Marketing Mishap

Here's a rather disturbing advertisement for Kinder Surprise Eggs from the UK. It aired in the 1980s and was pulled, obviously I think, because it scared children. Middle Child found this one.

Another Reason Why Mumma Hates Lego

I hadn't been this knocked out by a cold in probably 10 years. I even missed two of my five weekly exercise classes, which, if you really know me, would indicate how truly awful I was feeling.

I even had to go to the emergency on Thursday. No, it wasn't for me. Just before bedtime (why is it always then?!?), the kids had a great idea to play Super Hero Tooth Decay Fighters while they were getting ready. On his way to the bathroom to get his toothbrush, Baby Boy ran through his room, strewn with his brother's dirty laundry. I've been after that kid to tidy up now for a week. Well, he tripped jumping over a hard container of Lego and fell face-first into the Lego pieces that were spilled out on the floor. And he cut up his face badly.

One cut on his right cheekbone was in need of stitches so while Middle Child guiltily picked up his bedroom mess, I piled Baby Boy in the car and took him to our little hospital. It may not have every diagnostic equipment, but I've never had to wait long and they've always fussed over the kids, making them feel very comfortable.

Baby Boy was coddled immediately upon arrival, which he ate with a spoon. He was given his choice of stickers to put on his admitting ID bracelet ("SpongeBob, please!"). He was carried to the cot in the observation room and was given a warm blanket, fresh from the dryer. Even the attending physician redid the two stitches because she initially didn't like the way it sealed. He was given a topical anesthetic so Baby Boy didn't flinch one bit. At the end of it all (10 pm, waaay past his bedtime which was part of the charm), he was given two huge stickers and a banana popsicle.

"This was the best day EVER!" he announced when we were driving home.

Send In the Clowns

Get this: my MOTHER dyed my hair on Saturday. Granted, I've always trusted my hair care to my mum (she missed her calling, I swear) but what makes this unique is that Mum dyed it that purplish tone I've been trying out. I know she hates it. I know she hates that it's killing my hair. But she still did it, and did an awesome job, too.

She also rearranged Daughter's bedroom furniture (another of my mum's hobbies) to make way for an antique three-way mirrored vanity that belonged to my Aunt F. Daughter woke up completely disoriented. Will I go to mommy jail if I tell you it was kinda funny watching her get out of bed when I woke her?

Cheeses Love the Little Children

I came back after picking Daughter up from Girl Guides last night (anyone want to buy those fricking cookies at $4 a box? Email me!) I found Husband on the phone with his mother. Meanwhile, Baby Boy was reading his new pop-up book while eating a huge chunk of cheddar the size of my palm.

Needless to say, the poor kid is really plugged today.

I don't blame Husband. It's almost impossible to talk with his mother. There are too many subjects that aren't to be touched, and the topics that CAN be discussed can give anyone a headache ("The current government is a paradigm for a military-enforced racist, patriarchal, homophobic society." "Oh... I had the best pie the other day!"). No, Husband needed all his wits in order to concentrate on the mine field that is a mother-son chit-chat.

I think I have some dates and figs in my pantry.

Starry-Eyed Surprise

I crave spontaneity and I so seldom get it. So when my weekends are a crap-shoot, I usually am all ready to start the new week afterward.

I thought this weekend was going to end with me resenting someone (did I write that out loud?) but after Husband put in five hours in the lab, he came home and arranged for my mum to babysit so he and I could catch a movie or something. We piled in the car and drove the two-ish hours. Middle Sister was there with her kids, so everyone was happy, except for Mum who bought bad chicken. The roast was great, though, as were the brussels sprouts until Husband broke the Pyrex my parents got for their wedding.

After dinner, Husband and I split and drove to a new theatre my dad encouraged us to go to. He also had free admission coupons. I guess so did everyone else because we couldn't find parking. So we had to take the highway to another theatre, but that one had a line-up waaaaay out the door, which wasn't moving. Fuck that, we thought. I'd sooner go catch a movie alone in my local pisspot of a theatre.

