on Yahoo! news today that Bill Gates doesn't like being the world's richest person.

Well, boo frickin' hoo! Here's my daily act of charity. Mr. Gates, if all that money is really making you miserable, I'll gladly ease some of your suffering by taking a few billion dollars off your hands. A link to my e-mail address can be found in the left-hand menu, at the bottom of the page. I look forward to hearing from you in the near future.

Now that's one e-mail I'd love to receive. Wouldn't you? It'd be a darn sight better than what I've been getting lately, I'll tell ya. Now, I know that you're taking your chances and should expect a certain amount of spam when you create websites and put yourself out there on the WWW. But what I'm realy itching to know is, where on the internet does it indicate that I'm a seventy year old horn dog looking to buy bucketsfull of Viagra so I can satisfy my inflate-a-date? And where, or where, did I ever sign up for the e-mail in foreign languages that apparently offer me nothing other than gratuitous pornography?

Seriously, Bill, I could really use some of that cash you're so tired of being saddled with. Maybe then I could afford to hire a team of investigators to track these people down and return the favour by subjecting them to floods of unwanted parenting advice and cute children's stories.

Technorati Tags: Bill Gates ; Microsoft ; Money ; Rich ; Spam

Amateur Blogger Tips

2006-05-03T14:44:00.000-04:00

No, I don't mean that I have tips for the amateur blogger. Au contraire. I mean that, as an amateur blogger, I'm going to dole out a few tips of my own, for whatever they're worth. These tips come from my heart after having spent some time surfing a few random blogs on the Blogger network. They may seem like common sense to those of you who - well - have common sense. Clearly, though, there are a lot of people out there who simply don't.

1) While I understand that some bloggers are artists, I'm not sure half of a badly formed sentence would constitute 'art'. I came across a blog that had one entry to the effect of "I am happy to have my wet." That was it. There was no "click here to read the entire post" button. Instead, there was one comment. The comment was made by the original poster. This comment said, "Dragon." Uh, huh. Right. Gotcha.

2) Interestingly enough, the Blogger TOS does not disallow pornography. However, you'd think it would be common sense to, at the very least, have a massive disclaimer at the top of your screen to the effect of "THIS SITE CONTAINS PORNOGRAPHY. IF YOU'RE NOT AT LEAST EIGHTEEN YEARS OF AGE, PLEASE DO NOT SCROLL DOWN PAST THIS DISCLAIMER!" That way, when I happen to come across your site while surfing, I don't have to explain the concept of S&M to my six year old who's hanging over my shoulder at the time.

3) Ads, ads, ads. This blog is all about ads. How do I know it's about ads? Because the ad poster has used the word 'ad' in their ad about fifty million times. Ad. Not only that - ad - they've interspersed the word 'ad' into their ad amongst a bunch of other words that don't make any sense when strung together. Replace the word 'ad' in the preceding sentences with whatever they're trying to sell, and you'll get the picture. Maybe, if you read these blogs backwards, they'll convey some hidden message from Satan, kind of like playing and Alice Cooper album in reverse. (If you don't know who Alice Cooper is, or what an album is, then I'm going to have to ask you to leave because you're making me feel old.)

4) Now, I know not everyone who blogs is a professional writer. Heaven knows my grammar, spelling and punctuation leave a lot to be desired, but at least I make an effort. Come on, people! They are called 'periods' and they go at the ends of your sentences. Some of these posts actually make my eyes bleed just by trying to follow them.

Now, then. If you want some real tips from some real experts, I would suggest you check out a few of the folks in my list of links and my blogrolling sections to the right. Elizabeth has plenty of tips at her blog, 'Blogging - What's In It For Me?' And Michele has a whole bunch of neat tools at 'Cool Blog Tools' to make blogging fun and easy.

Happy blogging! :D

Technorati Tags: Blogging ; Tips ; Tools

Do You Know The Muffin Man?

2006-04-27T20:00:00.000-04:00

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...

2006-04-27T15:46:00.000-04:00

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

2006-04-24T21:38:00.000-04:00

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

2006-04-23T12:40:00.000-04:00

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

2006-04-19T14:54:00.000-04:00

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

2006-04-18T15:31:00.000-04:00

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

2006-04-10T20:02:00.000-04:00

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 voilÃ ! 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"?

