All Work And No Play Makes Mommy Go Something Something

Poppy: It’s Not Just A Flower

I remember stalking Poppy’s blog Funny Or Snot for ages before I pulled on my meat curtains of steel and left an actual comment.

You see, I had to leave something witty, something jaw dropping, something so funny that she’d crap out the back of her spandex pants.

Because Poppy spins funny in every single line she writes.

I couldn’t just leave a “LOL” comment.

So I waited for the perfect moment to drop the word penis.

And she responded.

And I died.

I love Poppy because she leaves no stone unturned.

You think it but she writes it.

If she doesn’t make you laugh then you must not have a soul.

Kidding.

No I’m not.

And her son Hank…

There are no words for Hank.

Well except awesome and helmet and streaking.

I’m so honoured to have her here today.

Please Welcome Poppy.

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I think Kimberly is one of the funniest women in the blogosphere. She reminds me of someone else I think is funny. Kimberly is the younger, prettier, Canadian version of me.

Consider the evidence:

We both like sexy sexy lingerie – She has her pajama pants that she likes to lounge in for a week. I too rotate through a couple of favorites. I l have named them, “I have a headache” and “Don’t fucking touch me.”

We both like to dress up – We both host annual Halloween parties as an excuse to make others join us and always have the best costumes. The first post I ever read here, was a picture of Kimberly rocking some serious gold spandex pants. The thing is, she has worn those bad boys on more than one occasion. If I were lucky enough to score a pair of gold spandex pants, I would treasure them too.

We Married For The Bone – The funny bone. Both of our husbands have great senses of humor and while they are both abused a bit on our blogs, can more than hold their own. There is nothing more attractive than a quick wit. When Kimberly posts dialogue of Shawn responding to her question about his best friend, “What’s he got that I don’t”?” and he responds, “balls.” I know despite the age gap, we would make great couples friends.

We Both Have Medicinal Get out of BJ Cards – So Kimberly has me beat by a mile on this one. My self diagnosed TMJ is not exactly a serious problem and Kimberly would probably offer a few courtesy BJ’s in exchange for her chronic pain. I would never want to be insensitive to her situation by saying something stupid like “it could be worse” or “I knew a friend who…..,” Universally, though, the certified gold card she has is coveted. She could sell that thing on eBay.

We Both Have Adorable Little Boys – Kimberly’s Chunky is a little bit younger than my Hank, but they appear to be matched for mischief. If we had a play date, we would have to remove the duct tape, matches, and lighter fluid from the premise.

When Kimberly posted a recent Vlog her mannerisms reminded me a lot of myself. She could be the little sister I never had. Kimberly, are you 100% sure who your father is? My dad always wore a maple leaf on his t-shirt. Wait, that may have been a marijuana leaf. Either way, I’d love to take you under my big sister umbrella and teach you how to spell ~~facking~~ fucking

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I have no idea what she’s fucking talking about. I don’t swear!

You can find Poppy on her blog Funny Or Snot, on twitter, on facebook, on Pinterest, and writing for Aiming Low

Yea, that hooker gets around.

Chunky’s Smile Says It All

There is no way to be a perfect mother,
and a million ways to….

~Jill Churchill

Opening The Door

There are no words to describe how much I am in love with Galit from These Little Waves.

She is a brilliant writer.

She inspires me to think outside the box and to be more observant of my surroundings; bring words to life by giving readers the full experience of feeling, smelling, tasting the exact moment she is writing about.

Every post she writes is simply breath taking.

I am so honoured to have her here today sharing her beautiful story.

Please welcome Galit.

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She’s too tall to stand, she has to sit in front of me now.

Her head tilted forward, her bare neck peeking through the glittering cocoa locks splayed on her shoulders.

A wince here or there letting me know which brushstrokes are too strong.

I pull one strand over the other, sweeping my girl’s waves in an age old mothering move.

I wrap a hair tie at the very end, twisting it tightly in place. She looks in the mirror, smiling at her own reflection.

Our matching eyes meet.

Noting the bite of my lip and the crinkle of my forehead, she asks, “What’s the matter, Mom?”

“Nothing.” I answer, before she even finishes her question, brushing away a different kind of moment.

***

I wear my heart on my sleeve.

You always know if I have worries or sads or mads swirling inside. This is my best and worst trait wrapped neatly within one mystifying bow.

But when my children ask what’s on my mind, knowing with every fiber of their sensitive beings, that there is, indeed, something there, I close my heart’s door to them – every single time.

***

Another day, my girl makes her entrance known.

Her stride is wide as her footsteps pound into beige carpet, each one announcing her bad day.

Mid afternoon sun slides into the room, glowing in her background.

I look up to see the scowl on her lips and the sad in her eyes that I already knew would be there.

I open my arms wide and pull her close from my spot on the bed. From this angle, she still fits here.

Nestling my chin on the top of her head, I ask, “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.” She answers, without even the slightest wait or pause or breath.

Door closed.

***

And I note this as I tuck her into me a titch tighter. Inadvertently, I’ve taught her well.

And if I want her door to open, I have to open mine first.

(I’m working on it.)

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Isn’t she amazing?

You can follow Galit on her blog These Little Waves, on Twitter and on Facebook

Secret Mommy-hood Confession Saturday – For The Moms

There was a time when I felt like the worst Mom in the universe.

I couldn’t breastfeed.

I couldn’t soothe his colic.

I couldn’t handle taking care of the house and dinner and showering all the while taking care of him.

I couldn’t make it throughout my day without having a meltdown.

I couldn’t wait until my husband came home so that I could throw my son in his arms so that he could get all the love that I couldn’t give him throughout the day.

I couln’t stop thinking that I had made a mistake.

