Tag Archives: parenting

Here I go again on my own

Quick re-cap, I blogged with a fab group of women for about a year over at imperfectlybalanced.com, and while we figure out what direction we wish to move, I’m back here, dribbling nonsense out the ends of my fingers, hoping to still find an audience.

A re-introduction to myself.  I’m a single mom to a teen-aged daughter.  I’m a do-gooder with a potty mouth.  A self-proclaimed domestic Goddess.  Often described as abrasive but likable and I think I’m hilarious.  My mind goes a mile a minute, and I often speak, tweet, Facebook, blog and text before I think at all.  Not Instagram though.  That requires a ton of thought, retakes and filters.

I’ve recently become a Team Beachbody Coach which excites me to NO END.  Needed to kick my generous, but well-shaped ass into gear for my 35th (oh god) birthday, so I’m striving to lose 35 by my 35th.

In these pages you’ll find random ramblings, rantings, recipes, trials and tribulations of an estrogen only household (a boat load of alliteration), how to deal with different dietary needs (she doesn’t eat meat, I devour it still mooing) and what it’s like to date while your child dates, because let me tell you IT’S REALLY, REALLY WEIRD.

If you have any questions about BeachBody, fire away!  If you’d like to collaborate on a blog post, suggest content, share the content, make people read me because I’m hilarious, please, please do.
Thanks!

 

Lisa


Holy MOTH’er’ Trucker

The other working blog title is “Why I need a man”

Two days ago, the kid tells me there’s ‘THE BIGGEST MOTH I HAVE EVER SEEN IN THEKITCHEN‘.

Like any good parent, I go and investigate.  12 seconds in, I can’t find it and I quit.  Moths are like ninjas, silent assassins.  Or, as one lovely man told me yesterday ‘just think of it as a grey butterfly’.  Sure, I said.  An undead Zombie butterfly.  Pft.

So last night, it’s 10:30, the kiddo is just letting the dogs out and I reach for the vertical blinds in the kitchen when OUT FLIES THE BIGGEST MOTH I HAVE EVER SEEN, except it was no longer one moth.  THERE WERE TWO.

So like any responsible adult I shriek and start laughing hysterically.  The kid is outside and she hears me and yells OH MY GOD KILL IT.

Here is how it went down:

I run to the closet, grab a broom and an oven mitt.  I don’t know what good the oven mitt will do, but it seemed like a damned good idea at the time.

K (from outside): KILL IT

Me: I’M TRYING.  IT’S DODGING ME.  IT’S GOT THE FLIGHT PATTERN OF A DEMENTED BAT.

K: *scream* THEY’RE OUT HERE TOO.  THEY’RE DIVING AT MY HEAD

Me: Get inside!

K: NO!  IT CAN CORNER ME INSIDE.  I CAN RUN HERE.

Now, keep in mind it’s 10:30 at night and all the windows are open.  Why didn’t a single neighbor come and investigate?  I’m actually anticipating a visit from the police.  And I am truly sorry for my actions.

K: CALL SEAN OR DARRYL!  CALL SOMEONE.  OH MY GOD KILL IT.

Me: SEAN IS IN TORONTO AND DARRYL…well, I was 3 minutes away from calling Darryl.  Sorry, Debbie.

At this point, one of them has found its way into the dining room and I chase hot on his tails.  He hides behind the mirror, swings rapidly around the chandelier, bobbing and weaving, taunting me with his moonlight ballet.  Finally, I clip his wing with the broom and I BEAT HIM LIKE A RENTED MULE.  He dies.

Lisa 1 Moth 0

Back to the kitchen, that stupid bastard moth flew into my light fixture.  A globe fixture, and like a boss I trap him.   And he will stay there until he dies, or someone kind-hearted like you comes and frees him.

Seriously. He’s trapped. In my light. GET HIM OUT.

 

Fun Treat!  I decided to depict the event in MS PAINT!  (note the laser eyes the moth had.  It is to scale)  Enjoy!

This is how it went down. I am a warrior.


Raising a kid is part joy and part guerilla warfare

All I ever wanted was to provide my daughter with a stable, loving family.  I often feel as though I’ve failed in that regard until this weekend.  We had our Mother’s Day celebration on Saturday, and even though I woke up feeling sick as a dog, there was no damn way I was missing it.

We started the day with home-made waffles and turkey bacon, then headed down to the forks for more tandem bike fun.

Dogged determination and fear. This sums up everything it means to be a parent. (We went over a curb)

We shot around St. B, Whittier park and The Forks before settling in at The Current for lunch.  While sitting there, laughing about our buggy adventures she stopped and said “we are closer than most moms and daughters I think. I’m glad”, and that erased all doubt.  Regardless of what happens in our lives, I have been able to show that young woman that she is my everything and she knows it.  I wish I could have encapsulated the moment.  I hope she remembers it, I know I’ll never forget it.

