dys·func·tion /dɪsˈfʌŋkʃən/ [dis-fuhngk-shuhn]–noun
1. Medicine/Medical . malfunctioning, as of an organ or structure of the body. 2. any malfunctioning part or element: the dysfunctions of the country's economy. 3. Sociology . a consequence of a social practice or behavior pattern that undermines the stability of a social system.

Wednesday, June 22, 2011

It Must Be Thursday

My kids are clumsy.

When I was a kid, I was clumsy too. In fact, I'm still clumsy... hmmm...

Either way, my kids are clumsy. They don't call them 'toddlers' for nothing. Splat is standing all of the time, and she can walk along furniture by herself. Couple that with her having a... hands on... older sister, and she spends a lot of her time falling down.

Shake'n'Bake is more steady on her feet. She can run and jump and somersault and climb, and because she can do all of these things, it means that she must.

She runs everywhere, jumps on her bed/the couch/the floor/my stomach/my bed/the walls...okay, the last one was made up...somersaults all over the place, and does backflips off the couch.


Yes, backflips. They're really more of a backwards somersault, but they make some people very uncomfortable.

Regardless, she too spends a lot of time impacting herself off of objects. Causing bruises. And bumps. And cuts. And every other normal thing that happens to children.

The one major factor of this equation? Shake'n'Bake's dad and I are not together, so although the bruises seem normal to me, he may find them suspicious or concerning since he did not see them happen. (At this point I don't even know where most of her bruises come from. If she doesn't make a big deal about an injury, I don't ask.)

Over a year ago, Shake'n'Bake fell off my bed and landed on a wooden toolbox that I had built. With her back. What was a wooden toolbox doing next to my bed, you may ask? Well, I had no garage, no storage, no door on the hall closet, and no seperate floor. My toolbox (filled with sewing supplies, nonetheless!) was placed next to my bed, with my filing cabinet closing it off from Shake'n'Bake's reach.

Unless of course, she were to FALL ON IT WITH HER BACK.



She developed a huge bruise in the center of her back, that blackened and purpled and greened, then later yellowed. It looked awful! She went to her dad's house that weekend, and lo and behold, he asked me shortly thereafter if she was being abused.


'Oh yeah, it was me. It's a good thing you asked though, or I never would have told you.'


Boyfriend and I now have a running joke that every Thursday before Shake'n'Bake goes to her dad's house, she will injure and bruise herself in some way.

It helps to keep the illusion that maybe I'm beating her.

The good news is: I'm not beating her! And, at some point she started bringing home some significant bruises from her dad's house too.

If a bruise is big enough, or concerning looking, then we will mention it to each other while she is changing hands. Most of the time, we just leave it. Lord knows, she has enough bruises.

This? This is nothing.

Tuesday, June 21, 2011

Tattoo Me Embarassed

I need your help coming up with an idea to cover a tattoo of mine.

Now, before anyone starts feeling holier than thou, my issue is not with the tattoo itself. This was my first tattoo, a visual representation of a decade's worth of bestfriendship with two ladies, and the significance of how they saved my life.

Despite losing their friendship over my pregnancy with Shake'n'Bake, I would still keep the tattoo. A part of my life is still a part of my life, and they are still an important part of what happened to me.

My issue is with how the tattoo turned out. I was too young and naive to stand up for myself. I designed and drew the tattoo myself, and it was half the size of the one on my arm. There are many MANY problems that have irritated me about the tattoo since, but my pride and embarrassment over not standing up for myself to the artist have led to me accepting the tattoo since then.

At this point, I would like to cover it.

I want it covered so that I don't have to see a constant reminder of my inability to say no. Of my decision to plan the tattoo for over a year, (to ensure that I would like it) and then to go to the parlour and allow most of my ideas to be compromised.

I am now accepting (see: begging for) ideas of how to cover it. The cover-tatto will need to have a lot of lines in it, since there are so many black lines in the original.

If you are so inclined, you may also draw a picture (Go-Hard) and email it to me at atasteofdysfunction@hotmail.ca . I will include the pictures in a future post if any are sent.