I couldn’t stop feeling so badly for this beautiful healthy boy with the biggest brown grey eyes that could melt the hardest of hearts, for getting stuck with me.

A horrible Mother.

I can’t remember exactly when those thoughts dissipated and I started to slip comfortably into the shoes of Motherhood that my postpartum depression and anxiety illness fought so hard against.

Gradually I fell in love with my new role and with a real live tangible part of my heart and soul…

My son.

I hate that I went through what I did. I missed out on so many memories and milestones and snuggles and giggles.

But there is so much more time that I can make up for and that makes my heart gratefully happy.

While I still have moments when I feel like a horrible Mom (what Mom doesn’t?), they are fleeting.

And sometimes I need that snippet of validation that I’m doing a good job, like yesterday.

Yesterday, Chunky said to me “Momma, can you play with me?”

I nodded my head yes and picked up an “army dude” figurine.

His head snapped back and he shouted, “No Momma! Not that one. This one.”

He handed me another “army dude” with a giant smile on his face.

“This one is my favourite one Momma just like you. You’re my favourite. You get the good one.”

Favourite.

3 years ago, I never thought I’d be where I am today.

I’m reaching out to all my warrior Mom’s today fighting postpartum depression and anxiety this Mother’s Day.

Please keep kicking ass every single day.

It will be worth every tear, every scream, every moment that you wish it were over.

This?

Is the best thing that will ever happen to you.

Please fight.

And to all the Momma’s, my sweet Momma’s, know that I acknowledge your struggles too. This is the hardest job on the face of this planet. We are all in this TOGETHER.

Happy Mother’s Day.

I encourage you to head on over to Postpartum Progress site tomorrow. Every hour a new letter will be posted by a Mother. These letters offer support, hope, and so much inspiration. I look forward to it every year. So please stop by and read.

xoxoxo

Canadians? Evil? What Are You Talking Aboot?

Megan, Megan, Megan, where do I start with Megan?

If you don’t know who Megan is, she is the creative genius behind the hilarious blog Best Of Fates which is like a running commentary of all the things you think about only she says it.

With lots of mustaches.

And forrest animals.

Awkward is her middle name.

I puffy heart Megan to the moon and beyond and I’m so excited that she’s here to talk about her conspiracy theory about us Canadians.

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Admittedly, I know very little about Canada.

But I know enough to know it’s home to a vast, interconnected network of evil masterminds and super villains.

(Stick with me on this.)

They may put on a face of excessive politeness and extreme doughnut fondness, but if you look closer, you’ll see the mechanisms of evilness working in the background.

At great risk to myself and my loved ones, I’ve previously spoken out about Canada and their moose and ax hoarding ways, and thanks to my (if I do say so myself) fearless charge of truth, I’ve had a certain document passed along to me.

A secret document.

A document they don’t want you to know about.

(They refers, as it always does, to Canadians.)

(Well, it sometimes refers to pirates.)

(But usually to Canadians.)

Receiving a whispered phone call, I spared no thought to my safety and gave only fleeting consideration to the status of my trench coat, hightailing it to a

deserted parking garage, where I was handed a large, burlap-wrapped bundle from a man known only as Maple Throat.

Unable to resist the temptation, and a bit bored at a stoplight, I tore into the package, discovering beneath the burlap a large manila folder.

Inside the manila folder was a an envelope made of bubble wrap.

Taking a brief popping break, I continued my package deconstruction, ripping apart the once-proud bubble envelope and discovering inside it a Lisa Frank notebook.

Obviously this treasure must hold only the most top-secret of Canadian secrets.

(Which I deduced by the large “Top Secret – And That Means You!” sticker adhered above the unicorn’s head.)

Inside the notebook, there is a handwritten list that confirmed all my darkest Canadian fears.

Titled, “Operation World Takeover, Plan B, Eh (Assuming Celine Dion doesn’t come through with Plan A),” it then lists the four steps Canada must take to achieve world domination.

(Pause for gasps of horror.)

I warn you, the plans I’m about to share will come as a shock, both in reading them and their implementation.

But I hope that if I pass them along to you, maybe, just maybe, we might be able to stop the Canadian juggernaut of evil and join with the rest of the world to fight for our freedom.

So come along, and be wery wery quiet, we’re hunting the greatest game of them all.

(Canadians.)

“Step 1: ACT NICE”

Tricky.

Very, very tricky.

“Step 2: HOARD ENTIRE PLANET’S SUPPLY OF MOOSE, GLACIERS, AND MEN WHO CAN PULL OFF FUNNY HATS”

I fear they’re very close to placing a little beaver sticker next to this step.

(Canadians use beavers instead of stars in their achievement stickers, as they’re bitter they’ve yet to make a galaxy domination plan come to fruition.)

“Step 3: SET OFF BALLISTIC MAPLE SYRUP MISSILES AIMED TOWARD ALL THE NATIONS’ CAPITALS, MAKING THE WHOLE WORLD STICKY AND FAR TOO SLOW-MOVING TO REACT”

You’ve gotta give it to those Canadians, they may be evil, but they’re quite ingenious.

“Step 4: TAKE OUR RIGHTFUL PLACE ON OUR ICE THRONES AS THE INTERNATIONAL, HOCKEY-LOVING RULERS WE ARE”

So there you have it – the process by which we shall one day all bow down to Jim Carrey and start saying “aboot.”

I hope you can sleep well tonight, cherishing the last few days of freedom that remain.

Megan

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I have no idea what she is talking aboot eh.

You can follow Megan on her blog Best Of Fates on Twitter, and on Facebook

Poppy: It’s Not Just A Flower

Chunky’s Smile Says It All

Opening The Door

Secret Mommy-hood Confession Saturday – For The Moms

Canadians? Evil? What Are You Talking Aboot?

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