I've Burned Myself

I was planning on doing a post about how coffee is a social staple in North America.

How, a person almost needs to acquire a taste for coffee so that they can accept it during certain social situations.

Meeting for the first time over coffee; picking up some coffees from the local Tim Horton's on the way in; camp breakfast companion; a nice gesture when you have company over.

I was going to make vague references to how there are some people that I know who don't drink coffee, and that they are then put in a position to refuse a mug from the pot, decline a cup of black with the fixings on the side, and sometimes go without a drink because coffee was the only thing made.

But instead, I got burned.

I created this poll to find out which hot beverages people drink, and really to have the topic on my readers' minds so that they could visually see my points.



...




Well, here it is!

50%

Only FIFTY percent of my voters drink coffee.



O_o



So apparently, hot chocolate  is a better social tool, and that is what we should be offering and meeting up for.


After all, 80% is a pretty big majority.

The Housing Situation

I have moved more times than I ever wanted to.

I lived with my parents from birth up until 2006, at which point I left home to escape their insanity...and instead created a brand of my own.

When I was born my parents had a one bedroom apartment {1}, where we lived for two years until they began renting a house in another city. {2}

That house gave way to their first home purchase in the neighbouring city, where we lived for 10 years.  {3} It was not a great part of town, but luckily my parents didn't know about the gang that may or may not have desired to beat me to a pulp for punching their leader in the face.

After my parents had saved enough money, we moved to a nicer part of town where I lived for 3 years, and they lived until their divorce. {4}


In 2006, I decided to move out of my parents' house because they were crazy, and moved in with my then-boyfriend, World of Warcraft. {5}

In 2007, World of Warcraft and I broke up, at which point I moved back to my parents' house to finish my carpentry apprenticeship. {6}

3 weeks later I moved 1 hour north to the Crack  Neighbourhood. (Not because I did crack, but because the neighbours above and beside me dealt crack cocaine.) {7}

1 month after that I moved into a one bedroom apartment with my then-boyfriend Scout. {8}

In November of 2007 I found out I was finally pregnant, and suddenly our one bedroom apartment didn't look big enough anymore.

January 2008 - we moved to the two bedroom apartment and painted the nursery for the impending baby. {9}

Scout quits his job, we can no longer afford the two bedroom and move into Scout's mom's attic. {10}

September - we move out of the attic and into a bachelor apartment (for those who are unfamiliar with a bachelor apartment, it has no bedrooms.) {11}

{12} 2009 rolls around and I left Scout and moved back in with my dad to get on my feet.

7 months later Shake'n'Bake, Brother, and I move into a two bedroom apartment close to my school. {13}

Then our landlord has to sell the house to cover medical bills, and we have to move again...only four months in to our lease.

2010 - Welcome to the Ghetto! {14}


That is fourteen moves so far.


Ten on my own.



Nine in the past 3 years.




All four of us have lived here for a while now, and I intend to stay here until I can make a more permanent move to a house that I own.



But you never know where life can take you.


How many times have you moved?

Children's Videos #3

I present:

Lady & the Tramp

I couldn't find this any smaller on YouTube but... it's about 2:50 that gets me. Tramp has just been taken away in the carriage for the pound. After Jaques and Lucky hear that it was a rat that attacked the baby and not Tramp, they chase after the carriage to try and delay it. If the carriage gets to the pound then Tramp will be destroyed.



Sigh.



I know...I'm a wimp.

We Are One

I have been thinking recently about the pain that loved ones go through, and how, no matter how hard I try, I can't seem to make everything better for them.

I want to be able to say all the right things, fill them with hope and joy, and be the best friend that this person has ever had.

Unfortunately, I'm also human.

And I'm not so good with being the best all the time.

But, I would like to say that if you, or someone you know is suffering right now, that you are not alone.

Everyone is loved by someone. Somebody cares about you, and maybe they don't know how to voice it.

At the end of the day, we all spend our lives on this planet together. We all have hopes and fears, joys and miseries, and when our time comes to leave I hope to be able to say that I made a difference.



Sooooooo I would like to share this. I hope you get the same meaning from it that I do.

I would love to hear any songs that help to remind you that we are one big family.