2006-04-07T13:41:00.000-04:00

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.

Putting the "Bike" in "BikerMomma"

2006-03-31T14:53:00.000-05:00

My introduction mentions that I ride a motorcycle, and the description of my blog says that I might talk about bikes once in a while, so I thought I'd finally introduce you all to my ride.

Presenting my 1986 Suzuki Intruder 750. Sorry for the funny-looking, obstructed picture. It was taken while I was attending a 35MM photography class eight years ago. I was apparently going for an "artsy" shot.

I bought this baby as a used bike some ten-or-so years ago. Her seat was a little torn up, but other than that, she was in pretty good shape. We had the seat re-upholstered, and away I went. She was an upgrade in displacement from a 1982 Yamaha Seca 400. I decided that I needed a new ride when I had my first brush with death.

I was riding with hubby and a group of friends down a small country highway, one lane in each direction. The rest of the group passed a truck without issue, and then it was my turn. Mr. Truck Driver decided to play some very dangerous games with me. He would speed up when I got up next to him, then slow down when I ducked back in behind him because of on-coming traffic. I know he saw me; he looked right at me. The bike just didn't have the power to motor past him quickly enough. The last time I tried, I was almost past him when another truck was coming in the opposite direction. My throttle was completely maxed out. Mr. Truck Driver wouldn't let me get in ahead of him, so I had to slam on the brakes, struggle to keep control of the handlebars (which were objecting to the sudden drop in forward momentum - bikes are all about physics, you know) and then scoot back in behind him. I almost bought it big time that day. So hubby and I decided it was time for me to get something with more power, more pick-up.

I tried a few bikes on for size. The super sport-bikes didn't exactly fit my short-legged frame (but Oh! how I wanted that Ducati Monster Dark!). Besides, I had taken a spin on hubby's old Kawasaki Ninja 600 once. Heading down yet another, slightly larger, highway, I wondered why my riding companions were lagging behind. Then I checked my speedo. Oh, my! Honestly, Officer, I had no idea I was going that fast. I always thought that was just a line those sport-bike riders used when they were caught red-handed, but now I know they really meant it. Those bikes are very smooth, very comfortable and built for extreme speed. When you put those qualities together, you get a bike that goes really fast without you noticing it.

We moved on to cruisers. Sorry, but I'm not a Harley kinda gal. I can appreciate them for what they have to offer, but they're just not for me. So we checked out the Japanese cruisers. Most of them were very wide, which made them a little uncomfortable for women, who are not used to sitting spread eagle very often. Oddly enough, at this point in my life, I was spending a lot of time horseback riding as well. You'd think that would make it easier for me to ride the "wider" bikes. Not so much.

In rolls the Intruder. Low to the ground, so my wee legs can reach the ground comfortably at stop lights. Narrow in the saddle, so I don't feel like I'm straddling a Clydesdale. Plenty of get-up-and-go so I can , well, go when I need to. And a nice, throaty little rumble that announces my presence to the oblivious automobile drivers around me.

Other than repairing the seat, we haven't done much in the way of customizing her ... yet. Right now, she's on loan to a friend while my children are young and I can't get out to ride as much as I'd like. It's a mutually beneficial arrangement. He needs the riding experience for when he buys - and insures - a bike of his own. In return, he keeps her running, limber and lubricated, something that would definitely not happen if she were stagnating in my garage. I believe he and my husband have installed a set of flat bars, and there's talk of a new set of pipes.

Oh, but one day ... one day ... you'll just have to tune back in to see what I have in store for my baby. The paint scheme, the chrome, the Corbin Gun Slinger seat ... *sigh!* Time to drag out the ol' sketch book and get dreamin'!

Technorati tags: Motorcycles ; Suzuki Intruder

I'm SO Not Ready For This!

2006-03-28T21:23:00.000-05:00

So I'm having breakfast with my six-and-a-half-year-old this morning before sending him off to school.

Between spoonfuls of Cheerios, he looks over at me and asks, "Mommy, why did God only give girls special parts?"

After spewing coffee all over the kitchen walls, I replied in what I thought was a nonchalant manner, "Honey, God gave everyone special parts."

"No, I mean why did He decide that only girls can have babies?"

I choked down some more coffee. "I don't know, hon, that's just what He thought was best."