Heredity determines our eye colour, but our environment is what lights them up. And hers sparkle. “Now look at me, I’m sparkling. A firework, a dancing flame”.

Her enthusiasm to try new things, her devout loyalty to her friends, her belief that she can make a difference and her stubborn iron will have me in awe.  I don’t always agree with her, but I respect her ability to make well-informed thought out choices.  I see glimpses of who she is going to be, and it leaves me marveling.

When we got home from The Forks I was presented with a life-sized home-made card, funky spider necklace, BEASTIE BOYS CD and this:

Can you dig it?

She knows me.  She saved, she called my mom to take her shopping and she went with a list.  I love that kid.  We rounded out the night with a 10:00 showing of Dark Shadows, and we took her friend (like a second child to me). We got shushed, and surprisingly, not thrown out of the theatre.

Nothing says mortifying mothers day like watching 2 12 year olds giggling awkwardly at a cheesy, thinly veiled blow job innuendo joke.  I ALMOST DIED.

At midnight, we dodged about a million man-eating June bugs in the parking lot, screeching like banshees and the day came to a close.

It was perfect from head to toe.

I am blessed.  With her, I have everything I need and more.

 


Wedding crashers and child abductions: How to have the perfect Saturday

First a quick #humblebrag (Yeah, I’m hash tagging on my blog, what of it, twitter?) I’m quickly reaching 20,000 views and I just want to thank you all for reading along!  But please, comment away!  I love hearing what other people have to say!

Today’s entry is going to be a hodge-podge of information, pictures and stories ranging from wedding crashing to child abduction.  Yeah, you read that right. CHILD ABDUCTION.  Now hold the phone, you can dial 9-1-if that makes you feel better but hold off on the final 1 until you hear MY SIDE.  (I was framed)

Saturday was a gorgeous day in the ‘peg, and me and the pre-teen headed down to the Goldeyes Open House.  Beautiful weather, free eats and men in baseball pants.  Really, what more do I need?  NOTHING.

So a quick aside, for those of you who love baseball, and want to support and AMAZING CAUSE (Pancreatic Cancer research) join us on July 9th! for Strike Out Pancreatic Cancer with the Goldeyes.

Tickets are $12/ea and in section D.  The view is something like this

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email pancanmb@gmail.com for your tickets!

So after the ball game, we wandered over to crash a wedding, and the conversation went something like this:

Me: Hi!  I’m here to crash the Strank wedding

Concierge: 2nd floor ballroom.  Have fun!

Apparently, I don’t look like trouble.

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So at this point, the pre-teen is like, “can we gooooooooooooooo?” Because like any good mother, I promised her a trip to the candy train (Sugar Mountain aka the Sugar Shack) at the Forks, and the sweets were SPEAKING TO HER.

We never made it.  Well, we did.  But not before stumbling across this piece of SHEER GENIUS.  Bee 2gether bikes

Naturally, we immediately commandeered one, and tore around the forks like a couple 3-year-old holy terrors.  Look how fierce.

That’s her driving face. She’s a wild woman, and I will never let her drive a car. ever. Even if it means sacrificing my face to rabid lemmings. It isn’t happening.

I’ve relinquished control, and have my first grey hairs to prove it. We nearly took a granny out at the knees. Terror

The rest of the day was spent playing video games, eating sprinkled ice cream (because I am 9 on the inside) chasing ghosts, watching bad moons rise and abducting children.  I’m still getting to that.

They are 12 and 13. Going on 5 and 25 simultaneously. Two of the most independent thinking girls I’ve met.

Sprinkles, like a boss. I’m 9 on the inside. GENTLEMEN, THIS COULD ALL BE YOURS.

running from a gaggle of angry geese. or more realistically, we’ve threatened to drive off leaving the other one behind. There’s only room for one of you, I yelled as I scampered to the car.

or what? rumor has it, you disappear.

Bad moon rising. Was a super moon on Saturday, though no cape in sight. You can’t tell, but that thing WAS HUGE. And way awesome.

So onto the child abduction. I  took the two nearly teenaged pukes to birds hill to get a better view of the moon (it hit its fullest at 10:35 CST).

I pull into the park and find a quiet patch of grass, shut off the lights and open the sunroof to get an optimal view of the glowing orb in the sky.  The girls get outta the car and lay the seats down so they can lay flat staring up and out.  We sit around for about 30 minutes, I’m listening to them laugh and talk freely, as if I don’t exist and we decide it’s time to take off.  One problem.  Hatch won’t open from the inside.

I get out, walk around to the back and open the door.  Just as the hatch comes up, the friend leaps out like a caged animal yelling “FREE AT LAST! SHE TOOK ME!” and books it down the darkened road.

Howling with laughter, and half hoping she gets eaten by wolves, I look around nervously for the police.  Safe for now.

By the way, anyone want to go to Chicken FUCKING Bingo?