As you go through life you'll see
There is so much that we
Don't understand

And the only thing we know
Is things don't always go
The way we planned

But you'll see every day
That we'll never turn away
When it seems all your dreams come undone

We will stand by your side
Filled with hope and filled with pride
We are more than we are
We are one

If there's so much I must be
Can I still just be me
The way I am?

Can I trust in my own heart
Or am I just one part
Of some big plan?

Even those who are gone
Are with us as we go on
Your journey has only begun

Tears of pain, tears of joy
One thing nothing can destroy
Is our pride, deep inside
We are one

We are one, you and I
We are like the earth and sky
One family under the sun

All the wisdom to lead
All the courage that you need
You will find when you see
We are one

Refund My Patience

I got a bill in the mail yesterday.

Or should I say a statement.

This statement is for my President's Choice Master Card that I closed back in April.

I rounded up my last payment to make sure I covered any interest that might have grown since the balance was calculated.

This gave me an ending balance of -$3.64.

Negative.

I paid them too much.

Before I spoil it all, here is the letter that I have written them:

President’s Choice Financial Mastercard:

RE: Account # **** $$$$ %%%% @@@@

dys·func·tion

To Whom It May Concern:

I am writing to you in regards to the current balance on my PC Mastercard Account. I paid the amount in full (plus extra) on April 30^th 2010 and closed the account. I continue to receive a statement in the mail every month, showing the exact same credit balance of $3.64.

I was content to leave these monies with your company as a bit of an overpayment, as long as it gave me the satisfaction of having paid off one of my credit cards – eliminating a chunk of my debt.

Apparently I was mistaken, as I have been informed once a month, for over six months now, that I still have a credit balance of $3.64.

At this time I will need to request a refund of the $3.64 that your company owes me.

I would also like to no longer receive a statement in the mail from your company, informing me of the $0.00 balance that I have with an account that is no longer active.

Please mail the cheque to:

dys·func·tion

My House

The Ghetto

Thank you for your attention to these matters,

Sincerely,

dys·func·tion

I just ran out of patience.

Stupid company could have kept the money, if only they had stopped sending me statements.

Every. Damn. Month.

And I know it's most likely procedure, or illegal, or something...but seriously...I wouldn't have asked for it back, if they hadn't continued to mail me the proof that they were holding out on me.




Now it's going to cost me 52 cents for a stamp, plus an envelope...

Family Bush

BWAHAHAHAHA! That could be taken wrong.



So I've been thinking about blended families, and how they will affect our children.


I haven't been thinking about it in any deep and meaningful way mind you...just about how these poor kids may have to make a family tree for a school assignment one day.


O_o


Can you imagine that?



Here is a traditional family tree.

(CLICK TO ENLARGE ANY PICTURES)

Pretty straightforward eh?



There may have been some slight differences...



A divorce

A death

A remarriage

Maybe even a new family member from a second marriage.

But all of it still pretty straightforward.



Pretty... tree-like.





And then we get into my kids' family tree.


Poor kids.

It looks like a nasty bush, or a tangled vine.


I think if they're given this assignment too young I might just lie.

How messed up is your family tree?

Life - Part 2: Children

"Wow...I sure hope dys·func·tion posts a rant sometime soon...I sure miss those..."

Well faithful follower! Your wish shall be granted!


This is a continuation of a rant I started wayyyyy back about how people judge each other. The first part was about education and you can find the post here. This part is to be about children.

Children are a miracle. They are an amazing feat, a blessing, your greatest hopes and dreams and your worst nightmare all in one. They are an extension of yourself and one of the easiest ways that people will judge you.



Are your kids the same colour as you?

How many children do you have?

Are they yours?

Do they all have the same father?

Is there a ring on your finger?

How old are you?

Was this an accident?

Do you regret them?

First of all....I will cut you if you ever ask me if I regret my children.

No. No no no no no no no NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO! I do not regret my children. Would you regret yours? My children are the most amazing parts of me all balled up into the cutest little features in the universe. They are innocent beings, and any mistakes that I or anyone else would have made should have no reflection upon our children.

All of these questions (whether actually voiced or just thought about) are negative and, let's be honest, irrelevant. None of these answers should matter as long as a person is capable of loving and providing for their children.

