Is it weird that I just described a 65 year old’s body as ‘banging’?

Anyway, enough about her. This is about me. Me and my grey hair. Make that me and my grey HAIRS.

Last year when I turned 34, I looked through my head and found approximately 8 grey hairs. When you consider my parentage, I was damn happy and almost superhuman to have so few. But something happened between then and now. Something so frightening that I had Lee take a photo and couldn’t actually bring myself to share it with you all.

They’re EVERYWHERE! On the sides, in the front, in the middle, and luckily I don’t really have eyes in the back of my head because I can guarantee there’d be some there too.

I know that this isn’t a massive deal. I mean, I’ve already come to terms that we might have to start taking Amy and Noah to the salon when they reach 9 and 10 because they’re fighting an uphill battle now. But I am still scared. Do I embrace it (apparently my momma says I shouldn’t) and be proud of my silver foxiness or do I continue to hide beneath a petri dish of chemicals and colours a little while longer? If so, do I go back to highlights to let me live the lie longer between touch ups?!

Hello, this is important business here! I almost wish I had short hair so that I could just let it grow and not worry. Then the poor midgets would have everyone at school thinking they lived with their grandparents (no offence Mr. Clooney… err Lee)

But really, can it be that bad to just let nature take its course? It seems to work for Helen Mirren. And okay, I don’t her genetics facially or ‘banging bodily’, but still. I am a lazy person. A cheap, lazy person. I’m only fooling myself if I think I can escape the glaringly grey reality for too much longer.

While I figure out which route to take, I’ll be at the salon on Saturday giving myself a little while longer before I decide who wins in the battle of Vanity v Lazy.

What I wouldn’t give right now to be a 3 year old whose biggest decision is whether to take off some of his clothes or all of his clothes whilst he pretends to be a polar bear.

I am an addict.  I have been for years.  I’ve attempted to hide my addiction, but I feel like I can no longer be true to myself without admitting my shameful secret.  We all have our vices and some are worse than others.  I’d like to think that mine is not so bad.  At least that is what I thought until recently.  Until the four of us were walking through a parking lot and I had to talk myself out of approaching some strangers to ask if they could help me get a quick fix.  You see, right on the table in front of them was what I craved and they didn’t seem to be in any hurry to use the goodness that they had.

That’s right; I am addicted to McDonald’s Monopoly.

It’s sad, but true.  In fact, we went to the Golden Arches for dinner last week as a treat for the midgets and they took so long they offered us free ‘desserts’ (can you really call what’s on offer there dessert?).  Without discussion I told Lee that we needed 4 McFlurries. He didn’t question this and went up and procured our freebies.  When he came back to the table he offered me up two flavours (Crunchie or Creme Egg in case you were wondering).  It was at this point that I confessed that I didn’t actually want a McFlurry, but they were the only desserts that came with McDonald’s Monopoly game pieces.

I was almost ashamed.  Almost.  And when we walked outside and I saw the two men casually chatting whilst their game pieces went untouched on their drinks, the urge to reach over and help myself was almost overbearing.  But I talked myself out of it.  I mean if I had gone and won the half million, there’d definitely be some sort of fight and why would I want to share my riches with two fools who weren’t ever going to use the game pieces anyway.

But then we had to walk over the pedestrian crossing in the drive-thru lane and there was the backing of two game pieces tempting me by my feet.  I didn’t know what to do.  Do I embarrass my whole family and get down on the ground to see if someone had left behind the the key that unlocked our future – or at least a weekend away courtesy of Last Minute dot com?  Do I try and convince Lee that I need him to go back and get the piece for me once we get to the car?  No, instead I just tried to kick it nonchalantly in hopes that it would flip over and show me if they were doubles or if they were much needed tickets to a winners wonderland.

And as I looked down to see what I had revealed, tears welled up in my eyes.  Not tears of shame.  Not tears of joy.  Tears of futility. All I had done was move the pieces a grand total of three inches.  I didn’t even give myself a peek.

It was at this point that I went to Lee to confess how dirty I felt.  How I was struggling not to run back and pick it up .. just in case.  He tried to comfort me by saying that they were likely just the backings and that there were no game pieces attached.  Sure, I guess that could be an option, but we’ll never know.  In fact, all I know is that somewhere behind a curtain with the Wizard of Oz sits Ronald McDonald, Mayor McCheese and Grimace and they are all having a huge laugh at my expense.