Then he starts yammering on and on in what apparently was complete awe, "Like, you could be pregnant right now, and your uterus would keep getting bigger and bigger and the baby would keep growing and growing..." while making expansive growing actions with his arms.

As I make a mental note to order my funeral flowers at this point because I can feel my heart preparing to keel over in shock, I calmly ask, "Sweetie, could you please stop talking about my uterus? I promise you I'm not pregnant right now."

After a few calming breaths and another swig of the completely unsatisfying decaf I was drinking, I managed to get the full story from him. Turns out the class is learning about the whole cycle of life in preparation for Easter (you know, when Jesus died & rose again). So their teacher had started telling them how babies begin as little eggs that grow inside their mother's uterus, are born, grow into toddlers, who grow into children, who grow into teenagers, yadda, yadda, yadda...

I'm just wondering why she had to start so far back, ya know? Why couldn't she start with "babies are born"? At the very least, I think she should have sent home some sort of warning note to prepare parents for the discussions that may ensue.

"Dear Parents, Please note that we are discussing the cycle of life in this month's lesson plan. Please do not be alarmed if your children are suddenly displaying a very intense interest in your bodily functions or wish to discuss your reproductive systems..."

Nope, I'm so not ready for this just yet.

Sponge On The Brain

2006-03-23T20:14:00.000-05:00

I admit it. I'm a SpongeBob-aholic. Yes, it's a mildly amusing show. It has a few laugh out loud moments. But this is getting rediculous.

My children (you remember Trouble and Mini-Me, don't you?) just adore The Sponge. I had bought, a very long time ago, the Christmas DVD. We watch this DVD every day, sometimes several times a day, regardless of the season. Then, around the dinner hour when SpongeBob makes his daily appearance on TV, we watch it again ... and again ... and again ... (thanks to the magic of satellite TV and the various time zones).

My love affair with SpongeBob et al is beginning to wear thin, though. This insidious sponge is starting to affect my sleep patterns. You know how, sometimes, you'll wake up in the middle of the night with a song running 'round in your head that just won't go away? Usually, it's an old Beatles' tune, or some obscure '80s hit from a one-hit-wonder the world has long since forgotten. Sadly, those days are gone for me. I now wake up with SpongeBob's "Striped Sweater" song permeating my subconscious.

"The best time to wear a striped sweater,
is all the tiiiiiiime...
One with a collar, turtle neck.
That's the kiiiiiind..."

Groan! Quick, turn on the TV. Even that annoying, and somewhat disturbing, commercial jingle about the bank's "Hand In My Pocket" would be preferable to this.

If I'm especially unlucky, it'll be the Christmas tune that's invaded my sleep-deprived brain.

"It's shaping up to be a wonderful holiday,
not your normal, av-er-age every day."
"Sounds like someone felled my old coral tree.
SpongeBob, Patrick, why'd you do this to me?"
"This Christmas feels like
the very first Christmas to meeeeee....."

Oh, God, please, make it STOP!

Unfortunately, it doesn't look like there's any relief in sight. The kids are addicted. So am I, for that matter. Inane musical score aside, he's a funny little guy. Therefore, until the kiddies outgrow the Sponge and his antics, it wouldn't appear that a SpongeBob Intervention is forthcoming. Guess I'll just have to grin and bear it.

"The Krusty Krab Pizza,
is the pizza,
for you and me.
The Krusty Krab Pizza,
is the pizza,
abslutive-a-ly!"

(*author slinks off to sob quietly in a large glass of chocolate milk*)

The Most Wonderful Time of the Year?

2006-03-20T09:02:00.000-05:00

Ah, the first day of spring. When the western & central provinces are being throttled by snow storms, Australia is being buffetted by Cyclone Larry, and everyone in my family has been sick for weeks with the cold from hades.

Does anyone else get the feeling that Mother Nature is more than a little annoyed with all of us? Sure, March has always been a little unstable, weather-wise. The meteoroligical equivalent of Jeckyll & Hyde, if you will. But I don't recall ever having such extreme swings in temperatures as we've had lately. Just over a week ago, the neighbourhood kids were out riding their bicycles in t-shirts & running shoes, and today they're all bundled up in snow pants, hats & boots. The so-called common cold is lasting an uncommonly long time. The geese are flying around in circles because they don't know if they should be coming or going. And if that whole "in like a lamb" thing can be counted on, we're in for one heck of a month-end beating.