I would rather have someone ask me "Do you love your children?" than any of these other questions.

I am a single mother.

And by that statement I mean: I am unmarried, and the man that I am in a relationship with is not the father of either of my children.

I am a single mother.

This does not mean that I love my children any less, or that they were mistakes that I unknowingly made.

I am a single mother.

This does not mean that my children have ruined my life.

I am a single mother.

This does not mean that I am incapable of raising them to be beautiful, happy, and complete human beings.

I am a single mother.

This does not mean that I am constantly overwhelmed.

I am a single mother.

And my children will benefit because of it.

Being a single mother, and I'd assume a single father as well, is not an easy task by any means... but for most people (especially for myself) it is not an option. I chose to birth both of my children, which to me means I signed a contract to be with them forever. Parents - real parents - choose to be with their children forever no matter how difficult it may be at times.

Real parents do not have to be biological parents.

I don't know if I can stress that enough.

Real parents do not have to be biological parents.

Here is my story...or at least the abbreviated version of it:

When I was 17 I was told that I had cancer in my uterus, and if I wanted to have my own biological children, that I would have to start now because there was little, if any, time left. I thought long and hard about this, but being a mother was the only goal I had ever had for life. I decided to give it a try. I had to try for a long time to have Shake'n'Bake. Eventually, the only way I *could* concieve her was to have surgery on my uterus during which the doctors removed all of the cancer that they could find. (Not a cure mind you...it just bought me some time.) I cried excessively when I found out I was pregnant with Shake'n'Bake. It was like I was handed my life back, so much of me was invested in being a mother.

After a while, Shake'n'Bake's father and I went our seperate ways (something I do not regret) and I began trying to accomplish the adult tasks in my life. Finding a career path that I could successfully support my blossoming baby girl with. I returned to school, and eventually started dating again. Now I am well aware that being in a relationship/dating does not mean that you need to have sexual relations, but as an adult I can tell you that that is what ended up happening, and one day in particular my birth control failed. This small chance led to the pregnancy of Splat - my second beautiful daughter - which, in itself was a miracle due to my uterine cancer. That person and I did not stay together very long, nor should we have. At the end of the day, I would rather be single and happy, then with someone that makes me unhappy.

But luckily for me, this was not to be the case. I started dating the sweetest, most amazing man that I have ever met in my life. He is strong, supportive, funny, and full of all the love that I needed and wanted. I told him on our first date that I was pregnant, and he stayed. The first time he came over to my house for dinner I told him that I wasn't looking for a boyfriend, that I was looking for someone that I could spend the rest of my life with - someone who could be a father to my children - and he stayed. He took me to every doctor's appointment, held me through every emotional break down, participated in every baby class, helped to plan my baby shower, and took me to the hospital where he helped me have a baby. He is the epitome of everything I wanted in a man, and he's here. He's mine. And he is there for my children in every aspect.

And yet...some people will still have the disrespect to say that they're not his.

But that is for another post.

EDIT: POST FOUND HERE

What I am really trying to press here is that this is my M.O.:

-young, single mother of two

-unwed, with neither father of her differently-fathered children

-lives in the ghetto

-on social assistance

And that is how people see me. No one stops to wonder if I decided to become a mother so young. Nobody wants to know that it was now-or-never. No one is interested in knowing that I was using birth control, and that sometimes it fails.

But I know.

And the people who matter know.

I just wish that more people would look beyond themselves, and try to understand the people that they walk the Earth with...instead of just jumping to conclusions.

I have made mistakes. And from those, I was given miracles.

What will you do with your mistakes?

Children's Videos #2

For my second clip in my teary series of children's movies that make me cry... Lilo & Stitch!

For a little background...the adult in this clip is Lilo's older sister Nani. Nani has just been told that Child Services is going to take Lilo away from her (their parents died in a tragic car accident) and she is trying to explain this to Lilo but becomes so overwhelmed with emotion that she sings to her instead.





Waterworks. All I can imagine is trying to explain to my little girls that they are being taken away to live with another family....

Sigh.

Anddddd.... upon comment request (I sure hope I got the clip right...ah forget it I'll put in all 3)







Oh my GOD! This clip bothers me so much, but I searched YouTube for EVER and could not find a non-fan-dubbed version. Where the hell is the original?? Well, if anyone finds it let me know - I will replace this in a heartbeat.