So we went to Chapters instead. And if you saw us and registered our excitement, you'd have to remember that we're from a small town where we don't have big box stores. I'm not hungry for a Wal-Mart or anything but I adore Chapters. I like the smell. I like the comfy seats where I can peruse AND drink coffee. I like the vast selection. And don't even get me going on the magazines or the stationery. I picked up a cute journal with a Margaret Keane-inspired goth girl on the cover for a whopping $4. I also bought a gorgeous J. Otto Siebold (the guy who illustrated Olive, the Other Reindeer) pop-up book of Alice in Wonderland for only $6, a very encompassing encyclopedic X-Men book for $7 because of the torn dust jacket, and a novel that, well, I just liked the cover which had this retro Latina on it. I really enjoy Mexican folk art and the book is sort of based on La Loteria. I just wanted to have it around and, surprisingly, Husband didn't object or call me pack-ratish names. He must like me these days.

Husband bought the Radiohead CD. He almost got one by Mark Knopfler but I made a face like I would have if I was watching orthopedic surgery or something.

We slept over at my parents' and spent the next day in Toronto. Husband visited people and I took my parents to the Apple Store to introduce my dad to the idea of getting a computer. We looked at an entry-model iMac. "Where's the rest of the computer?" Dad asked when I was showing him around. He couldn't believe that everything was inside the thin monitor. Actually, I think it might have made him more hesitant somehow.

After, we all met up at Baby Sister's house. The guys got all hepped up on testosterone and watched football on the HD. My mum, sister and I got all domestic and discussed baby laundry and ideas for the nursery.

We made our way back home with the kids konked out in the back so I got to listen – without complaints – to my boyfriend, George Stroumboulopoulos. Husband knows well of, but doesn't understand, my thing for Strombo. "Why can't you just lust after Brad Pitt like a normal woman?" Maybe because I'm not normal, sugar. I mean, how many judge their days by the amount of spontaneity in it? And everyone thought I'd grow up and calm down. I must be a huge disappointment to so many in my life.

Ahhh! White Noise!

The Earth is crying today. The weather is insanely mild with a reported high of 12 C today in my area (15 tomorrow). I'm going to use my time wisely and take down the Christmas lights and then all of the decorations inside. It's a hell of a job; that's why I'm writing instead of working.

I'm glad the Christmas holidays are over. It sounds awful but I'm happy to get everyone out of my hair. Husband and I got in a huuuuuuge argument after one of his throwing-out-stuff moods.

Apparently, he tossed our bassinet, which I wanted to keep partly because my grandparents gave it to me and because lots of babies slept in it. I even wrote their names in calligraphy with their birthdays and birth weight at the bottom. I was looking for it to give it to Baby Sister when Husband broke the news.

I swear, unless it's smaller than a loaf of bread (never mind a bread box), he'll toss it. I had to go to the Goodwill to buy back my crib when I found out he just donated it. It converts to a double bed, which might come in handy. It was disassembled and doesn't take up much room this way.

But you could imagine my surprise when I once saw my one and only teddy bear at the Goodwill on my occasional troll for shot glasses. My dad bought it for me on the day I was born. Teddy has been with me during all my surgeries, very lengthy hospital stays, first day of school, and was on my bed forever. Needless to say, I bought him back. Fucker.

Typical Husband, though. I wanted to discuss this like adults should and he left the house for, like, all day and most of the night. I thought for a moment that I should just pack up the kids and fuck off somewhere without a forwarding note, but two wrongs don't make a right. So I waited. And waited. Daughter picked up on the bad air and told me she was scared. Poor thing. I hope I calmed her. She gave her dad an earful the next morning, though.

But that's his way. I need to remind myself that he's from a fucked-up family. If physically running away from a problem is his way of coping or whatever, then I should count my blessings. There are worse things.

Anyway, all is fine now, I suppose. He's back to work. The kids are all in school. My exercise classes are back to their regular schedule and I am thinking that I need to take a long, hard look at myself. I should make a resolution. But will I?