Kind of makes you wish it was good ol' predictable winter again, doesn't it?

Kudos to Canadian Oscar Winner

2006-03-06T13:22:00.000-05:00

I didn't watch the Oscar's last night. Sorry. I was in bed, sick as the proverbial pooch. However, I was pleased as punch upon waking this morning to hear that Canadian Paul Haggis won the Best Picture Oscar for his film, 'Crash'. Kudos to you, Paul, for bringing a little red 'n' white to the gold 'n' glam.

Not having seen the film, it's a little difficult to say whether or not I agree with the nomination and win. However, I did catch a few scenes when the cast appeared on the Oprah show. The premise definitely peaked my interest. I like the way the different stories intertwine with one-another. Oprah's show and the ensuing debate about racism and sterotypes were certainly food for thought, whichever side of the fence you sat on.

So, I'll save my official review until after I've actually seen the movie. In the mean time, though, I'll give Mr. Haggis another pat on the back, from one Canuck to another. Good job, eh?

When Does Mess Equal Marvel?

2006-03-03T14:42:00.000-05:00

When there's a toddler in the equation, that's when.

My two year old (you all know him as Trouble) was playing quietly by himself the other day. Yes, I know, that's the first sign that Trouble is brewing. Nonetheless, I ignored the warning signs because I was especially busy at that particular moment. Besides, his older brother was with him, and it was only for a minute or two, so how bad could it be?

Turns out that Trouble was investigating the stand-up shower stall. This shower stall is in the ensuite bathroom in my bedroom - mere feet from where I was sitting at the moment. So he was being especially quiet for me not to hear what he was up to. I was soon smelling a lovely scent emanating from the bathroom. I'm not being sarcastic here, it really did smell nice. I couldn't quite place the scent for a moment or two ... and then it hit me.

Shampoo. My shampoo. Oh, dear. Now what?

Upon investigating, I find Trouble standing barefoot (thankfully) in the shower stall in a large puddle of my best "for colour-treated hair" shampoo. Sigh! Why couldn't he use hubby's bargain brand? I pull Trouble out of the shower and start wiping him down. A few minutes later I returned to the shower to deal with the spilled shampoo.

But Lo! And Behold! When I rinsed away that slimy goo, the shower stall beneath it was sparkling clean! Cleaner than any other commercial, bathroom-specific cleaner has been able to make it. And I didn't even have to scrub! This is quite the feat, since hubby dearest is a machinist by trade and a week-end warrior to boot, which means my shower is regularly subjected to varying sorts of grease and grime and paintball scum.

So ... um ... thanks, Trouble, for spilling my shampoo all over the shower stall and then smooshing it around with your toes (there's one of the strangest sentences I've ever uttered, let alone put down in writing). I wonder, if I get him to do that once a week, would it qualify as "child labour"?

Movie Review - Elizabethtown

2006-02-26T13:24:00.000-05:00

I bought this movie yesterday. Why buy it instead of renting it, especially with the dreadful reviews it got? Because it stars Orlando Bloom. I figured if it was a real turkey, we could always mute the sound and just enjoy the eye candy. However, I was pleasantly surprised. I know a lot of fans and critics alike didn't like this movie. While I agree that it's not Oscar material, I feel it wasn't as bad as people made it out to be.

Elizabethtown is a funny little look at life's ups and downs, successes and failures, and how we deal with them (or don't deal with them, whichever the case may be).

Drew (Orlando Bloom) has cost his employer close to One Billion Dollars. As a result, he's lost his job (in a great, flaming, public display), his girlfriend and his will to live. His attempted suicide is interrupted by a phone call from his sister. She bears the sad news that their father has passed away. Drew now has to put his planned death on hold to travel from Oregon to Kentucky to retrieve the body. Along the way, he meets up with the quirky, perpetually happy flight attendant named Claire (Kirsten Dunst).

While I admit that I'm not a huge Kirsten Dunst fan (she annoys me, actually), I have to say that there are few actresses who could have pulled off this flighty, slightly eccentric role the way she did. Orlando Bloom did an admirable job of adopting an American accent, and his emotion (which was especially important in the road trip scenes) came though loud and clear. Susan Sarandon was her usual, lovely, talented self. She portrayed Drew's mother.