Children's Videos #1

I've realized the more that I watch movies with my kids, that there are a lot of things that I didn't even come close to noticing when I was a kid.

And, on top of all that, there are a lot of scenes in kid's movies that make my cry...or tear up...

For my first example I would like to show: The Incredibles!



Tah Dah!

The part that really gets me here is at about (1:20) when she cries: "There are children on board!"

Instant tears.

This never happened before I had children.





Are there any scenes of kid's movies you want me to cover in the future? Comment below!

Boyfriend Brought Henry To Bed

If this isn't the best title for a post ever, then I don't know what is.



Boyfriend and I are adults - I swear we are - but sometimes we like to be.......silly.


Well, last night Boyfriend decided to be silly. We were getting ready for bed and he decided that he would have a night-time Oh Henry bar.



Meet Henry

"You go to the washroom...I'll just eat this and then I'll come to bed..."

O_o

Hmm, that's odd. Normally Boyfriend is proud of his candy-scarfing abilities.

But, away I went. When I had finished bedtime-bathroom activities, I walked into the bedroom in near darkness (we keep it dark because the light would wake up the little ones) and noticed that the bed was made...

But the comforter was on the wrong side.
(I have a reversible comforter...one pattern on one side, another on the opposite side.)

"You made the bed? The comforter is backwards."

*silence*

So I checked under my side of the comforter for some sort of prank...nothing.


o_o



So I snuggled in to my side of the bed, and Boyfriend snuggled into his.


Still very, very quiet.


Then I heard it.

*crinkle*

And then things got chocolatey.



"Is that a candy bar?! Did you bring your f***ing candy bar to bed?! No candy in bed! There's going to be chocolate crumbs all over my f***ing sheets and I'm going to have to wash them and chocolate stains! There's f***ing peanuts in an Oh Henry! You're going to drop some and Shake'n'Bake's going to eat them and she's too young to eat peanuts!"


There was much for ranting and f-bombs, coupled with my scratching, pinching, and shoving Boyfriend.
I'm mean like that. :P

But he would not give it up. He pretended to put the bar away, tossed it on the floor, hid it under his pillow again, tried to sneak it past me...


We laughed A LOT.


But poor Boyfriend ended up pretty sore. He got pushed off the bed and landed on the end table with his ribs.



He deserved it.





It was a great night!



Smells Like Baby

I would like to share something with you.

Just a small thing, but it's a fairly profound realization I just came to this morning.

I picked up Splat and put her in her crib for nap. The walk between her exersaucer and her crib was very slow and drawn out as I walked in an almost dance-like sway, and cuddled my tiny daughter in my arms. With my nose buried in the top of her head, and my hand holding hers, I inhaled her sweet sweet smell. Then it hit me.

Whenever I hold my babies I smell them, I inhale their scents and it gives me a silent moment of euphoria.

Why do people like to smell babies? What does someone mean when they say 'Mmm, smells like baby'? Why would the scent of throw-up and poop be so enticing to people?

Here is my answer.

I have a two year old who's hair smells like sweet strawberries, and yet my baby shampoo for Splat is near scentless. But the sweet smell that I'm inhaling, that I am enjoying, that I am trying to burn into my memory is of her.

When I triple the amount of time it takes to walk to her crib because I am smelling her, I am also holding her and feeling her breath and her heart beating against me. I am trying to memorize the size of her fingers and the power of her grip, the weight of her little dependant body in my arms, and the awe and comfort that she finds in my eyes.

Scent is one of the most powerful memory triggers, and I like to think that when Splat is two, ten, twenty-five years old, that I will one day hold another baby that will smell like throw-up and poop, and that baby may grip my finger, or be just as heavy, or look at me with the same innocent wonder, and I will be magically brought back to the time when I was holding my precious little girls. A time when I was the world to them.


This is what I mean when I say: "Mmm, smells like baby."

The Victims Of Fussy Hour

A couple of weeks after Splat was born she started this lovely habit of "Fussy Hour".

Every night at 9pm she would begin crying inconsolably until 3 in the morning.

