Progress Report #2

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!

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

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

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?

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?

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!

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

(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?

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!!!

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

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...

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

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. ;)