Seriously. What is this? Chicken Shit Bingo? Anyone in Oakbank knows what’s what?

 

So that was Saturday.  I didn’t even get into my Sunday, with ginger badminton, toilet scrubbing in fashionable supermom gloves, wet cat barf in a heating vent or being bum rushed by labs.

It’s an exciting existence.  I KNOW YOU WANT TO BE PART OF IT.

 

 


Stop licking the carpet

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Being a parent is glamorous, and if you have pets and no kids you can totally relate.  If you have pets and kids, you’re my kind of crazy because that shit just gets wild.

Sticking with the life is unpredictable theme, I thought it would be fun to reminisce about all the glorious, soul enriching experiences that are to be had as (fur) parents.

I didn’t know what I wanted to be when I grew up; I still don’t, but I know those fantasies looked nothing like the reality I now face.

It isn’t until a little furry or squirmy being relies on you for sustenance and existence that you fully grasp how incredible life is.

For example, it wasn’t until I had a dog that I ever even imagined that I would yell things like “STOP LICKING THE CARPET” or maybe “WE HAVE COMPANY!  LICK YOUR BALLS SOMEWHERE ELSE”.

There is the all-time crowd pleasing question of “Honey, are you farting or did the dog shit in the hall again?”

Then there’s the wild array of questions thrown at you when the kids finally learn to speak (silence IS golden.  Appreciate.)  You get to say things like, “No, snot is NOT a vegetable.  Yes, I know it’s green, it’s still NOT a vegetable” and “It only looks like chocolate.  Don’t taste it”.  If you’ve got boys, Jeebus help you, they’ll thunder out loud at the most inopportune time.  Like during silent reading time at the library.  Things like “MOMMY!  MY PENIS GETS BIGGER WHEN I PULL IT LIKE THIS!” and he WILL proceed to pull it, just like that.

You’ll sometimes feel as though you’ve dodged a bullet.  Your child, against all odds has never embarrassed you.  Never let your guard down, that’s when they strike.

Picture it, Christmas.  Holiday best attire, the finest china and all your uptight relatives gathered around the table.  You’re part way through asking Aunt Sara to pass the potatoes when you hear your little angel telling Grandma “MOMMY AND DADDY MAKE A LOT OF NOISE WHEN THEY GO TO BED AT NIGHT. WHAT DO YOU THINK THEY’RE DOING?” or if you’re really blessed “I SAW MOMMY AND DADDY WRESTLING NAKED!  IT LOOKED LIKE MOMMY WAS WINNING.  SHE WAS ON TOP”.  Please, Sarah.  PASS THE FUCKING POTATOES.

You learn to dress in black; or white depending upon what colour fur the dogs have, and what colour puke the kids have, you artistically arrange furniture and buy plants to place over the stains in the carpet, because try as you might purple-koolaid-puke-does-NOT-wash-out, you convince yourself that greasy-chic hair IS cutting edge, sleep is overrated, fashion is underrated and the various stains are just an organic new pattern.

When you have dogs and kids, it gets a little trickier.  You have to make sure that neither the child nor the dog eats the presents in the cat box, that the kid doesn’t eat the dog food, that the cat doesn’t eat the kid.  You will be sweeping, mopping, vacuuming, and sobbing on a daily basis.  There are boundaries.  The cat can go here, but not here, the dog isn’t allowed over there, and the kid must be secured in a bubble.

One day you’ll be half way to the vet and realize the kid is on the leash, the dog is in the baby carrier and the cat is driving the fucking car?

Welcome to adulthood.  Your future looks furry.


Make it count

They grow so fast, kids.  And you quickly realize the age they are now is the best age they’ve ever been.  They marvel, they question, they infuriate and they grow.  God, do they grow.

As they march into the ages of 11, 12 and 13 your life as a parent is rocked.  They may still hold your hand a time, but they are reaching with their other for freedom, for a world beyond you.  And you prepare to let go.

Cherish the little moments. Relish in every second they choose to spend with you, it won’t last; it never does.

If they rest their head on your shoulder while watching TV, breathe it in.  They will one day lift it, and your shoulder will never know it’s company again.

Life is busy, and we are selfish, thinking ‘tomorrow. we will spend time tomorrow.” When you put off your child to tomorrow, what they hear is ‘I’m not important enough”, and let me remind you tomorrow never comes.  We are promised nothing but this moment.  Make the most of it.

5 years from now, your friends will still text you, the Packers will still play on Sundays and the house work will still need to be tended to.  Your child though, will be an adult, one who was formed by the decisions you made and the actions you took.

Don’t just hear them.  Listen.  Don’t just look, but see.  They are Imageasking for more than your time, they’re asking if they are enough.

If you’re lucky, you’ve parented in a way that will give you the privilege of being a friend down the road, so do yourself a favor.

Turn off the game, put down your phone, tune out your technology and dial in to your child.  For one morning you will reach for their hand, and they will be gone.