Shake'n'Bake goes to bed at 8:30 and wakes up around 7am...

I drew some pictures to put this in perspective.

(It helps to start at 6pm.)

Now start at 3am.

Note that the window of content-sleepy-face is only four hours before Shake'n'Bake wakes up.



I keep my house fairly child-proof since I have two children, and some mornings Shake'n'Bake would sneak out quietly to the living room, or wake me up so I could change her and give her breakfast, and then I'd put on a movie (Super Mom I know, but I was frickin' tired) and go back to sleep for a little bit.



Well, I got my kamuppins.



One morning Shake'n'Bake came into my bedroom and said:


"Good morning Mommy!"

"Good morning Shake'n'Bake."

"I wet."

"What? Why are you wet?"


At this point I felt her hair, and it was wet and sticky. It smelled fruity...


"I a good girl. I made a mess but I clean it up."


O_o



"What did you say?"

"I good girl. I made a mess but I clean it up."

"What mess?"

"I clean it up."


Oh God.



And so I got up quickly and followed my adorable little two year old out into the living room.


There she presented to me: my couch.



My best guess is that she spilled a few drops of milk on the couch, and decided that she wanted to clean it up for me.

Two-year-old-clean = That-big-sister-present-had-shampoo-in-it...I-bet-I-can-climb-on-something-and-reach-it

So she emptied the entire bottle of shampoo onto my couch to clean up a few drops of milk.

O_O


So, first thing in the morning, after four and a half hours of sleep, I got to mop shampoo (which, need I remind you foams like a mofo when mixed with water) up off the floor...






...then I discovered that my mop bucket had a big hole in it.

THE END!

And for your viewing pleasure...

I drew Shake'n'Bake today because her outfit is ridiculously horrible! (She gets to pick what she wears every morning)



And she decided to draw ME next to her! (Appropriate that it's blue...) Those four circles on the right are my eyes! All...four......of........them..........   *cough*

Andddddddddddd

My colouring prowess!

"Lolz! Cherries drink Limeade"

Work Ethic...And How I Misuse It

I woke up this morning in a half-dead haze, as usual.

I decided that I would be productive today no matter what.

It was a good thought, but I guess my thoughts are like wishes to a genie....and should be phrased carefully.



Oh, I've been productive alright, but not in any chore sense of the word.

No no. My dishes are still piled a mile high, the floors unvacuumed (except the girls' room), the bathroom not scrubbed.

What did I do with this productivity?

I spent 3 hours this morning taking down a cosmetic pillar and vacuuming and rearranging the girls' room.


...


Yep.

Aren't you proud?






Check out the right side of the page! ------------>

I'm going to try polling my awesome followers to see how I can make this a better blog!

Also, if you have anything that you want me to blog about, feel free to leave it in a comment or email me at atasteofdysfunction@hotmail.ca


Happy Remembrance Day. Take a minute and honour those who gave their lives fighting for your freedom and what they believed was right.

Spare Ribs

It's story time!

And time for more of my amazing artwork!

O_o

Well you could at least pretend to be enthused.


Wayyyyyy back in the ice age (when I was a kid) I dislocated some of my ribs in a tragic camping backpack incident that is really an unfunny story. So I ended up eventually taking my sorry @$$ to a chiropractor who dropped an F-bomb (HILARIOUS!) about the state of my back, and then booked me in several times a week for treatment.

One day I went in for the last time. She gave me one final adjustment, took my money, and we both celebrated the fact that my bones were finally back where they should be after two years of being out of place.

I was SO HAPPY in fact, that when I got home I told Brother that I would take him out to NYFries for a veggie supreme.

The closest NYFries was the next town over, but that didn't really matter for Brother and I because we were quite used to having to get ourselves places. The only tiny set back was that Brother's bike (we had decided on biking...keep up with me here) had recently been stolen.

At the time I was taller than Brother, so I lent him my bike and I borrowed mom's.
Oh shush, she never used it anyway.

So we hopped on our bikes and traveled to our delicious destination.



This is me riding mom's bike.



This is Brother riding MY bike.
It really was purple.






When Brother and I would bike together, we had certain habits that would increase our likelihood of surviving said outing.

