Because the weather here has been so crummy the last few days, Elise and I have been hanging out in our pyjamas since Sunday night. I believe that's a total of 40 hours pyjama-time so far (not counting bathing). If all goes as planned, and we don't change into "real clothes" until before we go to story time on Wednesday morning, we'll have each logged 60 hours in our pyjamas. That rocks on so many levels.
That's not to say being a stay-at-home mom is easy. I mean, there's getting the bon-bons out of the cupboard, opening the bon-bons, chewing and swallowing the bon-bons, picking up the remote to turn the TV on, deciding which "Judge" show to watch... the list is endless.
Actually, right now my favourite entertainment is to watch the weather people practically crap themselves when they see the tiniest bit of frozen precipitation. "Ice, Julie, ice! Did you see it? If you look reeeeeeally closely, you can see it forming on the ground. Damn, it seems my warm breath just melted it. Oh well, back to you in the studio."
I "heart" your show, I really, really do. But I need to get one thing through to you. I know that a lot of people who watch your show are nerdly crazies (and I say that with absolute fondness), who troll your Lost-related websites, know John Locke's middle name, and can probably correctly tell you what how many times Jack and Kate have kissed, or almost kissed (and probably yell "ewwww, girl cooties" when it happens).
But there is another faction of your loyal viewers who are like me. Their days are filled with many things; be it a stressed-filled job out in the real world, or chasing a toddler who has managed to get her hands on your grocery coupons and is gleefully throwing them around the room. Sometimes, they even do both. What I'm trying to say is that by the end of the day, we lack the mental capacity to keep up with your plot twists, turns, and loop-de-loops.
When I wander into my bathroom, I usually cannot remember what I am there for (although the options are rather limited), so how on earth am I supposed to follow the plot-lines of 8 different characters in your season premier? What has it been, like three years since last season's episode? I'm amazed I can even remember the dog's name.
All I ask is this, adhere to the KISS principal... Keep it Simple, Stupid. At least some of your loyal viewers will be thankful. And for the love of all that is holy, please tell us what happened to Walt.
People have asked us when we're going to stop taking daily pictures of Elise. We really don't have an answer to that. Although I can't really see myself calling her from the nursing home (that she'll presumably put us in as payback for the daily pictures), telling her she needs to stop the brain surgery she's in the middle of and come on over because I have the background all set up. Is wanting your child to become a doctor too common of a desire? How about she becomes the star forward and leading scorer on earth's premier inter-galactic soccer team, and single-handedly helps the team to win the Universe Cup against Mars. Slash doctor. Because face it, athletes need a fall-back career.
Anyway, it seems, yet again, I've wandered a bit far afield. We'll most likely stop when she becomes stronger than me and can wrestle me to the ground; stealing the camera and burying it where it cannot be found. I believe that is the scenario running through her head in this picture... "Lady, just you wait."
My Christmas tree is still up. Is that bad? I keep hoping that one morning I'll come downstairs and the Christmas elves will have put everything away... but it never happens. Stupid, lazy Christmas elves. I guess it's time to put the rat poison out.
I just realized that this was going to be my 150th post. If posts were measured in years, it would be my Sesquicentennial. I really like that word, although I'd be hard-pressed to pronounce it correctly. In dog posts, it would be post number 1050.
So to celebrate, I thought I'd unpack 150 things about me. No, just kidding. Even I couldn't stand to read that list. But I did think it would be fun to list 10 strange and quirky things about me. It's just Joanne being Joanne.
1. I cannot sleep with a closet door open. Seriously, it freaks me out. You can blame it on Stephen King's short story "The Boogeyman" that I read when I was 12 and home alone. Because a friend of my older brother who I had a crush on told me to. Sigh, the things we do when we're young, impressionable and in love.
2. I can't wear shirts with only one pocket. It has to be two (which I'm not a huge fan of either), or none. It makes me feel unbalanced. Shirts with unsymmetrical designs are not a favourite either.
3. I prefer not to eat the ends of stuff... chicken strips, french fries, crust off of toast; you get the idea. It sure makes Fred happy when we eat Chick-fil-a.
4. I cannot sleep with socks on. My feet need to breathe at night.
5. I go through the grocery store the same way every time. Going the opposite way makes me feel all out of sorts; like I'm driving on the wrong side of the road. I tried it once to prove that I could, and while I was able to do it, I sure didn't like it.
6. Don't ever make me go to bed without flossing my teeth. I would be up all night, tossing and turning while freaking out about the colonies of bacteria that were growing between my teeth; eating away at the enamel. Clean teeth and no socks is the ONLY way I go to bed. And don't forget to close the closet door.
7. We hardly ever use a debit/credit card when we eat out at restaurants, but when we do, and I fill out the slip, I always have to make it so the price of the food plus the tip come out to a rounded amount; like $25. Fred assures me that this isn't so weird, but I've never known anyone else that does it.
8. Those Charles Schwab commercials with the people that are drawn to look like actual people, but aren't really, freak me out. In fact, animation like the Incredibles freaks me out too. It's something about the way the character's mouths move when they talk.
9. I know a lot of people like to have the cash in their wallet have all the bills facing the same way; smallest to largest, and while I agree with them on 50% of this, my bills have to be stacked largest to smallest. I don't even understand why you would do it the other way. It's just plain weird.