The plot moves quite slowly throughout the film, but that's ok. It's supposed to be a slow, meandering tale, just like life itself in Elizabethtown, Kentucky. The movie was never intended to be a blockbuster, a mile-a-minute action flick, or a torrid love story. It's thoughtful, sweet, poignent, with a great soundtrack and plenty of belly laugh moments (especially for those of us who can identify with a large, disfunctional family).

I highly recommend this movie for anyone who is looking for something quiet and mellow to do on a lazy Sunday afternoon. It's rated PG, so you can watch it while the kids are playing in the next room, and you don't have to worry about what scenes they might walk in on. On a scale of 1 to 10 (one being a total bomb, 10 being the most fantastic thing I've seen in years), I'd give this movie a 7 1/2.

A 6 Year Old's View On Retirement

2006-02-17T12:41:00.000-05:00

Here's a conversation I just had with my 6 year old son over lunch. It was so funny, I just had to share:

Son: When I grow up, I'm gonna be an artist.

Mom: Really? Well, you know, there are all kinds of artists in the world. See that car show they're talking about on TV? Well, they need artists to draw those new cars before they can start building them. Isn't that cool?

Son: Yeah, but they'll already have their artists by the time I'm grown up, so I'll have to be a different kind of artist.

Mom: Don't worry. There will be plenty of jobs for you when you grow up. By the time you're a grown-up, all the people who are working now will be retired, so the companies will have to find new people to replace them.

Son: Yeah, like me, 'cause I'm never retired. I have lots of energy so I'll be working all the time.

Out of the mouths of babes, huh? :D

No Day Like A Snow Day!

2006-02-17T08:23:00.000-05:00

Here we are on day two of school bus cancellations due to bad weather conditions here in south-central Ontario. Actually, I didn't even have to check the news or the internet to know that the busses were cancelled the morning. The wind and thunder that woke me up at 5:30am had already told me.

Today's weather brings the added joys of warmer weather in the morning with sudden and severe drops later on, giving rise to possible flash freezing. Those of us who lived through the Ice Storm of '98 in southern Quebec all cringed in unison when the weather man uttered those fateful words. You know it's bad when they shut down not only the busses, but also some secondary highways in the area. Heck, even the dog didn't want to go out for her morning pee.

Of course, the real challenge is going to be keeping the kids entertained for the second day in a row.

So, batten down the hatches, maties. Looks like we're in for one heck of a ride.

Potter - Reviewed

2006-02-13T09:36:00.000-05:00

I'm very excited today. My son's school is hosting a viewing of Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire this coming Friday as part of a fund raiser for their Kids Creating a Cure initiative. I'm a huge fan of the Harry Potter series of books. I'll probably cry a river when I finish reading Book 7, since I know that will be the end of the Harry saga. The movies, on the other hand, have me quite torn.

Movie #1: Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone - Considering this was the first movie in the installment, and the actors were quite young and green, they did a very admirable job with it. My only beef was the need to change the name of the US release to "Sorcerer's Stone". Why?

Movie #2: Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets - The actors matured a little here, chronologically as well as professionally. Overall, a pretty good movie.

Movie #3: Harry Potter and the Prizoner of Azkaban - What were they thinking?! I quite understand the need to deviate from the book when turning it into a film. This movie took it too far. It wasn't a matter of editing for time or changing some aspects of the plot to allow the movie to flow better. This director felt the need to butcher every aspect for the sake of "Hollywood-izing" the movie. I mean, come on, he moved Hagrid's house! Put it on the edge of a cliff! Since when is Hagrid's house on the edge of a cliff? It's supposed to be on the edge of a forest! And what was with that were-wolf? I thought people were supposed to have a hard time distinguishing them from real wolves (according to Hermione, it has a slightly longer snout, etc...). This were-wolf looked more alien than lupine. I'm still trying to figure out the purpose of the shrunken heads. Ugh! OK, so I bought the DVD only to complete my collection, but you can bet it will be the least-viewed of the set.

Movie #4: Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire - Now here's a truly great adaptation. What a brilliant idea, to hire an English director to help depict life in an English boarding school. Bravo, Mr. Newell! Yes, they changed a lot of aspects and deviated from the book quite a bit, but it made sense this time. It worked. Every minute of it held me completely captivated. The actors performed exceptionally well in this movie, too. No doubt thanks again to Mr. Newell's directing prowess. I'm counting the minutes until it's released on DVD (March 7th, 2006), at which point I'll have to buy two copies since the first one will probably melt from over-viewing.