Like when we biked down hills, we would go almost single file, just in case you had to swerve quickly...you wouldn't have to worry about running in to the other person.

There is a big hill right before the NYFries.

Down we went - me first - him behind - and I was sooooo fast! Green light? Hells yeah! And another one coming up! Fantastic!

As I whipped through the first light (yes I looked, I had bad(no) brakes, so I looked like a fiend for danger) and made my way to the second, the universe decided it wanted a laugh at my expense.

Brother was almost hit by a car, and therefore was too busy swerving to save his own skin to see what happened next.

I went through the next lights (after looking!) and was promptly hit by a car.

Big car.


SUV.

After making this picture I realized that the actual impact was on the opposite side...*shrug*

Those lovely POP!s that you see in the above picture would be my shoulder dislocating and 5 ribs dislocating as well.





My ribs were not even in for a full hour.




And we didn't get any NYFries.






Oh yeah, and I totalled my mom's bike.







Shake'n'Bake decided to draw a picture of her uncle as well.
Brother...her advice is that you don't eat the bug.



Case Study

I just thought I would share this with you. This is a case study that we had to respond to in class today. Please comment below with your thoughts! I'd love to know what you think.



Zack practices in the heart of a multi-cultural community and his clients come from a diverse cross-section of ethnic cultures. Mohamed, a Muslim, seeks Zack's help for a whiplash injury he sustained on the job as a truck driver. Zack runs a very busy practice and he is often booked back to back all day.

After his first appointment with Mohamed, Zack tells him he needs to see him in a week and Zack's receptionist Susie says the only appointment available is next Tuesday at 10am. Mohamed says he can't come in at any time on Tuesday or for that matter Wednesday. Susie tells him that he has to come in on Tuesday because that is the only time that Zack can fit him in. Mohamed flatly refuses saying, "No I can't and won't come in on Tuesday or Wednesday." Frustrated with him Susie calls Zack over and tells him the Mohamed won't work with the appointment she's given him.

Zack asks him what the problem is. Mohamed tells him that Tuesday and Wednesday are holy days for his family and that he can't leave the house on those days for any reason. Zack gives him a puzzled look and says,"But we're talking about your health and well being. You're in pain and need help, it's not like you are planning to go out partying or something. Don't you want to get better?" Mohamed is adamant and refuses to come in on either of those days. Zack, now frustrated says, "I don't have time for this, either you come in on Tuesday or Wednesday or I don't see you and if I don't see you you're going to have a hard time finding another therapist who cold fit you in given you restricted schedule. If I were you I'd look after myself. It doesn't seem to me that you have your priorities straight- think about it."

Life...Mine To Conquer

After having several conversations with Boyfriend and Bestie, and reading a very inspirational post by Single Dad Laughing, I have decided to address my parenting issues.

I have to admit that sometimes I become very overwhelmed with being a mother.

I love both of my children dearly and I want to do the best for them.

This want is what becomes crushing to me.

Bestie and Boyfriend have both given me the same advice: that once I recognize the parts of my parenting that I don't like or feel like are lacking, then I should change them.

This makes PERFECT sense. It is easier said than done obviously, but at the same time a completely necessary step in healing that damage that I have done to my parenting-self-esteem.

The eloquence of Single Dad Laughing (homepage of SDL found here) has also inspired me to search more inside myself and see the things in my past that are affecting my ability to parent confidently.

A lot of my parenting has been based on the ideals and goals that I have set out for myself when I first decided to have children. Back when I was just a wee one myself, there were many things that I decided I would or would not do. Mainly because my parents did or did not do these things....and I hated them for it.

So, in my every day life, where I am unable to keep up with the housework, or work up the energy to play blocks for three straight hours, I start to get down on myself.

Really.
       Really.

                          Down.                         

And I lose sight of the bigger picture.

More importantly, I lose sight of the now.



I am going to take a little of everyone's advice, and I am going to get my life back in order. This little slump that I seem to have hit does not have to last. I know I can be a fantastic mother, and I will prove it one year month day week hour minute at a time.

This Needs To Be Shared

Very short post today.

I recently discovered Single Dad Laughing and I read this post this morning:

Worthless women and the men who make them

And I cried.



I am thinking about doing a photo album of beautiful women.
Comment or send me an email if you are interested in being a model.