If you aren't artistically inclined, then just use your words. Leave me a comment with a suggestion on how to cover this tattoo!

Yes, that's my left forearm.

So, help me out?

Sunday, June 19, 2011

Father's Day

Father's Day is a day to celebrate dads. A day to recognize the efforts of those men who make a difference in someone's life.

I have already expressed my view of Boyfriend's 'father' status in this post: #1 Dad

Suffice it to say, I believe that Boyfriend would fall into the category of man whom should be celebrated on Father's Day.

Happy Father's Day to the man who attended baby classes, held me while I cried, carried everything heavy, and changed poopy diapers.

To the man whose big hands are gentle enough to cuddle, soothe and caress.

Happy Father's Day to the man who learned and created Christmas traditions for the most important holiday in my year.

To the man who sings carols, jingles, and nursery rhymes.

Who is patient enough to answer 'But why?' one thousand times.

Happy Father's Day to the man who loves to teach: baking, hockey, soccer, jumping, dancing, singing, and anything else they want to learn.

To the man who wants to learn: dresses, dolls, hair brushing, diapers, baths, songs, wrestling, pony rides, airplanes, flowers, and everything else there is to learn.

You are an angel who has come into our lives, with so much to offer us. With so many memories to make, I know that you will fill our lives with joy. We love you. Happy Father's Day.

Of course, he is not the only man in my life who needs to be recognized on this day.

My Dad.

My Dad is a man who pulled his family out of poverty. Always a strong man, he sacrificed so much for our family...much more than he will ever tell me.

When I was young, I was a bit of a Daddy's Girl. I wanted his approval more than anything. At times, I feared my father. His anger was scary, both of their angers were, but as the years passed and things changed, he has become a rock in my life.

I made poor decisions, and my father was always around to listen. To give advice, but mostly to help me work it out on my own.

He gave me a roof over my head. A place to live with my small daughter while I got back on my feet.

He paid for groceries when there were none.

Money. Loaned for a car, and later school.

My father is many things in his life. Many things to many different people. But one thing that he always has been, and always will be, is my father. My dad.

The man that I am so afraid to disappoint, says he can never be disappointed in me.

And I, his oldest child, his only daughter, am so proud of him. I am proud of him for taking what life threw at him for many years, and for resolving it. For making the best decisions he could, and for seeing everything through to the end. I am proud of him for growing with his children, and for embracing his grandchildren.

Happy Father's Day to the man who held his grandchildren, both of them, even though babies make him uncomfortable because they're so 'fragile'.

To the man who says kids make him feel sad when they cry.

Happy Father's Day to the man who isn't afraid to get down on the floor and play with toys. Even if it is hard to get back up.

To the man who tries to understand what they're saying, even thought Toddler-Speak is an unknown and difficult language.

Happy Father's Day to the man who brings presents for all of the little holidays, but knows not to bring too much sugar because Momma will get upset.

To the man who learned to cook, so he could have us all over for dinner, and who's 'pack-rattery' has helped me on multiple occassions.

Dad, I may not agree with you about everything, but you have taught me that I don't have to. You taught me to think, and to make smart, informed decisions. You taught me to do what was best for my family, and that as long as I am trying, you will never be disappointed in me. You taught me respect, honesty, hard-work, and comedy. I still think of your heroism every time I see a snapping turtle.

To the man who once stopped and put out a forest fire by himself, Happy Father's Day. I love you.

Thursday, June 16, 2011

My Vacation

Sometimes the children get unbearable.

I like to think that I'm Super Mom. Or at least, I like other people to think that I'm Super Mom, but every now and then I run out of steam.

So, what does Super Mom do when she's out of steam? Where does she get renergized?

Vacation, obviously.

Look at that view!

All of the trees.

The exotic greenery.

...okay, maybe not.

Meet Yucci.                       
My Yucca Sugar Cane.                       
He lives on my microwave stand right now.                       