But I’ll show them.   This year I’ll make sure we actually cash in on all of our freebies.  Even the nasty apple pies.

 

And no, this is no April Fools joke.

It was a chilly Tuesday afternoon, that 4th of January was. I was on the phone with my Momma and aunt (as I am every single day around noon) whilst I fed and dressed the midgets and got Noah ready for school. As we were getting our coats on there was a knock at the door. This always leads me to a fork in the road. Do I actually acknowledge that I heard the knock or do I tell the midgets that we are going to play a game where we all freeze and pretend we aren’t there.

Unfortunately, Amy decided to open the door and blew the second option out of the window.

So hear were two people with a mic and a camera at my door asking about the lack of garbage pick up in our area and whether they could talk to me about how outraged I was about it all. Only I wasn’t outraged, just wondered when the heck they were going to pick up the garbage since we hadn’t had seen a garbage truck since pre-Christmas. But since Lee is a master garbage putter-outter, they really wanted to film our garbage and begged for me to talk to them.

Ugh. I caved. Got off the phone and left my Momma and aunt wondering what the eitch ee double hockey sticks was going on and stepped outside. We talking for a long time about the disorganisation, the lack of communication, the fact that people didn’t want to take it off the curb since they didn’t want to miss the trucks when they did arrive and I mentioned how my neighbour always seem up on the right day to put out the garbage when the week gets altered from holidays, etc.

They shot me actually talking and then they shot the garbage with me talking to the reporter about how I was in a rush to get Noah to school and she was all “oh, school’s started already?” and I was all “I hope so, since he hates it and is traumatised as it is that he is going there today”. She said “we’ll be on channel 3 at 6pm” and she went to look for more suckers and I hopped in the car to get Noah to school.

Only she was right and there was no school. Luckily, they were far enough down the street by the time I came back in a state of embarrassment that they didn’t see all three of us get out of the car again. I kicked my tire because had I realised school started on the Thursday (who starts on a Thursday?!?!), then the front door wouldn’t have been unlocked and I wouldn’t have had messy wet hair, no makeup and dressed in layers to make me look like the Stay Puff Marshmallow Man, when Amy opened the door.

On the other hand, Lee’s artistic garbage display masterpiece also wouldn’t have been the photo behind the anchors/presenters for the lead story on the 6pm news. Oh yes, our garbage is famous.

Trash Talking

The Garbage on your left... totally ours!

And Noah’s arm made it on to tv too.

Garbage Chic

We're going to be famous!!!

Lee will be handing out garbage stocking tips each Wednesday morning out front.  Noah and I are available for Weddings, Bar Mitzvahs and Conventions.

Please do not come here thinking that I am going to teach you how to make the best birthday cake ever. Please do not mistake yourself by thinking that I am the new Duff and I will be the Queen of Cakes. In fact, I’m more the Joker.

But as Luca and Noah’s 2nd birthday party creeps up on us, I am determined to make them a cake from scratch. The problem here? I’ve never made a cake from scratch before, let alone shape one or decorate it. I’ve never coloured icing, or rolled it out or attempted to cover said shaped cake with this fragile confectionery product.

With my Logic Advisor by my side, however, I managed to pull off something alright. The cake itself – AWESOME. Even after the panic that the batter looked like scrambled eggs or dough. Even after the panic that the dough smelled of bacon. Even after my serious lacking in scissor skills showed itself and the Logic Advisor was called in to rescue my pathetic attempt at a circle. The cakes – that’s right .. PLURAL – made their way into the oven and came out tasting like someone who knew what they were doing had been at the helm.

Baked Cakes

Bakes Cakes

While the cakes baked, I have the also completely foreign task of kneading icing and then colouring it – we were going for Numberjack 2 Orange. Let me start by saying that I attempted to “colour” some of the cookies I made at Christmas. Instead of being red or even pink, they came out looking like they were simply overcooked. So to turn something orange was a feat I took on with little hope and great fear. For a while there I thought that I was going to end up with a tie-dye iced cake. But perseverance and encouragement from the Logic Advisor led to a suitably orange product. Not the blinding orange I was after, but something I was content with.