If I get enough interest I will put the photos up for everyone to enjoy.

atasteofdysfunction@hotmail.ca

Life...So...Overwhelming...

I can feel the depression returning.

There are so many things that I wish I was better at.

Chores.

                    Mothering.

                                            School.

                                                                  Money.

                                                                                          Life.

It just seems like there is nothing that I can excel at, like I’m always left wanting. I want to do so much more, but I am just too scared to do it. I am so used to failing at things, and then avoiding doing things so I don’t fail, that now I barely recognize things that I want to do as real possibilities.

I can set goals for myself, and even achieve them sometimes, but if something seems too difficult to do then I just won’t do it. Because it is still easier for me to not try than it is to try and fail.

It is very easy for me to look at the $20,000 in consumer debt that I had in April 2009, and pat myself on the back for being able to pay $8,000 of it off between then and now, all while being on Social Assistance. But I could be doing so much more. It would just be difficult. Very, very, difficult. And I don’t know that I am willing to start eating less food again just to save a few bucks on groceries – even if it would mean getting out of debt a month or two faster.

I can try and make myself feel good about my mothering because I have two beautiful and well behaved daughters, and it is difficult to parent, etc. but at the end of the day it’s just not good enough. I still lose my patience too quickly with my kids, I am saying things in the heat of the moment that are mean and will crush them. I want obedience, but I don’t want to put in the effort to achieve it in a way that will command respect.

I am afraid that they will fear me as I feared my parents.

Why are the dishes such an overwhelming chore?!

The fact that they continue to be dirty, that as soon as I wash them all they become nasty and food covered again, the redundancy of it all! It makes me want to not wash them, to just let them pile up, because then I am doing the dishes less often.

Sweeping and vacuuming...but the floor just gets dirty again.

If I scrub the toilet, my next poop smears.

Wash the mirrors? Toothpaste splatter....or fingerprints...

Make the bed.

Tidy the shoes.

Clean off the table.

Take out the garbage.

F#$%!!!

I just want to be better at stuff!

Specifically parenting. My biggest accomplishment in the past month has been taking the girls to the park every day. That’s it. The park is just a five minute walk from the house! (It was a 20 minute walk when I started FYI, but then I found a closer park with more equipment)

RAWRG!

Well I will try. And I will keep you updated. But I’m angry...and at this point I don’t even know if I should post this...but it’s my blog.........and I’ll do what I want.

After all, it’s not "A Taste Of Perfection".

It's Peanut Butter Baby Time

For my 30^th post, I decided to write about my vagina!

Because everyone wants to read about my vagina.

And see pictures of my children.

WARNING!

The following post is kind of graphic! It involves childbirth.

You have been warned.

I was very recently pregnant with my second daughter. After this news, 'surprise-your-birth-control-failed', I was referred to an OBGYN who was to follow me through my pregnancy.

I had an OBGYN with my first daughter, 'if-you-want-kids-it's-now-or-never', and he/she was a total douchebag. Every time I asked a question about my first pregnancy he would walk out of the room while answering:

"It's a pregnancy thing."

So, needless to say, I was not looking forward to another experience similar to the first (not blaming ALL OBGYNs, but with my luck...) and so, when an opportunity opened to get on board with a new midwife practice, I was alllllll over it.

I have heard so many good stories about midwives. So many recommendations, positive experiences, and happy memories, I thought this is for me!

This particular practice had two midwives, A and D. A was very nice to me, she liked to listen, tried to treat me as a person with opinions and such, but A was spineless. And she only knew what she had read from the book.

D...D was a total b****. For some reason she really didn't like me. I'm taking a lot of biology classes for college right now, and this is my second baby (plus I really love everything about pregnancy and babies and such) so I have a small knowledge base to draw from. So it pissed her off  when I already knew something and she didn't get to part the clouds and show me a glimpse of heaven. Pissed her off to the point that she would lie to me about events in my pregnancy...or events causing my pregnancy...or tests that were supposed to be mandatory...

So I dealt with it. I ignored her stupidity for most of the pregnancy. I fought for the tests I knew were mandatory for me to get. I prompted for things I wanted...like a birth plan....and I said OVER AND OVER that I wanted to wait until I couldn't handle the pain anymore, and then I WANT AN EPIDURAL.