And mayyyyyyyyyybe the other pictures are from a painting on my wall...

But, COME ON! I don't think anyone actually believed that I could afford to go on a vacation to escape my kids.

I do like to stare at that painting and imagine. It calms me down, so it's like a mini-vacation for my mind.

And Yucci? Well, Yucci's been living with me, under my sole care, for two months now.

And. He's. Not. Dead.

That's epic for my black thumb. Everything I touch dies.

I just enjoy looking at things in my life, and having them mean a lot to me.

Isn't that better than having to leave?

Monday, June 13, 2011

The Furniture Obituaries

You may remember my couch.

It is the infamous piece of furniture that Shake'n'Bake spilled milk on, and then attempted to clean 'all my byself'. You can find the full story here: The Victims of Fussy Hour.

I REALLY REALLY tried to find a picture of the couch that included the stain from the story, but unfortunately (or an extreme coincidence...) every photo of the couch has a person or object conveniently in front of the stain.

My subconcious for couch photography is the bomb.

So here is a picture of the couch:

Hey look! Easter eggs! This picture must be from Christmas or something.


I've had three cups of coffee...bear with me.

Note all of the visible rips and stains:

And this is the couch at its optimum appearance. The cushions are placed (and flipped) so as to minimize the visibility of rips and stains; I've even carefully folded a piece of couch fabric over itself  to hide a rip. Underneath the cushions are more stains and rips, and even an exposed spring.


It was time for the couch to go.

White Sectional Couch
Unknown - May 2011
'It was a good couch... well as good as free can be. It smelled funny, had no back cushioning, and was mildly itchy. White Sectional Couch is survived by a loving spouse, White Sectional Loveseat, and four Small Cushions.'

After joking with everyone who ever stepped foot in my apartment, and hoping for the funds for a new couch, or for a gently used one to fall in my lap... it happened!

As an Easter present from my parents (I still get Easter presents from my parents?!?! I didn't know this!) they passed down a couch that has been gently loved. This lovely piece of furniture was passed down from my aunt, to my parents, to my dad's new house, and then to me. (With any luck my kids will get it.... hahahahahaha)

(Due to an animal dander allergy in the family) We tore the couch apart and cleaned the hell out of it. I took off every cushion cover, soaked them in the tub with buttloads of laundry detergent, and, using a mop handle, became a manual washing machine. We vacuumed, plucked, brushed, washed, and sprayed the couch with a deodorizer/antibacterial spray (for the dander).

Then I sewed the one rip shut.

Then I bought cushions.

May I present:

Beige Couch, The Great

Feel free to ignore the dirt all over the floor.

Welcome to the family! May you have many years ahead of you.

Special thanks to my parents...thanks!

Friday, June 10, 2011

Kids' Math

Image from here.

I gave Shake'n'Bake cheese and crackers today for a snack. (I also had cheese and crackers, freaking delicious!)

I cut 16 pieces of cheese and divided 8 crackers amongst us. That would give us 8 pieces of cheese and 4 crackers a piece.

This is how our plates ended up.

Mine: 8 pieces of cheese, spread evenly over 4 crackers = 2 pieces of cheese per cracker.

Shake'n'Bake's plate: 8 pieces of cheese plus 4 crackers = 1 piece of cheese per cracker for 3 crackers, 4 pieces of cheese on 1 cracker, and 1 piece of cheese dropped on the floor and abandoned.



Now, maybe it's my OCD kicking in and bothering me, but COME ON! I could understand 1 piece of cheese per cracker, having 4 crackerless pieces on the side...but to have such a mishmash of cheese-cracker pairings... ARGH!


Okay...it's me.

P.S. I don't understand why Blogger isn't letting me post comments anywhere, including my own blog, but I am reading all of your posts and comments and am LOVING them. Please continue to comment on my blog, as long as Blogger allows you to. I will respond as soon as possible.

Friday, June 3, 2011

Feeling Squirrely

Every time a child disturbs their mother's poop,
a squirrel gets hit by a car and dies.

Let me poop in peace.
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