Orange Icing - not Velveeta

Orange Icing - not Velveeta

From a honking ball of dough, I somehow needed a nice and thin sheet to drape over the cakes. This took me a while to master as I didn’t have the perfect surface space to work with and my rolling pin was a £1 Tesco special that would stick to Teflon. However, I rolled and rolled and scrunched it all up and rerolled and it came out looking quite alright, if I do say so myself.

The thinnification of icing

The thinnification of icing

Unfortunately at this juncture, the Logic Advisor and myself were faced with two unexpected and unhelpful obstacles in the shape of midgets. It should have been obvious that things were running too smoothly and something had to happen to throw us off piste.

So as we settled the littlest midget and got her back to sleep, we decided to allow the larger to sit in the kitchen while we attempted to finish the practice cake. With the assistance of the stencil the Logic Advisor roughly sketched, it came time to shape the cakes. Now I don’t even like cutting the cake at a birthday party and didn’t enjoy the cutting of the cake at our wedding because when it comes to precision hand eye coordination, I am not ashamed to say, I completely lack this skill. But with the guidance of the stencil and the Logic Advisor easing my fears, I managed to produce a rough 2 shape (in the photo it is ‘painted’ with jam to help adhere icing).

Two into 2

Two into 2

With the time delay, the icing was no longer a willing participant in this project and my once pliable friend was starting to stick and tear and crack. So I just threw it over to see if without my obstacles, might I be able to pull this off.

At very least...its a two and tasty!

At very least...it's a two and tasty!

Yes, it looks messy and some horrible patch jobs show, but it was 20 past 12 on a school night and I just wanted my bed. I do believe that I could do it nicely on the real go round, however I cannot wrap my head around how sweet the icing is, so am debating doing more of a buttercream frosting instead.

Now, I feel I must go and eat some cake scraps. Holy tasty cake!

The fear in a child’s eyes when they are lost is heartbreaking to see. The panic on the face of a parent who cannot find their child is one which can be felt by a stranger walking by.

I’ve always heard that you will lose your child, whether for 1 minute or more and that it will be the scariest thing that I can go through.

Well, today I lost Noah. It wasn’t even for a minute, but the panic set in. Where did he go?! He was just there!! My heart was in my throat.

Only we weren’t in public.

In fact, we were in our house. In the bathroom. Specifically, in the shower.

That’s right, I lost my son in the shower. One minute he was standing there brushing his teeth and singing and then all of a sudden there was quiet and I couldn’t see him. I looked down and ..no Noah. I looked behind me (the best that I could) and .. no Noah. Then all of a sudden he pops out of nowhere, singing and brushing his teeth like nothing had happened.

Popped out of where you might ask? He was hidden under my bump. It turned from one of the most frightening moments of my life into one of the most depressing.

See Momma, I told you that I was trying to be more flexible!

get on your truck

Bend it like... something

Though being shaped like a Weeble doesn’t help.

Before you say it, I already know what you’re thinking, and usually you’d be right. .oO(SHE wants ME to take parenting advice from HER crazy ass?) But for today and today only, I actually have some nuggets of wisdom!!

1) When you cannot find your moisturizer, do not be tempted to use Sudocrem (diaper rash cream) instead. It’s not a pretty site. A funny one, yes. Pretty, no.

2) When taking your son or daughter for vaccines, when they start to cry after the injection just whip out a pouch of Fruitapura (pureed fruit in a Capri Sun style bag). Apparently it is magic in a packet, because Noah totally forgot about his “ouchie” and started trying to kiss me instead.

Those are the nuggets.

You may now carry on with the rest of your day and hopefully you are not trying to picture what I looked like with diaper rash cream all over my forehead.

When I got back from London I searched and searched through my suitcase and Noah’s for the only item I’d packed that was almost as important as packing my firstborn (and only) son: my tweezers.

They are not just any tweezers. These tweezers have been with me for 10 years. They have moved from apartment to apartment to apartment to condo to England and have travelled with me all over the world. Every time I go somewhere I make sure they are there upon arrival and that they are there when I return.