I had to sign the consent form for the anaesthesiologist prior to going in to labour.

They fought me on what day my due date was.

I have a 28 day cycle. Which means I ovulate on the 14th day....pretty much guaranteed.

Day you ovulate = day you can get pregnant.

My pharmacy happened to screw up my birth control, and I was using another less effective form....well Bob's your uncle andddddddddddddddd

Tah Dah!

But nooooooo, D argued with me for my entire pregnancy because she believed that my due date was 7 days later than it was. The ultrasound showed the fetus to be about 7 days smaller than she should have been at the time.

I smoked LIKE A CHIMNEY for the first six weeks of my pregnancy because I didn't know I was pregnant.

Smoking while pregnant = smaller babies

But D was always right or something, and she was quite insistent. So I ignored her in an attempt to maintain my sanity. It became suddenly important as my due date approached and #2 was still high up and safely snuggled in my womb.

GET OUT.

Now medically, if a baby stays in your womb for too long, it will just continue to gain weight which will make a natural vaginal birth more difficult and lowers the chances of the survival of mother and child. Also, after a certain period of time, your body believes that there must be something wrong and stops providing nourishment to your baby. This is why there is a practice in Ontario to induce a mother between 41 and 42 weeks.

Now selfishly, #2's due date was 19 days before #1's birthday....and I wanted them to be as far apart as possible so they could each have their own special time as they got older.

I watched the days tick by and the gap start to close and I got paranoid.

19 days apart...

18 days apart...

17 days apart...

16 days apart...

And I talked to A about it. She said that the earliest they would be able to medically induce me would be at 41 weeks - 7 days after their due date.

THEIR DUE DATE, which remember, is 7 days after mine. At that imaginary time, my baby would be two weeks past her due date and at risk for a lot of medical problems, and my induction date would only be 5 days prior to #1's birthday, which would make the estimated delivery date 4 days prior!

No dice.

15 days apart...

14 days apart...

And I couldn't take it anymore. I went out and purchased some castor oil. It's a natural laxative, and the theory behind it is that it causes contractions in your abdomin (for purposes of poop expulsion) which gets baby stuff started.

By 2am I couldn't sit through my contractions anymore. I had to walk through them because my body was too antsy. So I called my midwife's 'beeper' and left a voicemail. D returned my call 10 minutes later, asked me a few questions, and decided to come down and check me out.

D showed up around 2:30, checked out my stomach, cervix, blood pressure, and asked a few more questions. Then she gave me this golden tidbit of information:

"It could be early labour, but it will probably go away. Try not to call until they're strong and regular."

She left. I cried.

I tried to sleep on the couch so Boyfriend could get some sleep in the bed. (He was working night shift at the time and had gotten off work at 7am the day of castor oil ingestion, then stayed up all day to force his body back to a normal schedule....poor SOB) I dozed off maybe once for a minute or two and then was forced awake by a contraction that I couldn't even stay quiet through.

After three of these nasty SOBs in a row I woke Boyfriend up.

4:30am.

I called the beeper again and left a message that was along the lines of:

"I'm going to the hospital now because they are going to give me something for the pain.  So I don't know if you needed to do anything before I showed up, but now you know."

We got to the hospital at 5am, and couldn't find the magical hidden baby entrance. We gave up and went through the emergency entrance. Boyfriend made me laugh. Then we checked in.

D was there. She wouldn't look at me, one-worded Boyfriend's attempts at conversations, and treated me like I was wasting her time.

I got my own room, (Yay!) and then was effectively incapacitated before I was told that there was no cell reception and no phones in the room.

O_o

So Boyfriend had to leave to call a few people for me.

8 am - Longggggggggg gory story short: D broke my waters, forbid me to leave the bed, SCREWED ME OUT OF MY EPIDURAL (I almost kicked this b**** in the throat), was disgustingly rude to Boyfriend, broke my baby's collar bone and then tried to pretend it didn't happen, and then had the nerve to hug me and ask if I would be back for my next baby after it all.

Not a f$%*ing hope in hell you crazy b****.

The only perk? I was out of the hospital and in the car less than three hours after having her.