I can't wait to see how the new director (David Yates) handles Movie #5: Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. You've got quite the act to follow, Mr. Yates!

Are You Sure??

2006-02-06T10:30:00.000-05:00

How many of you get annoyed whenever you try to delete a file and your computer asks you to confirm your intentions five times? Do you find yourself yelling at your monitor? "Yes, I'm sure, darn it! If I wasn't sure, I wouldn't have clicked on 'delete', now would I?!" That used to be me. That is, until I became a mother.

I've figured it out, folks. The great mystery of computing. Why do developers insists on asking that inane question, "are you sure?". It's not because of the computer illiterate. It's to safeguard us mothers. It's to protect our computers and the priceless information they contain from the marauding hands of two-year-olds.

That's why I spend so much time at my computer (sure, it is, honey). I have to be here to guard it from Trouble (with the Capital T - remember him?). Shut it down, you say? He's learned how to turn it back on - no mean feat, since this is a laptop with the hidden slidey button on the side. Lock it away? You don't know Trouble the way I know Trouble. To keep it safe from him, I'd need a bank vault accessible only via a Batman-esque hidden wall. Even at that, I'm pretty sure he'd find it, and would probably crack the vault's security code, too.

No, I'll just have to keep my lonely vigil here, blogging and reading and constantly looking over my shoulder. What? Oh, hi sweety. What are you doing ... no, don't touch that button! I'm not ready to publish my post yet! Wait! Oh, darn it! Why didn't Blogger put in the "are you sure" safeguard?!

Moms (a little Friday Funny)

2006-02-03T19:46:00.000-05:00

I received this joke in an e-mail today (thanks, Mal!), and thought it was really cute. Send the link to all the wonderful Moms you know. I hope you enjoy it!

Answers given by 2nd grade school kids to the following questions:

Why did God make mothers?
1. She's the only one who knows where the scotch tape is.
2. Mostly to clean the house.
3. To help us out of there when we were getting born.

How did God make mothers?
1. He used dirt, just like for the rest of us.
2. Magic plus super powers and a lot of stirring.
3. God made my mom just the same like he made me. He Just used bigger parts.

What ingredients are mothers made of?
1. God makes mothers out of clouds and angel hair and everything nice in the world and one dab of mean.
2. They had to get their start from men's bones. Then they mostly use string, I think.

Why did God give you your mother & not some other mom?
1.We're related.
2. God knew she likes me a lot more than other people's moms like me.

What kind of little girl was your mom?
1. My mom has always been my mom and none of that other stuff.
2. I don't know because I wasn't there, but my guess would be pretty bossy.
3. They say she used to be nice.

What did Mom need to know about Dad before she married him?
1. His last name.
2. She had to know his background. Like is he a crook? Does he get drunk on beer?
3. Does he make at least $800 a year? Did he say NO to drugs and YES to chores?

Why did your mom marry your dad?
1. My dad makes the best spaghetti in the world. And my mom eats alot.
2. She got too old to do anything else with him.
3. My grandma says that Mom didn't have her thinking cap on.

Who's the boss at your house?
1. Mom doesn't want to be boss, but she has to because dad's such a goof ball.
2. Mom. You can tell by room inspection. She sees the stuff under the bed.
3. I guess Mom is, but only because she has a lot more to do than dad.

What's the difference between moms & dads?
1. Moms work at work and work at home & dads just go to work at work.
2. Moms know how to talk to teachers without scaring them.
3. Dads are taller & stronger, but moms have all the real power 'cause that's who you got to ask if you want to sleep over at your friend's.
4. Moms have magic, they make you feel better without medicine.

What does your mom do in her spare time?
1. Mothers don't do spare time.
2. To hear her tell it, she pays bills all day long.

What would it take to make your mom perfect?
1. On the inside she's already perfect. Outside, I think some kind of plastic surgery.
2. Diet. You know, her hair. I'd diet, maybe blue.

If you could change one thing about your mom, what would it be?
1. She has this weird thing about me keeping my room clean. I'd get rid of that.
2. I'd make my mom smarter. Then she would know it was my sister who did it and not me.
3. I would like for her to get rid of those invisible eyes on the back of her head.