These tweezers even came to the hospital with me when I gave birth because there was no way I was going to leave them at home and risk Lee misplacing them and causing my world to spin off course (more than it was about to anyway).

So, back to where I started this post ….

When we returned from London I went to find my beloved tweezers. I looked EVERYWHERE. In my suitcase, in Noah’s suitcase, in the diaper bag (not sure why they’d be there, but this is me and I’ve been known to do things that are not quite normal). They were nowhere to be found. My heart dropped into my stomach, my eyes filled with tears. I’d remembered them sitting on the glass countertop in the bathroom at the hotel. I started to come up with plausible situations for their disappearance: Did housekeeping realise the find that sat there before them!? Did I knock them down the sink when I had removed the plug to get rid of the mountain of dish soap bubbles I’d created when cleaning Noah’s bottles?!

At the end of the day, it didn’t matter. They were gone. I was going to have to find a replacement. But how do you replace THE perfect pair of tweezers?! I’d bought a similar kit at The Body Shop (where my beloved pair came from) before in hopes of having TWO pairs. I should have known that you can only have one amazing pair per person. Per household even. I didn’t know what to do. I was lost. I felt like the shell of a person. The shell of a person whose eyebrows were taking on a life all their own. That was it. Poor Noah was going to have a circus freak show entry for a mother. The Lady Whose Eyebrows Ate Her Face. At least we’d be able to make a few dollars (or pounds) to keep our Stay At Home Mom thing going.

An entire week has passed since the day my universe what thrown off balance (mostly due to the uneven growth) and as I went to look in my “bling” bag for a pair of earrings before Noah and I headed off on our errands, I was poked by something. I took a closer look inside to see my beloved tweezers all wrapped up in a necklace.

We are back together again. This time, for good.

Tonight, we watched an entire movie without pressing pause once. In fact, we ate dinner before the movie and the only interruption was when Lee went to get me another corn holder thing because one of mine broke off in my corn.

Noah slept through the whole thing.

Each night he has been letting us know that he wants to go to sleep earlier and earlier. This has yet to benefit us on the other end as he also likes to rise early, but it’s something. And the Noah alarm… I can silence it a lot faster now.

I’m almost inclined to believe that a full night’s sleep may be in our future. I know I am getting ahead of myself here, but I can dream right?

For now though, I’m thrilled with what we’ve got.

Who knew that in the span of a few days I would take Noah out to socialise with other babies and mothers, go to the supermarket all by myself for a whole 45 minutes and get to sit with Lee and eat dinner and watch an entire movie undisturbed. This motherhood thing is looking up.

I almost feel guilty for feeling this good.

I do not get that many “cravings”. It has been a let down for Lee that I have not been wanting to munch on dirt or pickle ice cream. However, from the beginning of this pregnancy I have wanted to have a “pie”; pot pie to the Canadians… and it would appear just pie to the Brits. Understandably, I’ve been very scared about the whole thing. I do not normally like eating something when I cannot identify the contents, and let’s face it.. this is Mad Cow Country.

So the other night when we were at the supermarket… yes, we’ve cooked dinner every night this week! Apologies to the restaurants and take-aways of Milton Keynes. .. anyway, Lee went and sourced two non-scary looking pies so I could try one. Yesterday I was having a VERY off day and was going to make beef stew, but preferred to waste the day crying and sleeping and talking to myself. I actually prefer to spend most days like that, but I digress. Lee asked what I wanted for dinner and I said “pie, chips/fries, peas and gravy”.

When it came out of the oven it looked like.. like a pot pie. I relaxed a bit. I cut into it and noticed that the gravy was a bit congealed and thought that perhaps it was cold, but in fact it was too hot for my mouth. Confusion set in, but hunger won out and I ate the whole thing.

At two o’clock this morning I woke up and I could swear that I smelled dog food. I couldn’t understand where it was coming from until I did a spot check and realised it was me. Well my breath, not my body. I couldn’t understand how on earth that was possible.. I mean this was no normal morning breath… and then.. and then.. I remembered THE PIE.

It may be a good thing I didn’t check the ingredients on the pie before eating though it may have been wise for me to see if the brand was ALPO or Purina before eating it!

Yuck. One craving down… never to be given into again.