10. I would like to be able to do this, because I enjoy listening to music, but I can't stand to have those ear-bud things in my ears when I'm out walking. I'm one of those strange people who want to hear the car before it runs me over. While we're on the subject of earphones, if I'm using the over-the-ear kind, I have to have one on and one off (the other sits behind my ear). And now that I think about it, the one that's off, always has to be the right one. This one comes from working in radio. At least I have one reason for some of the weird things I do.
While that's not a complete list, I think it's enough for now. In fact, it was probably a little too much. Oh well, now your brain cells are stuck with it!
I was at Costco the other day and had stopped by their blu-ray section. I was, as per Fred's instructions "on the look-out for cheap blu-ray movies". By cheap, I presume he meant inexpensive, and not poorly made. As someone who never paid more than about $7.50 for DVDs, I wasn't sure what his definition of "cheap" was.
While I was browsing the titles, I noticed Elise had grabbed one. "What do you have there?" I asked her. She showed me; The Fugitive.
"So you're a Harrison Ford fan, are you?" She responded by planting a big, wet one right on Harrison's face.
(aside from the fact that I was there when they sliced my belly open and took her out).
Tonight while I was preparing Elise's supper, I had my Ipod playing as I usually do. I heard a noise behind me, so I turned around to see Elise clapping her hands and stomping her foot to a Paperboys tune (they're an awesome Vancouver band - a mix of Celtic, bluegrass, folk, latin, and more). She saw me watching her, smiled and started spinning around.
Rockin' dance moves and great taste in music... Yup, that's MY daughter!
Why do I even bother?” I grumbled to myself. It was a freezing 36 degrees (that's 3 degrees C for you fellow metrics out there) out, and I had stopped on an incline and was trying in vain to stop the stroller from rolling down the hill with my darling 16 month old daughter in it. Seven, my dog, had just deposited her latest fragrant offering on a neighbour's lawn and I was stooped over, trying not to breathe in as I picked it up with my scented poopie bag. Which, by the way, does nothing to mask the scent of the poop. Rather, it now just smells like baby power poop.
I was grumbling because picking up said poop was really too much of a hassle. And besides, judging from the 4 or 5 other piles scattered throughout the grass like little poopie colonies, I could tell no one else bothered. But pick up that poop I did. Just like every other time my dog decided to drop some kids off on the lawn. Why? Because it's disgusting to just leave it there for everyone to see, or gulp, even step in. It's a duty (heh, doodie) that I took on when I became a dog owner, and just because other people don't, doesn't give me the all clear to shirk my, ahem, doodie duty. And well, this crazy universe, being the way it is, would probably find some way to make sure I was the one who stepped in it.
I have my own little messes that I refuse to pick up and I end up stepping in them more ofter than not. Rage, jealousy, gossip, and laziness are just a few. And they lay scattered about the lawn of my life in plain view, yet I don't take the time to scoop them up and throw them away in the trash where they belong.
I stepped in rage just the other day when my dog went tearing down the street after a squirrel and almost got hit by a car. After I went and retrieved her, dragging her back by the scruff of her neck, I proceeded to scream at her and smacked her on the butt a bunch of times for good measure. When I was done with my not-so-little tirade, I looked down and saw my poor, sweet dog, quivering and afraid. Because of me. It breaks my heart that I lost control, and now gaining back her trust will take a thousand times longer than it did to lose it.
I step in laziness all the time. When laundry piles up and instead of sorting through it, I sit on the couch and read. Or I get on the Internet and waste my time away. I tell myself that I deserve a break, I work hard and need to rest. And that's true, until I look up at the clock and almost two hours have gone by. Elise is now up from her nap, and I guess Fred won't have clean socks for work tomorrow.
I have to scrape jealousy from my shoe every time I compare myself to another person. Her house is bigger than mine. She always looks so well put together, I wish I had style like that. Their car is newer than ours. Ugh, I hate it! A friend once told me that comparison breeds contempt, and boy can I be contemptuous.
And gossip can be some of the nastiest mess to clean up. Because it affects other people. You're not the only one stepping in it, but you're smearing it all over others by gossiping to, or about, them. I know the hurt that is caused by someone talking (or worse, spreading lies) about you. So why do I roll around in the very mess that makes me sick?
If I can make the effort to clean up after my dog, then I need to start cleaning up my messes too. Hopefully I can find a scented poopie bag that is big enough.
We call this look, "The Popeye". It's just one of the many, many expressions that Elise has in her arsenal. Also known as the "Stink Eye". She usually pulls it out when she's unhappy with us for some reason.
Like when we take her picture for about the 129,714th time.
I just realized I haven't posted one of these in awhile, so here's the official explanation:
For those of you unsure what the Daily Picture Reject is: Fred and I take a daily picture of Elise. Rather, I do. This is not because we are prepping our daughter for a life as a super model. It is simply a way to hold onto memories as time slips by at ultra-sonic speed. It's also pretty cool to see how much she has changed in 487 days. After I take the picture, I email it to Fred, who then posts it on his website. It usually takes about 10 to 15 shots to get just the right picture. I am not what you would call a stellar photographer, so about 25% of those are completely unusable. Then there are always one or two that crack me up, but aren't suitable for the daily picture. Hence, the Daily Picture Reject!