The Prancing Horse

2006-01-24T20:37:00.000-05:00

Sorry for the extra post in one day, folks. I just wanted to let everyone know (in case you didn't already) that Formula1.com has pictures of the new Ferrari. Oh, baby!

Bilbo's Back?

2006-01-24T19:53:00.000-05:00

While searching through a few other blogs, I found a link to "Let the Hobbit Happen". It's a site dedicated to encouraging New Line Cinema and Peter Jackson to create a live-action version of Tolkien's "The Hobbit". Apparently, they've already received encouraging news from the powers that be.

I, for one, would be thrilled to see the LOTR folks bring "The Hobbit" to life. I don't feel the story is complete without it. I also don't think anyone other than Peter Jackson could pull it off. Let's face it, there's a huge, massive, Kong-sized (sorry, couldn't resist) precedent to follow here. I'm not entirely sure why they didn't start the series with this movie in the first place. It certainly would have saved me the grief of answering a bazillion questions while watching the LOTR movies with some of my non-reading friends. And at least Bilbo would have been portrayed by the same actor throughout - something I'm sure they won't be able to pull off should they put The Hobbit into production at this late date.

I'll be sure to update this site with any news I get on The Hobbit's journey.

Welcome!

2006-01-17T11:00:00.000-05:00

Hey there, blog fans. Welcome to my brand new blog.

I thought I'd start out with a little bit (ok, a lot) about myself. I'm a 30-something work-at-home mother of two, wife of one. Well, mother of three, if you count the dog.

I run an engraving business out of my home - http://www.anderiengraving.com, if you feel like having a look-see. It's a whole lot of fun, since hubby and I are both huge gadget freaks. Machines are a big part of our lives. My intention was actually to start a gift basket biz, but the engraving part sort of weasled its way in and took on a life of its own.

Why is this "BikerMomma's Blog?" That's because some of the machines that make up a huge part of our lives are motorcycles. OK, so I haven't ridden since the kiddies came along, but I fully intend to start riding again once they're old enough to fend for themselves for twelve hours or so (or old enough to come with me, whichever they prefer). I refuse to sell my ride, though. It's my first "real" bike (you can't count the Yamaha 400 that I learned on) so the emotional attachments are strong. Ahhhhh, you should see her. She's a black Suzuki Intruder 750. Right now, she's on loan to a buddy who is in the process of getting his full license. It works for us because he gets the experience under his belt that he needs, he exercises her for me so nothing siezes up unexpectedly and we get a little extra room in our garage for our other machines.

Ahem! Yes, there are others. Hubby rides a Ducati 900SS. One day, he'd love to get a 916 or 998, but that's not going to happen for a while yet. Then, of course, there are the off-road vehicles. A pair of dirt bikes for hubby (I'm not sure why he needs two of them), a quad for the dirt that doubles as a snow plow in the winter and a wee dirt bike for kiddy number one. He's outgrown that one now, so something tells me that we'll be adding another pony to our paddock and handing this one down to kiddy number two.

Oh, yeah! The kids! I guess you'll be wanting to hear a little about them, huh? Well, there's kiddy number one - we'll call him MiniMe, since he's the spitting image of his father. MiniMe is now six years old and attending school full time. I'm hoping he'll be the scholar of the two and will grow up to be a doctor or lawyer or something so he can support us in our old age. Kiddy number two - we'll call him Trouble (don't forget the capital T) - is two years old and a whole lot of fun. One of my brothers bought him a little drum set for his second birthday. I have no idea what I did to inspire such hatred. At any rate, it's opened up a whole new world for Trouble, who I'm pretty sure is going to be a musician. Lucky me.

And then there's the dog. Let's call her Wile E., since the whole world thinks she looks like a coyote. She's a pound puppy, adopted at twelve weeks old. She'll be two this coming April. As far as we can tell, she's a Border Collie/German Shepherd mix, spayed (because I'm a good, responsible dog owner) and microchipped. She' been through three levels of obedience training and two levels of agility training, which is when the money ran out. She's so great at agility, though, that I hope to get back into it once business picks up.

That's me in a nutshell - a really large, elaborate nutshell. Hope you enjoyed my first post. Hope to see you back here some time!